I had been against the idea of Father marrying Clara. I thought he was betraying Mother’s memory, betraying me as her daughter and legacy. Being a fairly educated and civilized woman, Clara didn’t much like me either. It was natural to assume the idea of this union would soon be abandoned.

  Until one evening, when I’d gathered the decency necessary to show up for yet another dinner Father had hosted, Clara brought her daughter from her previous marriage.

  When people spoke of love at first sight, I knew they meant something else, yet I found something that had been missing from me when I first saw Sinéad.

  She smiled at me across the dinner table while Clara complained about my tardiness and the state of my clothes and hair. There were no expectations on her face, no judgment, no evaluation. She just smiled, stood up from her chair and fluttered over to give me a gentle hug, one I found myself returning before I could stop it.

  “I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she said.

  I was glad to meet her, too.

  I winced when the pale sunlight cut through my eyes and into my skull. It felt as though my very brain was hot and swollen, pressing outward against the bone in which it sat. I feared my head would crack in half.

  Gritting my teeth to fight the wave of pain and nausea, I managed to sit up against the headboard.

  “Shit …”

  I was in my bed, wearing a nightgown soaked in cold sweat. It always took a moment to realize where I was whenever I woke up here, but this time, I couldn’t even remember the night before.

  This usually impersonal and alien bedroom felt even emptier somehow. I couldn’t quite figure out what was missing. It was right there at the edge of my mind, burning and obvious like an itch begging to be scratched, yet fading like a dream when I tried to grasp at it.

  “Sidra? Are you awake, sweetheart?” Grandmother’s gentle voice came before the door creaked open.

  She peeked inside and smiled when she spotted me, “Thank goodness. You have no idea how worried we’ve been since we found you.”

  She closed the door behind her and sat down at the edge of the bed. Her hand closed around mine, squeezing tightly.

  “What?” My voice sounded dry and broken.

  “After you ran out, you were gone for hours. We found you unconscious in the woods, covered in ...” She sighed deeply, “I feared the worst, but you were breathing.”

  I remembered. Or at least, I knew there was something to remember. The gentle crackling of a fire, the feeling of an ax haft in my hand, the stench of decay …

  Another wave of pain came and I groaned, digging my nails into my forehead to keep it from splitting apart. Grandmother said something I couldn’t make out, her words muffled as though underwater, then more voices joined in. I was too focused on holding onto that sliver of a memory to hear what they were saying.

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  Darkness and uneven earth beneath my feet, trees as familiar as my own fingers surrounding me. Danger and panic and terror.

  My breath quickened as if I was there again.

  Teeth — rows upon rows, almost human but bigger. Gray skin covered in warts, a smile without joy and a head with no neck.

  Blond locks surrounding a pretty face. Hands holding what they shouldn’t. Torn lace covered in dirt. Roots growing over something pale struggling to be free.

  “Sinéad …”

  The headache came to a climax like a knife to my brain, making me howl as it stabbed through my eyes and drowned my sinuses in blood. It poured hot and thick from my nose, but through that, I remembered.

  My little sister. Torn from my grasp and stolen from her family by a winged creature who’d disguised himself as a man. She was gone! Sinéad was gone!

  Every muscle in my body relaxed involuntarily as the headache dissipated into a dull thumping. My vision was red-hot, and every worried word out of the others’ mouths was loud yet muddled like the rumbling of thunder. Grandmother pressed a handkerchief against my face to keep the blood from staining my nightgown.

  “Sidra, what’s happening?” Father asked desperately. “Are you sick, child?”

  I closed my eyes and concentrated on the warmth from Grandmother’s hand, pretending for a moment it belonged to Mother. Then I pushed it aside.

  “Where is she?” I demanded.

  Everyone stared blankly. Grandmother said, “Where is who?”

  “Sinéad. Where is Sinéad?”

  They exchanged looks. I watched Clara pleadingly. I knew she’d start weeping when she found out her daughter was gone, knew I’d deserve every cruel thing she’d hurl at me.

  But she just gave me a tiny, pitying smile.

  “Who?”

  “Your daughter!” I gasped. “Your daughter Sinéad! Where is she, Clara?”

  “Sidra, I don’t have a daughter.” She caught herself, and her already sympathetic face softened. “Except you, of course.”

  Gathering my strength, I managed to get out of bed and onto my weakened legs.

  Where were the drawings Sinéad had gifted me? The potted plants in the windowsill only she remembered to water? The pretty flowers she’d painted on the doors of the wardrobe I never used?

  I pushed past Clara and Father and ran out into the hall, staring wildly around me, begging for a sign she was still here. I burst into her room, but it was even emptier, barely a guest room. Every wooden surface that had once been adorned with Sinéad’s art was blank. Her needlework, her shoes, her numerous dresses, all of it gone.

  There was nothing left of her.

  I whimpered, bracing myself against one of the bedposts, trying to remain calm. If nobody knew where, or even who she was, then who would help me find her? How could they help me? And how could I ask for their help if giving it meant indulging what they thought were the delusions of a madwoman?

  No, that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter who did or didn’t help, I knew what I had to do. He’d taken her north, so that’s where I’d go.

  “That’s where I’ll go. That’s where I’ll go,” I whispered, as if the mantra would keep me from losing my mind.

  Grandmother’s hand touched my shoulder, though I barely noticed it.

  The only thing that truly startled me was Reese’s voice coming from the hallway, speaking my name. I might’ve been happy about his presence before. Now, it infuriated me.

  Why was he here and in the way and trying to distract me? Talking to me with that voice as if I were a small child having a tantrum. He didn’t belong here, and the fact that they’d even let him in to see this private family crisis was disgustingly presumptuous.

  “What?”

  I heard him approach, one careful step at a time. When his face appeared to my left, I turned away.

  “Are you alright?” he cooed.

  “I’m not fucking alright!” I spat, slamming my hand against the bedpost so the whole bed shook.

  Reese recoiled, meeting my gaze with pity and confusion. He looked at Father and Clara still in the doorway and they answered with the same alarmed expressions.

  They wouldn’t — couldn’t help. Lord Thorne had made sure of that, and now they thought I was insane. If anything, they’d try to stop me from leaving.

  I swallowed my tears before tearing myself out of Grandmother’s grasp and heading out into the fresh air.