One of my earliest memories is of my mother. We were on a swing in the orchard. The leaves were all the color of fall - reds and oranges and goldens. We were eating a perfectly ripe fall apple.

My mom was telling me a story. Once, before she lived on the farm, she was a maid living in a beautiful house in the city where servants did everything for her. Then, one day, she met my father and fell in love. My father was a farmer's son, and she loved the idea of living on a farm instead of the city. So she ran away from home and married her love. When her parents found her, they recognized her love for her husband and let her live the life of the country lass.

I laughed and hung upside down in my mother's lap as she swung high.

When she stood up, I touched her bright golden hair, and then mine.

"Why is my hair the same color as yours?" I asked.

"Because your name is Oria, and that means 'golden hair'," she replied.

"Oh," I said, understanding as only a three-year-old can understand.

"Mommy, what's wrong?"

"It's ok, sweetie," she replied, lifting her hand to stroke my head soothingly. Even at five, I recognized that gesture as one that preceded bad news.

"Mommy!"

My mother had been sick for weeks; the doctor had just left and my mom obviously knew what the illness was now.

"Oh, Oria. My sweet daughter," she said, pulling me beside her on the bed. "I'm afraid I'm not going to be with you much longer."

This was another thing she had always done: she never played word games with me. She always told me the hard truth was better than a soft lie.

"What do you mean? Where are you going?"

"Oh, baby." She sighed, pulling me closer. "Do you remember your puppy?"

I remembered my puppy. He had been a stray who had wandered onto our farm. He had been limping, and my mother said he had wounded his foot. She had examined his paw and found a large cut and some wire; he must have gotten it caught on a fence. She had cleaned it and wrapped it up; however, something must have infected the wound for the puppy only lived with us three weeks. Such a short time, but I had cared for him deeply. I cried for days after we had to burry him.

"Did you get a cut, mommy?"

"No, sweetie." She sighed. I understood she was trying to tell me something important. "But I do have a sickness in my bones, just like the puppy did."

I paused, beginning to understand what she was saying.

"Mommy, am I going to have to burry you in the ground, too?" My tears were beginning to flow.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry."

I cried. "Mommy, no. Mommy, get better. You're not puppy. You can't die!"

But my mom couldn't get better. The sickness came from inside, and there was nothing the doctors could do about it. We buried her next to puppy, under our favorite apple tree. My dad said her spirit would be in every apple that grew on that tree from that day forward. I don't think he really believed it, though. I think he was just trying to help me feel better.

And it did. After days and weeks and months, I was finally able to go to the tree and sit next to my mother's gravestone and under our favorite tree and not cry. At least, not all the time. I planted flowers around the headstone every spring and ate the perfect fall apple while swinging in the orchard.

Time passed. My father continued to send me to school at first; however, I found that I enjoyed the farm more, and, in his grief, he let me do as I wish.

My father's grief. It is unfortunate what the loss of a loved one can do to a person. I was young and able to adapt to life without a mother more easily than my father. He had been married to her for only six years, but those had been the six best years of his life, he would tell me in his coherent moments. It was not that he loved me any less now that his wife, my mom, was gone; it was just that, without her, he was lost in the world. She was his guiding star. With that star gone, he wasn't sure where to turn to next.

And when he did find something, I wished that he hadn't.

We were not necessarily a wealthy family, but we were not that bad off, either. We owned a farm and paid workers to help us care for it. They may have been servants, technically, but they were never treated as such. My mother had been very insistent that all people have worth and that everyone should be treated with dignity. Even after her passing, that mentality continued in both my father and me.

However, with my mother's death, my father began spending money on anything and everything. Mostly, on gambling. Later, I realized I was just happy it hadn't also included alcohol.

I didn't notice anything at first; this is understandable, for two reasons. The first, I was only six years old at the time; six-year-olds do not care overly much about how their parents spend their money. And, secondly, I was busy working on the farm.

This was not something that was forced on me. It was something I did myself.

It began in the kitchen. My mother had always liked to bake bread, even though we had servants to do it for us. She always told me she enjoyed doing it because it brought her closer to those who worked for her. Even after she had gone, I still desired that smell of fresh bread made by my own hands. And so I went to the kitchen and tried to make bread.

The oven had always been prepared for us by the cook; as such, I was lucky the cook and her daughter decided to come in early that day, or else the kitchen might have gone up in flames. I cried at first, of course.

"Oh, dearie, missus," the cook said. She was middle-aged with a daughter who was a few years older than me. She was kindly and had always enjoyed my mother's and my company in the kitchen when we had baked. "There is no reason for these tears. Come, cheer up. Let us make a new loaf together."

And so, together, the cook, her daughter, Emilie, and I prepped the oven correctly and then, under her guidance, I made my first loaf of bread all by myself. When it came out of the oven smelling just like my mother's, I cried again. This time they didn't try to stop me, and ever since, puppies and fresh bread have brought back both good and sad memories of my mom.

Emilie and I became quite good friends. She was nine and I was six. As cook's apprentice, Emilie was often in charge of milking the cows and gathering eggs. At first I would just stand back and let her do her morning chores. Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me, and I asked her to show me what she was doing. She led me to the henhouse and taught me the secret of getting eggs without disturbing the whole coop. When it came to milking the cows, I was more nervous; one good kick from those animals and an arm would be broken. However, Emilie was confident and showed me the secret to milking without startling the animals.

My favorite part was drinking the fresh milk straight from the bucket.

Often, we would play with the other farmhands. There were a set of twin boys that worked in the stables. In the beginning, when they had to clean the stalls, I would run away with Emilie, eewwing; later on, I got curious as to what they did, and eventually I even began shoveling manure into pails and taking them to the fields as fertilizer.

When their tasks were done for the day, the four of us would spend the early afternoon hours playing in the lofts or the fields. The twins, champions they were with the horses, taught us girls how to sit on a horse. I clearly remember, with both pain and elation, my first hours of horseback.

In fall, the four of us would have competitions to see who could fill a bucket with fruit first - with the stipulation that there were to be no more than five bruised fruits in the whole container. Usually it was apples, but we also had peach and orange trees, and grapes. In rare years, we would find a patch or two of wild strawberries on the edges of the farmlands, and these we would save to make strawberry tarts with.

I was eight when I seriously began noticing my father's gambling habits. With my new friends, I was often away from the main house as much as my father and never noticed his constant absence. Eventually, however, he kept staying away longer and later. Two years after my mother's death, he was still in the throes of grief.

When he began pawning my mom's beloved jewelry, I took action. Taking my mother's favorite cedar chest, I filled it with my mom's favorite gowns, jewelry, and accessories, including some beautiful feather masks I had never seen her wear. Then, with Emilie's help, I hauled it to the cellar and hid it in a secret niche. The door was hidden so cunningly into the wall that, unless you knew to look for it, you couldn't see it. My mom had shown it to me once, telling me that it was her special cubbyhole and no one but her, and now me, knew about it. So I hid my mother's precious items away where my father, in his gambling disease, would never find it.

"Daddy," I confronted him one day. I was afraid he'd sell the farm if I didn't.

"Yes." He was distracted, staring off at nothing.

"Daddy," I repeated. "Daddy, look at me."

It took a minute, but he finally turned his attention to me. When he did, he appeared surprised.

"Oria!" He said, blinking. "You... what..."

"Daddy, it's been two years since Mommy's death. And you're still not over it. Daddy, look at me!" I cried, exasperated. "You have not paid me any attention at all since then! Look at me! Look how tall I am. Look how much I've grown! I miss you, daddy!"

I began crying in earnest, tears running down my face. "Daddy, you're spending all our money, even selling all mommy's special things. Things you love and cherish. You're lost, daddy, you're very lost. I need you. I need you to tell me how much you love me and miss me. I need you to... I just need you, daddy. Please. Come back to me."

He stared at me a moment longer before pulling me into his arms. "Oh, sweetie!" He said as he began crying himself. "Oh, my sweet Oria. I'm so sorry. You are right. I have been ignoring you. I promise, I'll do better now. And, know this," he said, moving me to arm's length and looking straight at me. "I do love you. I love you very much. And you have grown. You are turning into a beautiful young girl."

Of course, habits are hard to break, but at least he tried. He was home every night from then on, tucking me into bed and kissing my forehead and wishing me sweet dreams. It was another six months before he really got himself turned around, but in that time I rediscovered my father and he rediscovered his love for me.

A happier man is, apparently, a more desired man. I learned why, at six months, he stopped almost all gambling. It was because he had met another woman. Her name was Kyria. I do not know what he saw in her; perhaps it was just the first woman to take his fancy after Mother. However, I like to imagine it was for me. Kyria had two daughters and a son from a previous marriage; I never did learn what happened to her first husband. I like to imagine my father he found a woman whom he saw as kind with daughters near my own age and believed I deserved a family again.

Lilith was the eldest of the two girls. Awendella was the younger. Her name was such a mouthful, she much preferred to go by Della. In fact, I think the only time I ever heard her called by her full name was when her mother found her out in the stables. She had asked to see our horses; she was careful to stay a safe distance from the stalls and the horses as Kyria was very picky about her daughter's appearances.

Between the three of us, I was the middle-aged girl. Lilith was ten and Della was six. I was eight. I believe I would have been able to get along with them had they not done the one thing forbidden in my mind.

Lilith and Della confiscated my mother's old bedroom.

Looking back, I understand it was the only room available at the time. Our house was small, only built for three people. Sometime after Kyria and her daughters moved in we expanded the building, adding four more bedrooms. Even then, however, Lilith continued to live in my mother's old room. Two of the other three rooms went to the servants my step-mother brought with her.

The few things of my mother's that my father had not sold during the two years of his gambling habit were quickly moved out of the room and sold. Acting quickly, I was able to take my mother's quilt from the room before it, too, was sold. If anyone noticed, they never said anything. I think only my father would have recognized the quilt, and he understood me enough not to force it away from me.

When they were done, I didn't even recognize the room. All the softness and memories of my mom were gone, replaced by the sharp edges of the vanities and new-style perfume and makeup bottles of my step-sisters. The light, billowing drapes had been replaced with dark, heavy curtains which blocked out all morning light. The closet that I had so carefully emptied was filled with frilly dresses in all colors and lengths.

Apparently, Kyria had not been dump-poor, either.

Kyria's son was the youngest of us all. Branden, his name was, and apparently, his being only five, it was not considered improper for him to room with me until those aforementioned renovations had been completed. I believe it was because of this, in stead of despite it, he became my closest sibling.

Despite these changes, my daily life went on much the same as usual. Lilith and Della were sent off to school, and Branden eventually, but, seeing my contentment, and probably thanks to some persuasion from my father, I was still allowed the run of the farm.

Even now, I do not believe I missed much from my lack of formal education. I learned more about real life and how to handle daily problems than reading, science, and mathematics would have ever taught me. Even then, I was not without my learning, however. Emilie and I would spend hours at a time in the cool evenings of summer lying under the lingering light, reading and writing messages to each other. Though not school, we still learned the basics of language and could count by the quarter-cupfuls and dozens of eggs, which was all that was truly needed on a farm.

It was one such evening when Branden, or Bran as I liked to call him, bounded out of the house and landed with a thump on my back.

"Bran!" I shouted, rolling over and toppling him to the ground. "Be careful! That hurt!"

"Sorry O," he replied. "I jus' wan'ed da play."

"Bran," I said, sitting up and pulling him into my lap. "I know you do, but I'm with Emilie right now."

"I know, bu' you're always wid Emi. I don' have nobody else to play wid. Lil an' Del don' like playin' wid me. You're de only one who does."

"What about the twins? They're done with work now."

"Yah...." He drolled. "Bud day don' like me eid'er. 'I'm doo li'le', day say."

I looked at Emilie for help; her eyes were shining in a way I knew I would regret.

"Cumon," she said, standing and running toward the twins' house, a building on the outskirts of the fields which my father had let the family build on our lands. "I got an idea." When I gave her a reluctant look, she just grabbed my hand and began running; Branden was already ahead of us.

That was the first of many late-night evenings the five of us spent together. Because the four of us older kids knew the farm so well, we would spend hours after dark playing hide-n-seek, one of us always keeping Branden with us. Despite his young age, he learned quickly that if he wanted to continue playing with us, he would have to learn stealth and secrecy.

The sixth person joined our group unexpectedly, on an evening I recall vividly, but for a slightly different reason.

I was "it" at the time; I had already found Emilie and one of the twins. I was surprised my younger brother had been quiet enough to constitute being found last.

It was early fall and piles of hay were sitting in the fields, the area I was currently searching. I had just paused to glance up at the sky, following the shapes the stars made with my eye when I heard the soft sound of a haystack being bumped. Smiling to myself, I quietly walked toward the pile until I was sure I heard the soft breathing of someone trying to hide.

I jumped around the side.

"Gottcha!" I cried. "You're it!"

"Ahh!" The boy's voice, one I didn't recognize, came from the person who suddenly fell flat on his back.

These being my and my father's lands, I didn't run, but instead cocked my head sideways and glinted through the shadow cast by the moon.

"Who are you?" I asked, truly curious. Anyone, especially someone I hadn't heard of before, who could make it this far into unfamiliar fields in the dark was someone worth meeting, in my eyes.

"C-c-c-Cory..." He stammered.

I laughed. He cringed. "Well, Cory, stop worrying. I'm not gonna tell on you, or anything like that. We're playing hide-n-seek, and if you want, you can play too."

"Okay," he said, still unsure. I laughed again.

"Go over to the barn... uh, I'll take you over to the barn, where the others I've found are. Then I gotta go find my little brother and the other twin." I held my hand out to him and helped him stand.

"So, where're you from? I didn't know there was any other kids around here."

"Oh... I..." He stammered again.

"You know, that's not very good, stammering all the time, and you with you're high education and all."

He stopped dead and I turned around. "How...?"

"Well, you have better 'nuciation than even my... sisters, and they go to proper grammar school, so you gotta be having good education."

"Oh, well. My... nanny and I just moved into the town."

"Where's your parents?"

"They're still at... home," he said, finally.

I laughed again. "Oh, ok, I'll stop asking questions now. Except one more. You gonna come play more often?"

He finally laughed too. "Yeah, I'll come over."

We were almost to the barn when I noticed fog covering the stars on this perfectly clear night.

"What the..."

Emilie came running toward me. "Ori!" She shouted. "The barn! The lantern!" She finally made it to me and paused, panting and pointing. "You're brother... the loft...burning..."

I may have hated my stepsisters, but my little brother was my closest friend, next to Emilie. I raced into the barn and immediately began coughing. The smoke was filtering out the upper windows, but couldn't escape fast enough and was now filling the lower areas. I looked around frantically, waving my hand before my face, trying to decide which side I should climb.

"Bran!" I shouted.

"O!" I heard my brother reply before breaking down coughing.

I ran to the left, towards his voice, and immediately felt the heat of the fire.

"O! 'urry!"

"Here, Branden. Come to this end!"

"I can'..." He broke down in coughs again.

All the time I had been climbing the ladder to the loft. Reaching the top, I saw why he couldn't make it. The fire had apparently begun from the lantern hanging below him and had eaten its way up the pillars and into the loft. Fortunately, the hay had not been brought in yet, so there was only minimum fuel for it, but it was still enough for the fire to rage out of control.

Unfortunately for the two of us, it had already eaten its way into the loft and was consuming the upper area. A wall of fire stood between my and my brother. I didn't know what to do.

I heard cracking.

"O!" I heard Branden shout desperately. "Is breakin'! O!!"

That was the point I made up my mind. Putting all other thoughts aside, I ran forward and jumped through the fire. My landing on the other side caused the weakest of the boards to break and crumble, but somehow I was able to pull myself forward. My brother was sitting against the far wall, huddled in a ball.

"Bran!" I shouted, and immediately regretted it. The smoke was so thick here I couldn't take a clean breath. I wondered how he had been able to call out to me.

Branden couldn't have looked happier when he saw me.

"Sis..." He whispered.

I slowly crawled over to him, using my shirt in attempt to filter out the smoke.

"Here, Bran. I'm here."

The heat was intense. I looked behind me to see the flames creeping closer. Desperate, I looked around and saw only one possible exit. Taking my brother under my arm, we crawled carefully to the edge where I looked down.

The loft was a good ten feet above the ground. For a moment, a breeze came in through the doors and I was able to see the floor below. The ground below us was swept clean; this meant, that although there was no fire, there was also no cushioning. Then the smoke filled the space.

"Bran," I said quietly, leaning close to his ear. "We're gonna have to jump."

"Sis..."

"It's okay. I'll make sure you're ok. Ready. One..."

The floor below us cracked, the fire around us eating away our support. Before I could jump, the wood supporting us broke and we fell the ten feet. I grabbed my brother to me as we fell, praying.

We landed and the air was knocked out of my lungs. I felt my brother squirm slightly and thanked whoever was listening that he was alright. Then I heard more crackling and looked up in time to see the roof of the barn falling through the smoke. I rolled on top of my brother and prayed again.

I woke in my bedroom, aching.

"Bran!" I said, or tried to say. Instead, all that came out was a croak.

"Sis?" I heard his voice across the room. Turing my head, I saw him in his own bed, smiling at me.

"Bran..." I said again.

"Hush now," someone said from the doorway. I saw a strange person walk into my room and lay her hand on my forehead.

"Fever's broken. Good." She looked at me severely. "Now listen to me. Your mother hired me to take care of you and your brother, so you will do exactly as I say. No moving, no talking, and for all that's good, no getting up. You're lucky you survived that mess. I don't know what you were doing playing around in the barn, but I'm sure you'll never do it again after this."

The doctor checked on Branden before leaving. When I was sure she was gone, I turned to my brother, smiling weakly.

"Sis..." he said. "Danks. You save' me. Sorry 'bout your hair."

I looked at him quizzically. He lowered his eyes.

"When we fell, da roof fell down. You saved me bud... bud your hair and clodes... day god all burned up..."

Gently, I moved my hand to my head. I touched it, the skin tender and all traces of hair gone.

My beautiful golden hair. My mother's legacy.

"Day say... I'm so sorry O... day say id migh' nod come back..."

I started crying.

"O..." He began tearing up, too.

I smiled, trying to console him. "It's okay. You're safe. That's all that matters," I whispered, trying to convince myself of the truth.

He gave a weak smile and then we both slept.

It took weeks for us to heal. For him, a little faster, since I had protected him from the falling building, for the most part. On doctor's orders, we weren't allowed any visitors during that time. I missed Emilie sorely and wondered what ever happened to my mysterious new friend.

When the doctor finally gave me a clear bill, I was almost not let outside again. My scalp had scarred, and my new stepmother didn't want me running around in such a disgraceful state; it would look badly on her and her daughters. It took all my persuasion skills of my nine years and promising to wear a bandanna or hat at all times, and convincing by my father before she relented.

I'm guessing it was his argument of her having to find me things to do inside all the time that finally got to her.

My first stop was Emilie.

"Oh! Oria!" She cried when she saw me. "I'm so happy! You're all right!"

"Emi," I smiled in return, hugging her. My voice had, luckily, healed up marvelously, despite all the smoke I had inhaled while saving my brother. "I missed you."

"Oh, me too." She turned to her mom. "Can she have a tart, please?"

The cook smiled at me. "Of course," she said, taking a fresh-cooled tart from the racks. "Here, dearie. I'm so happy you're feeling better."

"Thank you," I said, genuinely pleased. Taking a bite of the tart, I looked at Emilie, pleasure spreading on both our faces.

"We found the strawberries again. When I was told you were almost better, we made the tarts with them. Come on!"

She grabbed my hand and pulled me outside.

"Remember Cory?" She asked once we were clear and free. "He's the one who found them. He's great. He's my age, twelve, and is totally fun. He only comes by in the evenings, though. Except weekends. Then he tries to get out earlier. And he doesn't know much about farming, but he likes to learn. He says that's why his parents had him move here to town with his nanny. So he could learn all sorts of rural-town-farm-stuff he couldn't learn at home." She paused and leaned conspiratorially toward me. "I think he's from Charwoo, you know, that big city where the king lives. They don't have farms around there, so I hear."

She stood back up and we ran toward the orchards as she listed all sorts of details of what I had missed while in recovery.

"Cory!" She called as we ran beneath the trees. "Cory!"

"Wait," I said, pulling her to a stop. "I thought you said he only came in the evenings."

"Yeah, but when he heard you were better, he said he would come early. Cory!"

"I'm here."

I heard a barely-recognized voice from behind one of the trees ahead of us. We walked forward and found him playing jacks with Branden and the twins; Branden had been let out a few days before me.

"O!" He cried and jumped to his feet when he saw me. "You okay! And loo', a new frien'. 'is name's Co-rie." He pronounced the name very carefully. Apparently the boy had made an impression on Branden. "I call 'im Co!"

"Hi, Cory," I said. "Glad to see you didn't run away."

"Hi," he said, glancing at me quickly before turning his gaze to his hands.

"You... shy?" I blurted.

"Ori! He's not met you yet," one of the twins - I could never tell them apart - reprimanded me.

"Oh, sure he has. Met the night of the... fire..." I stammered.

"Oh. Yeah. That's right." Cory said, looking up. He paused, then quickly pulled his hands out from behind his back. "Here," he said, holding out a bouquet of flowers to me. "They said you weren't allowed visitors, but my mother always brought me flowers when I was sick, and I thought... they always made me feel better..." he trailed off.

I smiled, glancing between the flowers and his face. "Thanks," I replied, taking the bouquet. "Come on, I know right where to put them."

I led Emilie and Cory to my mother's grave and planted the stems by her headstone. The ones I'd planted that last spring had already bloomed and died.

" 'Aurelia'," Cory read, touching the headstone. "What's this?"

"My mother," I replied. He looked up at me and I smiled a sad smile. "She died of a bone sickness four years ago."

"I'm... I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," I replied. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, you're sitting on puppy."

"I'm what?" He cried, jumping to his feet and looking at the ground.

Emilie and I laughed. It felt good. It was the first time I had laughed while sitting under this tree since my mother had died. For a moment I thought I heard her voice on the wind through the trees.

"Puppy. He died just before my mom did. I buried him under this tree, then mom." I stopped and sighed.

The wind picked up and an apple fell from the tree and landed in the grass just in front of the flowers. I picked it up and brushed it off, looking up. The tree was full of apples just begging to be picked.

"I'm sorry..." Cory said from behind me.

I turned around and smiled, holding out the apple to him. "This is yours," I said. Gingerly, he reached out and took the apple. "My mom dropped it for you. She says thanks for the flowers."

"But... I... they were..."

"Just eat."

I walked around the trunk as he took the first bite, looking for a low-hanging branch. I heard his squeal of delight at the taste and smiled just before jumping and grabbing two apples.

"Ori," Emilie said as I handed her an apple. "You never let anyone else have the first apple from this tree."

"I told you," I said as I took my own bite. "Mom gave it to him."

"But..." I looked at her and she conceded. "If you say so." She leaned over. "I think you like him, though."

I smiled and apple juice dripped down my chin. "And if I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous."

Emilie laughed and ate her own apple.

Winter came, then spring. I turned ten. Branden moved out of my room and into his own; Della moved into her own room, and Lilith continued to defile my mother's memory by not taking a new place. Kyria told me to stop being so sentimental.

That summer, two important things happened.

They both happened on a weekend Kyria and my father had decided to take a trip. Kyria had decided she was tired of the farm and wanted father to take her away a romantic weekend vacation. Lilith, Della, Branden, and I were left at the farm with a caretaker whose name I don't remember.

The first event happened on the day Lilith and Della went on a trip to Charwoo with the caretaker. Dutiful to Kyria, the woman didn't seem interested in me, but was willing to bend over backwards to keep the other two happy. They took Branden with them, as the caretaker didn't trust him to keep out of trouble while she was away and didn't want to get in any trouble for lack of attendance on all Kyria's children. That didn't include me, apparently.

I didn't care. I was used to taking care of myself. Besides, Cook - whose name I never learned - was there, and she was used to watching over me and Emilie. That day, we had decided to have the run of the place. After doing the required chores of milking and egging, we harassed the twins in the stables until they threatened to throw us into the piles of manure. We ran away laughing and ended up sprawled in the fields, huffing, watching the clouds blow through the sky.

We were in the middle of a game of imagining pictures in the clouds when we heard a dog barking. We looked at each other and both shook our heads; there were no dogs on the farm, and no one we knew had a dog.

The barking came again, closer this time, then a shouted command.

"Sit!"

I recognized Cory's voice and scrambled to my feet. Standing twenty feet away was my friend, a rope in his hand. The grass below him moved and barked. Cory smiled, dropped the rope, and called out again, "go!"

The ugliest dog I had ever seen bounded through the knee-high weeds and ran straight toward me, barking the whole way. I stared at it until it jumped into my legs, knocking me to my butt. It wasn't that it was so strong as it was I was so dumbstruck.

I got onto my knees just in time to avoid being licked to death by the rat-dog.

I laughed. It was a puppy. An ugly puppy with the most wrinkled face I had ever seen, but a puppy. And one that seemed to love me to no end.

"What..." I gasped and grabbed the dog, holding the squirming thing in my arms as long as I could; he got free and jumped to the ground, just to go after Emilie.

"What is this?" I asked stupidly. Cory was laughing. "I mean, I know it's a puppy, but..."

Cory stood in front of me and shouted a command. "Sit." The dog sat down.

"He was from a spring litter. When you told me about your lost puppy, I thought... I thought you might like another. So, I sent a letter to my mom and dad and asked for one. They were able to train him to understand a few commands so far. He's really only a puppy, so he only knows 'sit', 'go', 'stay, and 'come' but..."

I turned to him as Emilie said "come" and puppy jumped into her arms. I think it surprised us both as I threw my arms around his shoulders, despite our height difference.

"Thank you!" I laughed. "What's his name?"

"I haven't named him yet," he replied. "I was going to let you choose his name."

I pulled away and blushed, suddenly realizing what I had done. "Thank you," I whispered. I watched Emilie play with the dog and smiled, turning back to Cory. "I'm going to name him 'Wrinkles'!"

Cory laughed. "Appropriate! Though he's not really a farm dog..."

"I don't care!" I turned to Emilie and the dog and crouched. "Hey, Wrinkles! Come!"

The dog looked at me with my arms open and ran into them.

We wrestled for a minute before a bird caught the puppy's attention and he bounded after it, the three of us in chase.

I felt so free from restraints and realized it was because, for once, Kyria and her daughters were not there to make me feel inferior. Delighted, I pulled my hat and bandanna off, letting the wind blow over my bald head.

Emilie and Cory stopped and stared at me.

"What?" I asked. Noticing where they were staring, I suddenly became self-conscious and began wrapping my head back up.

"No, don't." I was surprised to hear Cory's voice instead of Emilie's. "You just look... different..."

"Different, how?" I asked, not sure if I should get mad at him.

"I've never seen a bald girl before. Makes you look..."

"You look like a pig!" Emilie barked.

I whipped around and stared at her, ready to deck her. She was on her knees laughing.

"Oh! I just had to say that!" She gasped. Taking control of her breathing, she stood back up. "Really, Ori, you want to know how you look? You look like you might just grow your hair back one day."

This time I stared at her.

"Really. I heard what they were saying before, about how bad it was. It doesn't look that bad at all, now. Just some scarring, really."

I felt a gentle, hesitant touch on the back of my head and turned around. Cory was staring at me guiltily.

"I've seen worse," he said, finally. "It will take a few years, but Emi's right, it should heal."

Wrinkles barked at us and ran away. We looked at each other and took up pursuit of the little ball of energy.

That evening, the three of us sat behind the farmhouse and ate dinner, watching the sky burn with the evening fires. Wrinkles had flopped down on the ground in front of us and I was rubbing his tummy with my bare foot.

"It's called a pug. They're really popular with the rich right now. They don't get much bigger than, oh, this," he said, holding his hands apart a couple feet. "So, he's not really a farm dog, but..."

"I told you, he's great."

I sighed happily and looked at Emilie. She winked at me, I rolled my eyes, and we both began laughing. She hadn't left me alone about my crush on Cory since the previous fall, and that was our secret code that she was teasing me about it again. Cory was used to us breaking into laughter at odd moments. He had also given up trying to figure out what we thought was so funny in spring.

Cook came out with a jar.

"Here, Oria." She said, handing it to me. I opened it up and gave a wiff. It smelt like honey and lavenders. "I noticed you've finally decided to ignore that pompous person who calls herself your mother and take off your wraps. I'm proud of you." We giggled. "Now, if you'll just rub this onto your scalp gently before you go to bed, it should help the scarring. It's something my mother did for me once when I burned myself with oil and it worked wonders."

I smiled up at her. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it, dearie. Your mother would have wanted you to have the best care; unfortunately, Kyria doesn't think the same."

I grimaced. Wrinkles barked.

"You see, he agrees with you," Cory said, smiling. I smiled and rubbed the puppy's tummy again.

Unfortunately, Lilith and Della didn't appreciate Wrinkles as much as I did.

"You had better not let him in my room!"

"If I see even one dog hair on one piece of my clothing..."

"You're not going to let him sleep in your room are you?!"

"If I find dog excrement in the house anywhere..."

"He can sleep in my room!!"

I laughed as Lilith and Della gave Branden a look of utter disgust.

"I got a better idea," I said, pulling Branden away from the stares of his sisters. "Before father and... mom... get home, how about you help me make Wrinkles a new house."

He looked at me curiously. "Wha' d'you mean, a new house? Isn' he living here?"

"A doggy house, one we can put blankets and pillows and his food in. Tomorrow, Emilie, Cory, and I are going to use some of that old wood from the barn and build him a kennel, and I wanted to know if you wanted to help."

"Okay... sure!"

After the fire the previous year, Kyria and father had the barn torn down and used some of the unburned wood to complete construction on the house extension. As far as I knew, they were planning on rebuilding the barn by the next summer. Until then, a waterproof ground storage had been dug, lined with highly expensive cement and a slightly less expensive tarp, and filled to the brim with our harvest from the fall.

Any unused wood had been stored in the stables, in one of the unused stalls. After all this time, we figured we were allowed to raid it for supplies; the twins always did, anyway.

So the next day the four of us grabbed wood, nails, and tools and, based on Cory's descriptions of the size Wrinkles would achieve, built a doggy home for him. Then we raided my stepmother's linen closets, taking blankets I knew she never used, and used these to line the floor of the kennel.

I contemplated where to put it. I could put it in my room for Wrinkles to sleep in at night, but I decided that, more than likely, he would be made to sleep outside, at least during the warm months, so we carried it to the side of the house and set it up underneath the awning, hoping to keep most of the rain off, just in case.

When I introduced Wrinkles to his new pen, the first thing he did was take a piss on the blankets. I moaned. Cory said it was just his way of marking it as his. Emilie said it was because he could tell it used to be Kyria's and didn't like the smell of her. We all laughed, even Branden; he didn't like the smell of the potpourri she used to scent her linens, and wasn't old enough to understand what she really meant and probably wouldn't appreciate the humor, so we let him assume as he would.

The second major event happened at the end of that weekend.

We heard the carriage pull up to the front of the house and Lilith and Della raced - as proper young women do, by walking a stately pace - to the front door; Branden beat them there as he raced - as little boys do, with all speed - ahead of them. Out back, I scrambled to tie my scarf back on; it wouldn't do to have Kyria catch me without "proper" dress. I placed my hat on my head and bent down.

"Stay, Wrinkles. Stay." I told the puppy in the doghouse. He looked at me curiously but lied down without argument.

I went inside to meet Kyria and father. I honestly could have cared less about my standoffish stepmother, but I was excited to show father my new pet.

Three things hit me at the same time when I got to the front room. The first was that father had not come in yet. The second was Kyria's voice.

"Who said you could have a pet beast?"

I looked at her quickly; there was a note of condescending in her voice I had never hear before.

The third thing I noticed was that Kyria was wearing a veil of mourning.

I didn't put much together right away, other than she had just criticized my new puppy.

"He's not a beast," I said, standing my ground. "He's a puppy. And if you're worried about him making messes, don't be; he will stay outside in his house."

Kyria pursed her lips, thinking. "I suppose if I got rid of it now, I would never hear the end of it, either from you or Branden. Fine, then. He stays outside at all times."

"Except winter," I replied. "It's too cold then."

"You will lock him up, then. He will not run roughshod around the house."

I nodded, recognizing that was the best I was going to get and more than I expected in my first encounter. Father would be able to help me more in a bit.

"Where's father?" I asked.

Lilith and Della stared at me as if I had just grown a wart.

"Have you no respect?" Lilith reprimanded.

"Need you be so oblivious?" Della said at the same time.

"Easy now, girls," Kyria said, lying a hand on each of their shoulders. "You know she has not had proper education. Perhaps she is just ignorant of the clothing worn by those in mourning."

"Mourning?" I asked stupidly.

"Yes, mourning!" Della shot back. "Mourning, as in someone died and not as in the daytime!"

"Why would you..." I gasped suddenly, my eyes flying open.

"Why, I believe she understands," Lilith said curtly. "And we didn't even have to spell it out for her, either."

"Children!" Kyria reprimanded. "Do try to be understanding. After all, she has just lost her father. And after the death of her mother, too. No, I suppose I can not take the dumb beast outside from the child. Here now," she said, walking over to where I had crumpled onto the floor, sobbing. "Get up and act like an adult."

"I will need you to help out around here more now that your father is gone, rest his soul. He knew many things about farm life that I do not, and as of right now, I can not afford to leave, so you must take over his duties in upkeep."

I just nodded numbly, tears streaming down my face.

Kyria looked at me a moment longer. "You may go now. Just be sure not to be seen in public looking like that. I can't have my reputation soiled, especially now."

It wasn't until much later I learned what had happened, third-hand. Branden told me after his mom had told her children; I'm sure Kyria did that on purpose.

They had been on a cruise, I was told. It was just a short one, lasting only two days. Apparently, my father had eaten something that gave him stomach problems; as nobody else complained, the company was not held responsible and everyone just assumed he had eaten something he was allergic to. Seafood, probably, Branden said, since it was not a staple of farm life. I doubted it, but said nothing.

Father had gone to bed early that night and had not woken the next day. The doctors told Kyria that, since he had died in his sleep, he had not suffered.

Kyria wore her mourning veil, and eventually a dress, for the socially respectable amount of time, although nothing she did in that time seemed to suggest she missed him. Initially, it was this, more than anything else, that made me wonder if she had only married him for the money and then offed him when she didn't need him anymore.

My theories were shattered suddenly and unexpectedly. Once, and only once, about a month after she stopped wearing the mourning clothes, I saw her crying.

I had just walked by her room to see if I could snatch another blanket for Wrinkles when I heard something from inside. The door had not been shut all the way and, looking through the crack just right, I caught a glimpse of Kyria holding a portrait of my father, tears running down the one cheek I could see.

"You bastard," I heard her say. I caught myself before I made a sound; I had never herd Kyria speak so improperly before. "Why'd you have to leave? How am I supposed to care for four children by myself? And this farm?" She looked up suddenly and I backed away, leaving the blanket-snatching for later.

She never showed any of that sorrow after that; we did, however, get a live-in-nanny to watch over us not too much later. However, as Lilith and Della were in grammar school most of the days, and Branden began that fall, her job consisted mostly of household upkeep. I, as usual, helped around the farm: milking cows, collecting eggs, gathering fruits in the fall and planting the gardens in the spring, and helping with the horses and stables filled my days, along with new responsibilities of helping our animals give birth, mending fences, and helping to build the new barn, and, rarely, hunting fowl.

I didn't mind the new chores. I already enjoyed spending so much time outdoors. If the extra labor of building and mending was tiresome, it also kept me busy, happy, and in shape, the latter being a complaint I heard my stepsister whine about all too often.

And, at least with all the extra work, I was able to stay away from Kyria who would often invite friends from the city over for "afternoon tea". Without my father's guiding hand, she had begun spending money on anything she believed would help her keep her reputation and status in society at its peak; she would always impart costly parting gifts to her guests, hoping to retain their favor. I never understood this, of course; farm life was a simple one consisting of getting what you need and being grateful for extra. That my father had more than enough money I was thankful for, especially after his gambling spree.

As I grew older and, of course, my friends with me, we played games less in the evenings and taught each other more. Branden would come back from school bursting with things to tell us. It was from him that Emilie and I learned such things as history and astronomy. Because of his teaching us, Branden would excel in school; because of that excellence, Kyria didn't stop him from being with us when he was out of school.

Even Cory would join in our late night discussions. He always enjoyed speaking of philosophy and government. He said the city, which he visited regularly to see his parents, was so full of conflicting opinions, it was nice to be able to vent his frustrations on people outside its influence. We laughed and said he could do that as long as we could vent our frustrations about farm life. He joined in the laughter, all of us knowing how he would always get the better end of that deal.

In the early days, Wrinkles was my greatest source of comfort and joy. Having lost both parents and my first pet, all I could think about was how lonely I would be if I had lost my puppy too. Eventually, I pulled out of my sorrow enough to see my friends around me, Emilie and Cory, and finally recognize their friendship for what it was worth. And so, despite the pain I had from loss of my father, I finally understood the worth of true friends.

My crush on Cory deepened as the years passed, growing from a child's fantasy into a teenager's young love. I never acted on my feelings, though; he was my friend first and foremost, I told myself. Truthfully, I knew I was just afraid that he might actually like me in return.

"Hey! Ori! Emi!"

I turned away from the cow as Emilie continued milking.

"Hey, you're here early."

"Uh, yeah..." He trailed off.

"Done," Emilie said, standing up and turning around. "You're just in time, Cor; fresh milk." She lifted the bucket up in front of her, the milk sloshing against the walls. "Want some?"

"Sure," Cory said, taking the ladle from the bucket and taking a taste. "Heavy," he said.

"That's 'cuz it's not watered down yet," I replied, taking the spoon and having a sip myself. "Better this way. So, why're you here so early?"

"Yeah, about that..." Cory looked at the ground and Emilie and I looked at each other.

"Come on, Cor," Emilie wheedled, setting down the spoon and bucket. "We've known each other five years. You can't hide it from us."

"I know," Cory said, still looking at the floor.

"Cory," I said, stepping up to him and placing my hand on his shoulder. "You can tell us."

He looked up into my eyes and I saw tears beginning to form; I glanced at Emilie and knew she had seen it too. He blinked a couple times and the moisture disappeared.

He gently drew my hand off his shoulder and took a step back.

"My parents have asked that I return to the city," he said, smiling awkwardly. "We knew this day would come. Sorry it had to be now."

"Don't be sorry," I said, smiling back. "You need to obey your parents. I understand. Trust me." I said cynically, sneering. We glanced at each other before laughing.

"Thanks," Cory said.

"Hey, no problem," Emilie walked over to him and gave him a hug. "Thanks for coming by. Would have wondered where you ran off to otherwise."

Cory squeezed back. "Couldn't have that, now could we?"

They let go and I walked up to him.

"Thanks for being my friend," I said honestly. "You two saved me back there when I lost my father. I don't know what I would have done..."

Cory hugged me and I returned the embrace.

"Don't fret your pretty bald head over it," he said. I laughed.

"I'll miss you," I whispered.

"You too," he whispered back.

"No mushy-mushy now you two!" Emilie said. We broke away laughing. She never let up.

Cory nervously stuck his hands in his pockets and looked back at the ground. "Maybe I'll see you again someday."

"When I stop by the city next, I'll look you up," I replied.

He looked at me and smiled. "Sounds great."

We all knew I never went to the city.

A tear fell down my cheek and he quickly grabbed my hands. "Please, don't cry," he said. "I promise, I'll come back someday."

I smiled weakly. "It's a deal."

He let go of my hands and stepped back again. "Bye Emi, bye Ori."

"Bye Cory," we said in unison.

He turned and left, Wrinkles running from around the side of the barn and plowing into his legs. Emi and I laughed as he dropped down to pet the dog. When he stood, we waved him away and watched until we couldn't see him.

"What's that?" Emilie asked, pointing to my hand.

"What's what?" I looked. My hand was in an unconscious fist, holding on to something metallic.

"Well?" Emilie prompted.

I opened my hand. Cory had dropped a ring in my palm when he had grabbed my hands. It was a simple wide ring, silver, with a golden stone set in the band.

"Can I see?" Emilie asked. I handed her the ring and, upon examining it, she gasped. "Look!"

She held it up for me to see. Inscribed inside the band was the name "Oria".

Emilie smiled at me. "I think somebody has a crush on you!"

"Stop it!" I said, snatch the ring from her hand. "Maybe. But he's gone now, remember? So..."

"So? He said he'd come back. Just imagine, if he's rich enough, Kyria might let you marry him."

I sneered. "If he's rich enough, she'll make Lilith marry him. I hope he's poor. At least then Kyria won't care if I marry him. She'll probably be happy, as long as I promise to break all ties with her and her family. Which, aside from Branden, I would do in a second."

Emilie smiled. "Well, are you going to put it on?"

I considered. "No. We still have too much work to do. I don't want it to get ruined. Or lost." I glanced at her meaningfully.

Over the previous four years, since my father's death, much of my stuff had gone "missing". Of course, I knew what had really been happening. That which my stepmother didn't deem needful for me to have had been sold, along with most of my father's things. Her bedroom was exclusively "Kyria", with nothing left that used to belong to my father; she had even sold the old bed and gotten herself a new canopy one. The one exception was a portrait of my father which, aside from me, no one understood why she kept.

Even more recently, Kyria had been clearing out other rooms of furniture. The servants were all moved into one room and, when Lilith and Della moved back in together, I knew something was happening.

About a month after Cory left, in early summer, Kyria, for once, told me herself.

"Pack you belongings," she told me. "We're moving."

No more than that. I was never told why, though I figure it was because she was getting tired of farm life and had finally been able to get all the worth she could while living on it. Later, I learned, she had rented it out to another family who would pay her in commodities from the farm, such as milk, eggs, wheat, and fruit from the orchards, saving herself the money and the necessity to buy those items.

"What about the staff?" I asked the next day, couching my fears about leaving Emilie behind in an ambiguous question.

"What about the staff?" She echoed.

"Are they coming with us?"

"The farmhands will stay; they are needed by the next residents to run the farm. Household staff comes."

"And the cook and her daughter?"

Kyria looked at me suspiciously. She knew of my friendship with Emilie. "Yes, I need them. But you must not bother the girl when she's working."

"And Wri... and my dog?" I asked. Kyria hated that I had become so attached to the animal.

"Yes," she said, a mischievous light in her eyes. "The dog comes, too."

I sighed. That was almost a bigger worry for me than leaving Emilie, and I was glad that she hadn't put up an argument, although I wondered why.

The night before we were to move, a miracle happened.

I was rubbing my head with the cook's honey lavender ointment; I had been doing it piously every night since she had given it to me. Although no one could see it during the daytime, at night, in my room, I noticed the improvements to my scalp. The lotion had softened the skin, seeming to break down the scar tissue that used to cover my head. At first it had itched as the skin peeled away and formed new skin underneath. I didn't know how many layers of skin I had gone through before it stopped itching and began hurting.

It didn't hurt all the time. But once the scars were gone, the skin was always pink and tender. Even so, I continued to put the ointment on my scalp, hoping that one day I might be able to walk without the head coverings. Maybe I would be able to get a wig.

I never thought my hair would actually grow back. It had been five years since the fire, and I had forgotten what it felt like to not be wearing hats and scarves all the time. But that night as I rubbed the lotion in my head, I felt fuzz.

At first I thought something had come off the bandanna. But when I tried rubbing it off and it wouldn't come off, I knew.

I met with Emilie in the kitchen late that same night.

"Emi, I need your help."

"Anything."

I glanced around, making sure no one would hear us. "I need you to take my mother's chest and put your things in it, on top of hers. I need to bring it with me, but if Kyria thinks it's mine, she'll take it. If she finds out what's in it..."

"That's fine. She won't think to search my stuff. And it's old enough, she won't give it a second thought. I'll need your help carrying it up here, though."

"No problem. And, Emi?"

Emilie hesitated. "Yeah?"

"Feel my head."

Emilie stared at me like I was crazy. "What?"

"Feel it. My hair."

Gingerly she reached out and ran her hand across the top of my head. "It's fuzzy!" She cried, a loud whisper.

I smiled. "It's growing back!"

"Congratulations."

"Thanks. Now let's get my mother's chest."

Fortunately, our plan worked, and Kyria barely noticed the chest along with all the other servant's belongings.

When I refused to lock Wrinkles in his kennel for the trip, Kyria made me lie under a blanket with him in the back of the supplies carriage. He shed a lot and all three of my female family members refused to let him stay in the covered carriage with them. Branden would have offered to keep me company, but we both knew Kyria would never let her son do something so disrespectful.

I didn't mind. All in all, I was truthfully grateful that I didn't have to make the four hour trip confined to a small room with my three hated family members. And Emilie helped me make the best of it; the servants were made to either walk or, those that could, ride horses during the trip. Kyria didn't feel it needful to spend the extra coin to rent a carriage for the staff.

Emilie, as she and I had been taught by the twins, knew how to sit a horse, so she was one of the lucky ones who was able to ride. She walked next to the supplies the entire way, talking to me, letting me know where we were in relation to our destination.

What she described was new to both of us. We had perhaps each gone to the little town nearby the farm once in our lifetimes. The closer we got to the city, the less Emilie knew; all around, there were things neither she nor I had ever seen before, and she was at a loss to describe what the city looked like.

"Do you think we'll see Cory?" Emilie asked me once after a pause.

I thought about it. "Maybe. But I never asked his last name. I don't know which family he's from. How do you go about finding someone who you know by first name only?"

Emilie didn't say anything for a bit. "I don't know. I never thought about it. I guess I never thought we'd leave the farm."

I hadn't either, and we both knew it, so I didn't have to say anything.

Our new house was situated in the middle-class part of the city.

The city, Charwoo, was set up in a series of concentric rings. In the center of the city was the castle where the royal family lived. The first ring of buildings surrounding the castle housed those people who were either very rich or very influential or both. Then there was the upper marketplace, where those whose goods were considered of highest quality set up their wares. Further out was the middle class, the one Kyria was apparently part of; another series of markets were beyond that, and finally the lowest class, the poor and homeless, were forced to make their way through life on the outskirts of society, along with any peddlers and gypsies that came through. Within the two residential areas were the schools.

I had never before seen a home with two floors, a style most of the buildings in the city were built in, including our new one. The barn had a loft, true, but it was not the same thing as an entire floor for living. The first time I saw all the houses with two floors, I was worried that they would all come crumbling down; Branden later assured me they were extremely sturdy. I decided to believe him, as the castle had even more floors, and was sure the royal family wouldn't be living in an unsafe building.

We settled in quickly. The bottom floor had a main seating room, a dining room, a kitchen, and four bedrooms. The top floor had five bedrooms. Three indoor toilets were located downstairs, an unfamiliar, yet pleasant, notion. Kyria made sure we all understood from the beginning whose was whose: She and her daughters would use one, the servants would use another, and the third was reserved for guests and Branden, as men should not share a lavatory with women unless absolutely necessary; sharing with his sisters was not considered a necessity.

Kyria and her daughters each got their own room on the bottom floor, along with Branden. The live-in servants and I all shared the five on the top amongst ourselves. I didn't mind, though; Emilie and I were able to share a room. I'm sure her mom helped our cause, promising the treats that were handed out secretly for first month.

We spoke about it as soon as we were told about the arrangements. I knew I had to hide away my mother's chest, and Emilie thought it would be best if we used the attic; if it was dusty enough, Kyria would never think to look or store anything there. So when we were ushered upstairs, we split up to find the room which had attic access. We were lucky: it was not the largest room available. I didn't think we would have been able to convince the others to let two girls have one large room, especially when Kyria and her daughter's personal servants would be rooming three to the one. As it was, a little pleading and some promising to help out with menial chores around the house for the first year convinced even the most hard-nosed to let us two have the room we wanted all to ourselves.

The upstairs rooms were a little warm in the summer and cool in the winter. Fortunately, every room had a window, and in the summer, when it became too hot, we would all open our windows and doors and let the breeze blow through them all, cooling the floor slightly. In the winter we all just kept our doors closed and tried to preserve heat.

Wrinkles shared the room with Emilie and me. We only had a small yard, something Kyria commandeered right away for her entertaining. So my dog, now five, took up residence in our room under the condition that he never be allowed downstairs unless I received Kyria's permission each and every time. Fortunately, he had been paper trained before I had gotten him, so we didn't have many issues there.

However, the worst with this deal was summer; it was too hot to leave the door closed and keeping it open would allow Wrinkles to run free around the house.

We finally devised a solution by cutting the door into two parts, halfway up. I had learned a bit of carpentry while helping rebuild the barn, so knew how to install a simple lock on the upper half of the door. Using this method, the bottom half, too tall for Wrinkles to jump over, was always kept closed, the top half with the ability to be locked to the bottom at night and in winter. As Kyria and her daughters never came upstairs, they never knew.

It wasn't too bad, living in the city, although it was as different from the farm as could be. I didn't have the run of the fields anymore, nor the chores I had come to enjoy. Instead, I often volunteered to run to the marketplace to buy food and supplies, the only time I got out of the house. Kyria would watch my spending carefully, making sure I didn't pocket any of my shopping allowance and would look at everything I brought back to make sure I hadn't spent any on myself.

If, after a week, I didn't abuse my privileges - which I never did, though she didn't always believe me - she would give me a little money of my own and let me wander the lower marketplace for one hour, during which time I could buy whatever I wanted, if I could avoid being pick-pocketed. Sometimes I didn't spend it all - though that was rare, considering the few coins she gave me - and these times I was allowed to keep the change; She believed that if I was given the opportunity to do so, I might learn something she called "money management". I didn't tell her I already knew the value of money, thanks to my father.

Once in a while, Emilie was allowed to come with me, and I would share whatever coin I had with her, both that week's allowance and anything I had saved up. She, of course, didn't get paid; her mother did, but she had to save everything she could to buy the two of them clothes and, less often, replacement pillows and blankets. Emilie understood, and so did I, so we made the best we could off of my meager allowance.

Lilith and Della, now sixteen and thirteen, continued to attend grammar school; however, now that they lived in the city, they were "privileged" enough to attend those schools in the high-society circles. Apparently, although she didn't rate high enough socially to live among them, Kyria did have enough status among the rich and influential to send her children to the same schools those people sent theirs to. Branden, still only eleven, was not considered sophisticated enough to attend those schools, especially considering his "wild behavior as a child". I knew this to mean Kyria now regretted ever letting her son play with Emilie, Cory, the twins, and I when he was younger.

Kyria never even considered sending me to a proper school. The one time I asked if she was going to now that we lived in the city, she just laughed and said I was too "coarse and undomesticated" to learn proper manners now. I later heard her related the story to Lilith who commented, "she would be a disgrace to the family, dressed as she has to be!" she said, referring to my head. Kyria didn't disagree.

What they didn't know was that, over the course of the months and years following our move, my hair continued to grow back in steadily, if slowly. I always wore the bandanna and hat, hiding my hair. No one knew except Emilie; I didn't even tell my little brother Branden. I just kept it swept up under the layers of coverings, keeping myself as inconspicuous as possible.

It seemed to work fairly well. Having nothing else to do, I tended to help Emilie in the kitchen most days. Emilie's mother was still there as well, although all three of us believed that, with Emilie being so old, that one of the two would be sent off soon; no use having more cooks than necessary and feeding more mouths than needful.

I believe it was the day, about a year after our move, on which Kyria recognized how I spent my days that decided it. I had been helping in the kitchen and she had stopped in to announce a small fete she would be holding the next evening. When she saw me, she paused; I know she was considering my role in the household.

She nodded to herself and left, saying nothing at the time.

Two days later, Emilie's mother was told that an offer had been made for the cook's services at another house, an offer that Kyria believed would benefit everyone. Emilie cried that night and we all knew Kyria had just traded what she believed to be an excess body for more wealth and status.

"Oria," she had confronted me afterwards. "You seem to enjoy your little friend's company. You also seem to know your way around the kitchen fairly well. Would you like to work in the kitchen with her more, officially? I can pay you..." she paused, thinking. "I will increase your weekly allowance by half a silver. Think about it; I know you and your friend like shopping together. Now, she will be paid, and with extra money, you two could... well... you know..." she waved her hand dismissively.

I knew I wasn't going to be sent to school, and I was already in the kitchen most of the day, anyway. "All right," I agreed.

"Good, good. And if you'll help out around the house some, I'll add another half-silver to it."

I nodded. I had already been helping keep the rooms clean, the bargain made with the other servants when we first moved in. I figured, as long as I was going to be cleaning anyway, I might as well get something from it.

I believe I was one of the lucky ones; Emilie was another, probably because she had been around before my father had passed away. I often heard Lilith and Della, and, rarely, Kyria, raising their voices at their personal attendants. The mother and two daughters, both about Emilie's age, had come with Kyria's family when they first moved onto the farm and had stayed with us when we moved to the city.

I heard the mother muttering to herself one day when I went up to care for Wrinkles. She was in her and her daughter's room, mending the lace trim on one of the Della's gowns.

"What's the matter?" I asked, sitting on the edge of one of the beds.

"The ladies," she grumbled. "A stitch out of place and I need to take the whole thing apart and mend it. And a store error, even."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Why do you stay, then? If you're a paid servant, can't you take your daughters and leave?"

She stopped her mending and looked up at me. I sat up straight.

"I suppose," she said, reluctantly. "But who would take us in. My daughters are old enough to be wed, but have no dowry. Which means we must all find jobs. I doubt anyone else would take the three of us. No," she said, looking back at the gown and picking up her needle. "This is the best the three of us can do. They're not that demanding, really. Just a bit..."

"Pricks?" I asked. "Selfish snobs?"

The woman laughed. "Yes, I supposed you could say that. Though," she looked around, as if afraid someone might have heard, "you really shouldn't be saying those kinds of things about your own family."

I crossed my arms and frowned. "They are not my family. My family died. Those people are just brainless pom-poms. Selfish, thoughtless, pricks."

The woman looked at me expectantly.

"Well, except Branden."

The woman smiled. "Ah," was all she said before returning to her sewing.

Emilie and I heard the rumor while we were out shopping.

"Ah! Madams!" A jewelry hawker motioned to us as we walked the streets in search of some fish for dinner, the last item on our list. "You must come here!"

We looked at each other, smiling foolishly. Even though we were eighteen and twenty-one, we had never been called "madam" before. Obviously, he was going to try to pawn something off on us.

"Yes, great sir," I said, bowing extravagantly. Emilie tried to hide her laugh behind her hand. The merchant just smiled.

"Ah! Beautiful maidens!" Now I knew we were in for it; Emilie was wearing her kitchen clothes and I had on my gawky hat. "You are all too gorgeous to not have been invited to the fetes! Really, you must do justice to yourself by purchasing some of my unique and splendid wares!"

As we glanced down over his table, he continued. "I shall even offer them to you at unbelievably low prices, as your radiant beauty has all but stripped me of my skills of persuasion!"

Emilie looked at me and I returned her glance; this man was definitely priming us for something in specific. I remembered something he had mentioned, and curiosity got the better of me.

"Fetes, you say?" I responded. "Actually, I haven't heard of these balls yet. Could you perhaps tell us more, so we might know which fine gems of yours would go best with our gowns?"

The merchant smiled broadly. "Why, of course! Prince Alberto is holding a series of masquerades at the palace ten days hence. It is said he shall be looking for a bride."

"How can he know who he wants to marry if everyone is in mask?" Emilie asked pragmatically.

The jeweler looked around before motioning the two of us closer. "It is rumored he already knows who he wishes to marry, but must hold the fetes in the time-honored tradition. Truly, though, everyone knows it's because the King and Queen require it of him. Apparently, he hasn't seen this woman of his in years, though he has been looking, and his parents have gotten tired of his procrastination."

We all stood back up and I smiled. "Ah. Well, then," I said, glancing at his wares again. We were in the upper market, so this man's wares must be considered some of the more superior type, although I couldn't tell for sure.

After a moment of pretend contemplation, the man inquired, "Is there nothing you see that strikes your fancy?"

"Unfortunately, no," I replied with mock disappointment.

He looked me over for a moment. "Stay right here, please," he said before turning around.

Emilie and I glanced at each other again. "Go ahead, Emi," I said. She looked at me askance. "He might have something I'm interested in. He was kind enough, anyway, and I brought some of my savings. You go get dinner; I'll be right along."

She sighed. "All right. Just, don't let him barter you out of too much; his work here doesn't look that sophisticated."

I smiled. "I know. I'll be fine. I probably won't get anything anyway."

I handed her a fistful of coins; Emilie waved as she left, and I turned back around in time to see the merchant hold up a silver chain for my examination. I took it gingerly, looking at its craftsmanship.

I wasn't a professional, but I could tell that the chain was of higher quality. A pendant strung from the bottom was shaped like a teardrop, a golden gem embedded in it.

"It's beautiful," I said honestly.

"You like it? For you, I will give it away for ten and one-half silvers."

I thought about what I had brought with me. "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't have that much. I can offer you three silvers, though."

"For that work? Pretty you may be, but that is a little low, even for me to agree to. How does seven and one-half silvers sound?"

I hesitated. I doubted I could get him to go for four, but I didn't have any more than that with me.

"Sister!" I felt a tug on my shirt. "Sister! Sister!"

I turned around to find a boy, about the age of thirteen, staring at me with adamant eyes. "Sister, come here!"

I smiled at the merchant, begging his forgiveness. He waved back and nodded, placing the necklace behind his table for safekeeping.

I looked down at the boy. He didn't look particularly like either a servant or a son from the upper-class area, though he was well-kept enough.

"I'm sorry, you must have me confused with someone else," I said gently.

"No," he replied, obviously aware that I was never thought to be his sister. "I had to say that to get you away from that guy before he stole all your money."

"He wasn't going to steal..."

He smiled up at me, the look of secret knowledge in his expression. "I can get that pendant for you for half the price he originally wanted."

"Five silvers?" I contemplated. A month's worth of pay, plus some savings. Of my own money, I only had the four silver coins on me, but if I hurried when I got home, I could snatch the extra silver from my savings before Kyria asked for the money back.

"Yeah, probably. Just pretend I'm your brother and watch me with a sad but hopeful look."

He stepped past me and, leaning over the jeweler's table slightly, spoke to the man for a few moments. When the boy stepped away, the merchant looked up and beckoned me over.

"Ah!" He began. "Your brother tells a mighty sad story! I'll tell you what. I believe I can part with this magnificent piece, but only to the radiant beauty I see before me, for the low, low price of five and one-half silvers."

"Can you make it five?" I pleaded, playing to the cues from the boy.

He looked me over, considering. "Aye, madam, I can give it to you for five silvers. And a kiss."

I laughed as I took the money out of my pocket. "Come here," I said. He leaned over and I gave him a peck on his cheek. "For your generosity."

The man scooped up the coins. "A bag for your purchase?" He asked. "Free of charge," he added as he saw my hesitation.

I smiled. "Thank you."

I slipped the necklace into a soft, combed-wool pouch and stuck it in my inside jacket pocket before leaving to find Emilie.

I found her by the wharf at one of the fish stalls collecting a carefully wrapped package.

"Here," she said, handing me the unspent money and putting the fish in the sack with the rest of our supplies. "Did you buy anything?"

I pulled the pouch out and emptied the necklace into my hand as we began walking. Emilie whistled. "Wow, that's nice. Good craftsmanship. How much did it cost you?"

"Five silvers. And a kiss." I laughed as she stared open-mouthed at me. "Stop that. You look like the fish you just bought. It was a cheek-peck."

Emilie closed her mouth. "How do you know what the fish looks like? You weren't even here."

"I know what all fish look like," I said, slipping the jewelry back in my pocket.

Emilie stopped, frowning. "Who's that?" She asked, pointing behind me.

I glanced back to see the boy from earlier standing a few feet from me.

"He's..." I paused; I didn't know how to introduce him as I didn't even know his name. "He helped me get the necklace for a deal."

I turned around. "Thank you," I said. "What did you tell that merchant?"

He smiled broadly. "That our mother just remembered she needed milk and butter for dinner but that she already gave you all the extra money to buy yourself something nice since you went out of your way to help her out yesterday. But now that some of that money needs to be spent on food, and since you are such a great sister that always helps out mother when you can..."

Emilie and I were laughing by the time he was done. "Where did you come up with a story like that?" Emilie asked.

"Oh, just off the top of my head."

I caught my breath and looked at him. "Why did you help me?"

He suddenly looked shy. "You really are quite pretty, miss."

I smiled. "Even in this gaudy hat?"

He looked up at the hat as if for the first time. "I never noticed it before," he innocently replied.

We had all stopped laughing a few moments later.

"What's your name?" Emilie questioned.

"JasonLee, or JayLee," he replied. "And before you ask, no, my parent's won't be worried about me. I'm an orphan."

His pride in his statement caught my interest more than the why or how the statement begged for.

"I usually hang out down in the lower marketplace," he continued before we could say anything. "But I thought it might be fun to wander up here for a change. The people who come here are usually more stuck-up and less generous, but once in a while you can find someone nice." He beamed at me.

"What?" I said. "I haven't done anything for you yet."

"Nah, but you were sure nice doing it. You didn't shove me away when I called you 'sister', and that counts for a lot where I'm from."

"Do you often do these 'favors' for people?" Emilie asked.

"Oh, yeah, all the time. I have whole groups of people for whom I'm a son, brother, servant, messenger-boy... you name it. I don't ask for anything, and I do a good job, so they usually give me a coin or two for my time. The stingy ones I stop helping out." He made a disgusted face.

We laughed again and I looked at Emilie. She shrugged and I glanced at what coins I had left.

"I'm not doing this just because of what you just said." I reached into the coin purse and pulled out three copper coins, handing them to the boy. "You really helped me out back there, and I thank you for it."

He looked in his hand and smiled up at me. "I knew you were nice." Tucking his money into his pocket, he looked at me again. "If you ever need me again, you can ask the lady selling rugs, just up the street from the jeweler's, for 'boy Jason'. She usually knows where I'll be found if I'm around." He turned and ran off. "Bye," he shouted over his retreating shoulder.

"Hmm," Emilie said. "Wonder what that was about."

"Maybe the same reason I always help out around the house - nothing better to do."

Emilie nodded and we headed back home.

When we got there, royal couriers talking to Kyria and Branden. We quietly snuck around the back; Kyria didn't like her servants to be seen unless absolutely necessary.

Emilie dropped the food off in the kitchen and I quickly ran to get the extra coin I had spent, including the money I gave to JayLee. Even though much of the purchasing is done through bartering, if my stepmother even thought I had spent some of her money, I would be out my weekly allowance and, too, my pay for housework.

I heard an unfamiliar voice waft through the window. "...children do you have?"

"Three. Two girls and this boy," I heard Kyria answer.

A pause. "Four invitations." Another pause. "Here, madam. Two guests, one adult female chaperone, and one male chaperone. These will get you in all three days. We hope to see you at the palace masquerades."

I put my money back in its hiding place, palming the silver coin I needed. Three children? I had not put much credit in the merchant's gossip, but now that I knew it was true...

I bolted down the stairs and into the kitchen. I had found out the hard way it would not do to have Kyria catch me upstairs before she received the unspent money.

I needn't have hurried. Emilie and I were well on our way in cooking the meal before Kyria came in. I handed her the change and she left without a word.

"It's true, then," Emilie said later. "The prince really is holding a fete."

"Three," I corrected numbly.

"What's wrong, Ori?" Emilie leaned over.

"She didn't get one for me. They asked how many children she had and she replied 'three', her daughters and Branden."

Emilie gasped softly. "I'm so sorry, Ori."

I punched the doughball. "I'm not. Who wants to go to a stupid dress-up ball anyway?"

Emilie smiled. "You do."

I looked at her and smiled weakly back. "Yeah," I replied before forming the bread loaf.

I was playing in my room with Wrinkles later that night when Branden stopped by. He alone of Kyria and her children went upstairs.

"Hey, O," he said. Though his lisp had been trained out of him, he still called me by his childhood nickname for me.

"Hi, Bran," I replied, smiling and tugging on the rope with Wrinkles.

"Hi, Branden," Emilie said from her bed where she was reading.

"Hey, you know about the palace masks, O?"

"Yeah," I said, not looking up.

"O," he said stubbornly.

I finally turned to him. "What?" I said defiantly.

"I got you an invitation."

I stopped playing. Wrinkles tugged the rope from me and ran around the room with it. I stood up and walked to the half-door.

"You what?"

"Kyria didn't get one for you, but... It's a masquerade. I'm sure we can get you something suitable for your head." He held up an envelope.

"Oh, Bran!" I said, throwing my arms around my brother. He may have been three years younger than me, but he was already taller. Letting go, I looked about the hallway quickly. "Come here," I said, opening the door.

Branden stepped away as it swung outward. "I can't!" He said, alarmed. "It's not proper!"

I laughed. "When was the last time you were worried about what's proper when it comes to me?"

He glanced at the invitation and laughed, entering. I closed both halves of the door. Emilie set her book down and glanced at Branden, then me.

I took off my hat and began unwrapping my bandanna.

"O," Bran said, but I stopped him. As the bandanna dropped to the floor, my hair came tumbling off my head, released from its constraints.

I took my hair down nightly to brush it, although I usually kept the kerchief wrapped about my head while I slept, just in case. It had grown steadily over the last four years and was now down to about my mid-back. It was a rich gold with a red undertone; every time I brushed it, I was reminded of my mother's hair and the colors of fall.

"O!" Branden said, his jaw dropping. "Your hair... your hair! It grew back!"

I smiled.

"But... how long?"

"I noticed it the day before we moved here."

"Why haven't you told me?"

I paused, shuffling my feet. "I guess... I guess I didn't want a big deal made out of it. I didn't want Kyria to know. I would rather put up with the insults than..."

"It's okay. I won't tell anyone."

"Only Emilie knows. And now you."

"O, it's beautiful. Even more beautiful than before the fire."

I smiled again. "Thanks."

"It's true," Emilie said from the bed. I looked at her. "I was wondering how long it would be before you told him. If no one else. You lost it saving him. I thought he would be the first person you would tell. I just didn't think it would take four years."

I laughed.

"I understand why you didn't," Branden said. "My sisters would be so jealous if they knew you had such beautiful hair."

I blushed. "You're my brother, stop talking like that."

"Oh, Beautiful maiden!" I heard from behind me. "You have the most gorgeous hair. You are a radient beauty indeed!"

I spun and faced Emilie who was doubling over in laughter. I ran over to my bed and grabbed my pillow and chucked it at her head, missing as she ducked. Wrinkles jumped up from where he had stopped earlier and ran to the pillow. Emilie grabbed it from him just before he thrashed it to death and threw it back at me.

Branden looked at the two of us before throwing up his hands. "I'll put the invitation here," he said, setting it down on the small nightstand by my bed.

I jumped up, barely avoiding the oncoming missile. "Here," I said, grabbing it quickly and ducking as Emilie's pillow came at me. It flew straight at Branden who caught it at tossed it back. "I'll put it away so nothing happens to it."

Wrinkles was running back and forth, barking. Branded dropped to his knees and grabbed the previously discarded rope, getting the dogs attention. "Make sure you put your hair back up," he reminded me.

I wrapped my head, hiding all traces of my golden locks.

"Thanks again, Bran," I said, holding him again.

"Just make sure you use it. It took quite a bit of persuasion to convince the messengers I had another sister."

"Oh?" I asked, ever curious.

"Yeah. I think I said something about a stepsister being gone so much of the time Kyria was prone to forget about her."

I laughed. "Not too far from the truth."

"I think he gave me one because he believed I had a sweetheart I wanted to take."

Emilie laughed. "If you'd gotten two, I would have gone as your sweetheart!"

Branden made a face and I laughed with Emilie.

"Now I remember why I stay away from girls," he mumbled as he left.

With a royal fete on the horizon, Kyria hired a dance tutor for her three children. Lilith, now twenty, was given the most attention, as Kyria hoped to find a suitor for her eldest daughter from among those who attended the masque. Della was not forgotten, however, for both girls would need to know how to step properly if the family was to win the admiration of high-class society and, possibly, the prince. Braden was taught the variation that men need to know and was often used as a dance partner to the girls, in case he was asked to dance at the fete.

The dining room was converted into the dance room for these sessions. The table was pushed to the far wall and the chairs were stored in the kitchen. Leaving the kitchen door ajar and the back door open, I could hear the tutor's instructions to the girls and, though I couldn't see what was happening, I was able to learn the basic steps from what I heard. I never came even close to mastering any dance step, but at least I believed I could fake a dance or two if I needed to.

I never planned on actually dancing at the fetes. I knew there were going to be hundreds of people attending and I was expecting to find myself, purposely, wandering the edges of the fete, simply taking in the experience. However, given the opportunity, I wasn't going to let myself be caught off guard by not taking advantage of any covert dance lessons I could grab. When Branden found out, he would stop by in the evenings and teach me what he remembered about his sister's steps.

The other major activity prior to the masque was the acquisition of appropriate attire for Kyria's children. With such an important event occurring, Kyria believed it necessary for her children to refrain from attending school for the ten days prior to the fetes and instead spent that time at the marketplace looking for dresses and masks for her daughters.

I believe I was fortunate that I didn't have to go with them on these excursions. The frustrated and irritable attitude of all when they returned was more than enough to convince me I wanted nothing to do with those shopping trips.

I did have some shopping of my own to do, however. It was Emilie who reminded me that I was not going to be arriving at the masque with the others and that I would need a coach to get me to the palace.

We were out shopping for food when a possible solution occurred to me.

"JayLee," I gasped, excited, and turned to Emilie. "Maybe JayLee can help."

"Well, he does seem to know a lot about how this city works. I guess it's worth a try. If he can't help, no harm done, right?"

I smiled at Emilie and we began walking toward the rug merchant Jason had mentioned before. Though I only planned on watching the fete from the side, I was extremely excited to have the opportunity to go and didn't plan on letting something as small as transportation stop me. I was determined that if I couldn't get a ride, I would walk there if I had to.

A woman with curly black hair and who looked to be about thirty was standing behind the stall of the rug seller.

"Hello," she greeted us with a smile. "Do you see anything here that catches your interest? I can help you get the best price for anything you want."

Emilie glanced around, intrigued by the patterns and materials used to make the rugs, as I got straight to the point.

"I'm looking for boy Jason. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Ahh," the lady drawled. "You do not find him, he finds you. Tell me where you are planning on shopping today and maybe we can arrange a meeting."

"Meats, spices, and fish, mostly," I replied.

The woman smiled and nodded. "Very well. Anything else I can help you with?"

I looked at Emilie and she shook her head.

"Have a fine day, then, madams."

We continued our rounds, purchasing the food needed for the next few days. We were purchasing our fish selection when a voice behind us called, "Sisters! Sisters! I found you!"

Emilie finished collecting our wrapped purchases as I turned around.

"JayLee," I replied, smiling.

"Hey, I heard you asked for me."

"Yeah. I need to know if you can hire a coach for me."

He looked at me wisely, a smile playing on his lips. "You want to go to the royal fete, don't you?"

I nodded.

"A coach, for three nights... are you sure you wouldn't rather use a horse?"

I thought about it. "With what I'll be wearing, I don't think that would be appropriate."

"All right then... what time will you be needing it for?"

I considered. The invitation said the masques began at nine o'clock and ended at one o'clock. Kyria would never be caught arriving late and would most assuredly stay the entire time.

"I think... I want to arrive at ten o'clock and leave at midnight." That would give me plenty of time to get dressed after the others left and prepare the house for the night before they came home.

"Two hours, three nights. I'm assuming you don't need a large coach?"

"Just me," I said, smiling sadly. Emilie and I talked about how she might have been able to attend, too, but we only had the one invitation.

"One seat," he mentally affirmed. "Style?"

I took a mental step backward. "Style? I don't care, as long as it gets me there clean and in order."

Jason laughed. "All right then. Come back in three days with..." he did some mental calculations. "Come back with ten silvers and I'll have something for you."

Emilie gaped.

"You look like a fish," Jason told her.

I laughed and Emilie glared at me. "Your fault," I said. Then, to Jason, "that's an extremely good price. Are you sure you can get it for that?"

"That's what I do!" He replied happily before bolting away.

"The first masque is four nights from today. If he doesn't have it..."

I looked at Emilie. "If he doesn't have it, I'll walk. I just hope I have enough saved up to afford it."

That night, Emilie and I pulled out my mother's chest from the attic. I had been planning, since Branden had gotten the invitation for me, to use these clothes. There was no way I could afford new clothes.

I was lucky; the chest was well-made, its construction keeping mothballs from eating away the clothes. I pulled out the items one-by-one, reminiscing on why I chose to keep these particular items. On top was some jewelry, delicately crafted and obviously of the highest quality. Five matching ring, necklaces, and earring sets in various shades of gold and silver metals, being emerald, sapphire, ruby, citrine, and turquoise. Feather masks, which I recognized immediately to be useful for this purpose, in black and red, emerald green and gold, white and gray, and royal blue and turquoise. Lovingly stored away on the bottom were my mother's favorite dresses, beautifully sewn and, I believed, fit for a princess. Looking at them, that's how I believed I would feel, anyway. In dove gray, white, emerald green, gold, red, and royal blue, I knew my mother had owned these first, and recognized, now, that she had gotten the masks to match the dresses.

Though in good repair, the dresses needed a good cleaning before they would be appropriate to wear to the masques.

"Beautiful!" Emilie sighed.

I smiled sadly. "I know. That's why I kept them. Mother loved these clothes. Especially this one." I gently caressed the emerald green one. "She would put it on for no reason at all and then swing with me in the tree. She always looked so beautiful in it." I sighed.

Emilie smiled. "I remember. Your father would always gently chastise her for it and she would reply, 'it's only clothing'."

"I'll wear this one," I pointed to the red one. "On the first night, with the black and red mask, and the ruby jewelry."

Emilie nodded and we set the items aside.

"On the second night..." I contemplated. "The royal blue, the blue mask, and the turquoise jewelery. And for the final night," I touched the green gown," this one, with the green and gold mask, and the citrine earrings. I've got other jewelry of my own to wear that night."

I reached under the mattress of my bed and pulled out my jewelry pouch. Opening it up, I pulled out the necklace I had recently bought and the ring I had received from Cory so long ago and placed both with the green dress.

Emilie smiled. "I hope you learned how to dance because you're never going to be overlooked wearing these!"

I laughed. "Help me put the rest of this away." I glanced around. "I don't want Kyria to find out about this."

Emilie nodded and we quickly packed the clothes and jewelry that I had not picked out, placing the chest back in the attic.

The next day, Kyria took her daughters out to search for dresses for the masque. Kyria was adamant that they would not return home until they bought the last items, as the fete was only three days away. Apparently, Della was being exceptionally picky about her last dress and Lilith couldn't find any jewelry she was happy with. I took the opportunity to wash and clean the dresses and masks I pulled out of storage.

Branden was home, a fact I forgot when I began washing, and he startled me when he walked out of the kitchen and into the small laundry area off the back.

"O?" He asked. "It's not laundry day. What are you doing?"

Startled, imagining Kyria was home already, I jumped up and stood, attempting to hide the laundry behind me.

"I... I..."

"Kyria is still gone," he reassured me. "She left me here today. I got everything I need. Not like my picky sisters."

I sighed, a deep breath. "I'm washing my clothes." When he gave me a funny look, I continued. "For the masques."

His eyes flew open. "Can I see?"

I motioned him over and showed him what I was working on. The masks had been soaked and gently cleaned already and were hanging up to dry. I was washing the blue dress currently, with the red and green ones on the side table.

"They're beautiful, O," he said. "Where'd you get them? How'd you afford them?"

I smiled. "My mother," I said simply.

Branden nodded. "You're right not to let Kyria see them. She'd snatch them from you in a second." He paused, glancing at me. "You're gonna be beautiful."

I blushed. "Bran, stop."

He smiled conspiratorially. "I can't wait to see you there. I'll know who you are and the others won't. It'll be great."

I laughed.

The day before the palace fetes was the day Kyria paid Emilie and I. Believing that we would both be left at home while the four of them went to the masques, she told us we could go to the marketplace and get ourselves something nice.

We scrambled up to our room where I pulled out all my savings, plus the little more I just received.

"I've got... only eight and one-half silvers," I said despondently.

"I've got another three," Emilie said, handing me two. "Here."

"Emi, it's yours," I tried to give them back. "I could never ask for your money."

"Ori, you need it. I don't. Go have fun for us both and tell me everything when you get back."

I threw my arms around her shoulders. "Thank you. I promise, I'll pay you back."

Emilie smiled at me. "How long have we known each other? You're like my sister, and I'm sure I'm more of a sister to you than those two pom-poms downstairs."

I laughed. "It's true. Ok, then, let's go get me a coach so I have somewhere to wear my fancy clothes to."

When we arrived at the stall selling the rugs, Jason was standing behind the counter hawking a beautifully woven piece to a couple of women. Emilie and I glanced at each other.

"I guess he really does do everything," I said.

"You think he gives them the best price for them or the best price for him?"

We chuckled and noticed the women walking away with a new rug.

"Hey, JayLee," Emilie greeted as we approached.

"Sisters!" He called back. "You come!"

"Did you get my ride?" I asked hopefully.

"Aye, that I did, and for less than I guessed. Ten and one-half silvers in all."

"Not much lower, but better than nothing." I began counting the money.

"That's what I told the man!" He said cheerily. "Ah! Not all at once." He took four and one-half silvers and pushed the rest back. "Pay two to the driver each night he picks you up. I'll take this as insurance that you'll use the ride. Now, where do we pick you up?"

I gave him directions to Kyria's house. "Ten and midnight, correct?" I reaffirmed.

"Yes, madam. Ten and midnight. Two hours. Three nights, starting tomorrow."

"Thank you, JayLee," Emilie said.

"Emi," I paused as we walked away. "I don't have shoes."

Emilie stared at me, then turned back to the stall. "JayLee," she said. "Where might we get some shoes?"

Jason ran to a doorway behind the stall and shouted something before turning and vaulting over the countertop.

"Ah, shoes, is it?" He took the measure of me. "Not much of one for heels, are you?"

"I've... never worn shoes with heels in my life."

"Yet you need something appropriate for the masque?" He paused, thinking. "I know, come with me."

He led us through the marketplace, past all the shops we often visited, and into the clothing district. Stalls full of scarves, jewels and pendants, dresses, shoes, pants and shirts, jackets, and more jewelry than I imagined existed lined the streets of this area. Emilie and I just stood gaping at the scene before us.

"Come along, sisters!" Jason shouted. "We're almost there!"

Emilie and I looked at each other and gave chase after JayLee.

He had stopped beside a modest shoe store and was chatting with the man behind the counter.

JayLee turned to us. "What color are you looking for?"

"Red, blue, and green. But I don't have..."

"Money is not a problem, madam," the man said. "I can make you a deal. You need three shoes, correct. I'll give you three shoes for a low cost if you return them when you are done."

"You sell used shoes?" Emilie asked, aghast.

"Not I, madam, but my friend in the lower market. His customers do not care if shoes are used as long as they look nice and fit well. So, tell me, what do you like?"

I glanced around his stall. Most of the shoes were well-made and of good quality.

"She likes low shoes," Jason piped in. "Not a big heel person."

"Ah, and in those colors?" The man searched around under his stall and pulled out a pair of shoes. "Low heal, but sophisticated look. Very comfortable." He explained.

He took the measurement of my foot and located three pairs in the colors I needed that had already been premade. They were all a bit large for my feet, but he said if I stuffed a rag in the toe it would fit well. "Can't make anything for you by tomorrow night," he told me. For the three pair it cost me another silver piece.

"Thank you, JayLee," I said as we left, my purchase in my bag.

"See? I told you I knew who could help you! Anything else?"

Emilie and I looked at each other. "No, just make sure my carriage arrives on time."

"Don't worry about that!" He called as he left. "You just make sure you're on time!"

When we arrived home, Lilith and Della were having their dresses fitted and altered while Kyria kept a watchful eye on all. Emilie and I decided it would be best if I ran upstairs to put my stuff away while she headed to the kitchen to start dinner.

It was a warm spring and we had left the windows open, allowing my dresses to hang up to dry where Kyria would not see them. I caressed the green gown again as I passed it and placed the shoes in the corner by the jewelry before heading to the kitchen to help Emilie with the food.

With all the excitement planned for the next three evenings, the daytime hours went by quickly with nothing memorable standing out in my mind. Emilie and I just attempted to stay out of the way most of the time, whispering to each other about how foolish we thought my sisters were acting and breaking out in laughter when Branden would poke his head in the kitchen and roll his eyes at the women in the other room.

As I expected, Kyria, Lilith, Della, and Branden left at half past eight, giving themselves plenty of time to arrive at the palace by nine o'clock.

Standing before my hanging outfit for the evening, the deep red one, I felt both excited and nervous about the upcoming event, though more of the former than the latter. Emilie helped me dress; the back was tied up with ribbons and there was no way I was going to be able to get it on myself. Emilie helped put my hair up as I put on my jewelry.

Emilie looked me over.

"You should leave your mask off until you arrive," she suggested.

I nodded, smiling at myself in the mirror.

"I don't remember dressing up this much since..." I sighed, in memory. "Since before my mother died."

Emilie took my hands. "You know, you look just like her," she said.

I laughed. "You were only nine at the time! How can you remember something like that?"

Emilie smiled. "Well, it was worth a shot. I couldn't let you leave in a melancholy mood, now could I?"

We heard a carriage roll up outside and, a moment later, a knock at the door.

Emilie and I raced downstairs, she with the money and invitation, me with my mask and shoes in hand. Despite their low heels, I still didn't feel comfortable going down the stairs in them.

Emilie answered the door as I hung back, putting on my footwear. Emilie laughed out loud and called me over. I reached the door and looked at my driver, understanding why Emilie was laughing.

JayLee was dressed up in a chauffer's outfit, not in itself humorous, but compared to how we had seen him in the marketplace, it was a big difference.

Jason bowed extravagantly low, obviously enjoying himself. "Madam!" He said, standing and gesturing to the coach behind him. "Your ride awaits!"

I laughed and gestured to Emilie to pay him the two silvers for the night. "You are my driver?" I asked, slightly skeptical.

"Of course! What, you think I don't know how to drive one of these things? I got it here, didn't I?"

"Why?" Emilie asked. "Why would you want to drive a coach?"

"Well," he motioned for me to climb in the carriage. "I can't very well actually attend the masque, now can I? So I figured, the carriage is going to be hanging around there somewhere; unless the person owns it, they all do. This means that all the drivers are going to be hanging out there, too. So if I can't attend the fete, I'll do the next best thing and hang around outside the palace."

Emile and I laughed as Jason climbed into the driver's seat. Emilie handed me the invitation and I placed it in my lap with my mask.

"I promise I'll tell you everything!" I called as I waved goodbye and the carriage drove off.

"You bet you will!" Emilie called back, laughing.

The drive was fairly short, and JayLee did know how to drive a carriage and avoid the worst of the bumps in the road. We arrived at the palace just before ten o'clock. There were a few others arriving at the time, but it was obvious most of the people had arrived at the official start of the fete.

I put my red and black feather mask on and stepped out of the coach. Jason smiled at me and nodded before driving away to wherever he was supposed to go. I took a deep breath and started toward the entrance. Despite my excitement, I had never been to a fete this large; furthermore, Kyria was in there somewhere.

The guard took my invitation before motioning me inside, letting me know I would get another when I left.

The first room was a foyer were people waited for others to arrive. There were only a couple people in there at the time, obviously impatient at being kept waiting. They glanced up at me, but dismissed me immediately when they saw I wasn't who they were waiting for.

I walked across the room toward the doors at the far end. I could hear music and see people dancing beyond. I stepped through and realized I had just entered the largest room I had ever seen.

It had to be at least six times as large as the farmhouse I had grown up in; and that was just the lower level. Three of the four walls had a balcony attached to them, held at least fifteen feet above the floor below by pillars that I didn't believe should be able to support that much weight.

I didn't know how many people were in there, but I could easily imagine it was half the city. Branden later told me that all the families in the upper and middle societies had been invited and that most had attended. Those people who were on the lower level were either dancing or watching the dancing from the sides. Those one the balcony were enjoying a repast of just about any food I had ever heard of and some I had never seen before. I momentarily thought about how much work the kitchen staff had to put into a fete this large before I came back to the present.

Apparently I had been stunned longer than I thought because a man standing nearby asked me if I was all right. I smiled and nodded, answering "thank you, yes," before quickly moving into the room.

I think I spent the first half of the night just staring around me. I'm not one to be awed easily, but this was something I had never even imagined possible. I even manage to make my way, despite my trepidation, onto the balcony level where I sampled some of the food available and again contemplated all the work that went into a feast this large.

I was standing on the bottom floor, admiring the flowing movements of those dancing, when I caught myself wondering where the host, prince Alberto, was. I hadn't heard any announcement of his entrance and wondered if he was already in the room and which person he could be.

"You look lost again," I heard a voice beside me comment.

I turned to see the same man who had caught me staring when I first entered. I smiled; fortunately, my blush was hidden behind my mask.

"Oh, just in thought," I replied, looking him over. He was dressed in a light blue suit, a mask in blue, white, and silver to match.

"What about, if you don't mind my asking?"

I looked out over the fete again. "Many things. The people, the food, the music." I looked back to him. "Actually, I arrived late, and I was curious as to whether the prince had already arrived or not and, if so, who he is."

The man nodded. "Apparently he didn't want to make a large entrance and just slipped in sometime earlier." He leaned forward. "I've heard the only reason he's thrown these fetes is to appease his parents. If so, it would make sense that he wouldn't want to let everyone know who he is so that maybe he can actually enjoy himself without all the bowing and fluttering and what-not, don't you think?"

I thought about it. If I were always recognized everywhere I went and I finally had a chance to interact with others without them immediately knowing who I was...

"In that case, it would make perfect sense."

"Now, as to who he really is..." the man glanced around and then motioned toward a small group of women accompanied by a few men. "You see them over there?"

I followed his gesture and was momentarily taken aback when I saw Kyria and her daughters standing with about seven other women. Then Branden caught my eye and nodded at me, obviously letting me know he recognized me and was glad I had been able to make it. He looked at his family members and the group of chatting women and grimaced.

I smiled. "I see them," I said.

"One of many groups of such, their purpose is to come to a consensus about who they believe the prince might be and then get a dance with him."

I smiled, laughing silently. That sounded exactly like what Kyria would try to do in a situation such as this. "And who is the most popular choice?"

The man searched around for a moment. "Ah, you see that man, there, in the gold and silver, the one who has a mask that looks like a falcon?"

I spotted the man just as the current song ended. He was obviously waiting for someone else to ask him to dance, and not a moment later a women was approaching him.

"And what do you think?" I asked turning to my companion.

He regarded me for a second before responding. "I will tell you, if you will take the next dance with me."

I considered. "I don't really know how to dance," I admitted. I wanted to dance, and had eavesdropped on the lessons just for this purpose, but I didn't want to embarrass him by accident.

"That's fine," he replied, listening to the next song begin. "This one doesn't have too many fancy steps, so if you will fake it, so will I."

I laughed and offered my hand. He lead me to the dancing area, out of the crowds that were lined up along the walls. I recognized that the steps for the song being played were one of the few that I had been able to learn thanks to Branden's help and the fact that my partner was correct that it was a fairly simple step.

We danced a few bars, getting the feel of each other's movements - or, more accurately, him of mine - before we spoke again.

"So?" I prodded. "Who do you believe to be the prince?"

The man laughed. "Very well." He looked over my shoulder and I knew he was searching the crowd for someone in particular. "I place my bets on the man in the forest green and brown, the one just heading up the stairs."

We turned and I spotted the man he was referring to. He walked straight, tall, and proud, obviously confident with his surroundings.

"Why him?"

"Other than his bearing is exactly how you'd expect someone of royalty to carry himself?" I laughed. "Ah, no other, really. To me, one man is just as likely as another. What about you? Who you do think is our prince-in-disguise?"

I smiled. "It may make no sense to you, but I don't really care."

"Then why all the questions."

We did a spinning step in time with the music before I could answer.

"Curiosity, mostly. I may not care to know for sure who he is, but it's fun to talk about who he might be, if only because I'll probably never know, and, in the end, it doesn't matter, does it?"

My partner regarded me for a bit before responding. "No, I suppose not."

We danced in companionable silence for a moment before he spoke again.

"Your hair," he said, running a loose strand through his fingers for a moment. "It reminds me of a story I was told when I was young."

"Oh?" I replied, intrigued.

"Have you ever heard the story of the Girl with Golden Hair?"

"No. Please, do tell."

"Well, once, about the time my father was young, there was a princess with golden hair who chafed at the bonds of royalty." He spoke as if reciting a memorized story. "Often, when she had seemed to disappear, she would be found running wild in the woods behind the castle lands."

"Late one night, when she had just turned nineteen years of age, she slipped out of her bedroom window and disappeared. Of course, when they found this out in the morning, they sent search parties to the woods, expecting her to be there. She was not, however."

"The king and queen sent out notices all over the kingdom, afraid she might have been kidnapped. Everyone was on the lookout for the Girl with Golden Hair."

"It wasn't until a year later that they finally found her. She had gone to the neighboring kingdom and cut all her hair off. Then she had fallen in love and married a farmer's son and, together, they had a beautiful baby girl who promised to have hair as golden as her mother's."

"What happened then?" I asked. "They didn't force her to return home, did they?"

"No. They saw how much in love she was with her husband and child and the life she was living. So, instead of making her return home, they gave her a dowry worthy of a princess."

"The next time her parents sent messengers to the princess, she had disappeared again. The husband's parents said that, with the dowry, the couple was finally able to move out. They also said they hadn't been told where the family was moving to, but that - and here they seemed to grow afraid - though the princess loved her parents, to please not look for them and let her and her family disappear into the common people."

"Because the king and queen loved their daughter, they respected her wishes. No one knows where they went."

"What a sad, lovely story," I replied. Inwardly, however, my heart was thumping wildly and not because of the dancing. The story sounded vaguely like my mother's tale; my mother, who also had golden hair.

"Once I didn't live on a farm. Once upon a time I lived in a beautiful house in the city where servants did everything for me. Then, one day, I met your father and fell in love. He was a farmer's son, and I loved the idea of living on a farm instead of the city. So I ran away from home and married my love, your father. When my parents found me, they recognized my love for my husband and let me live the life of the country lass."

"Strange how your hair, of anyone's I've ever met, reminds me of that story."

The song ended and my partner bowed to me before we returned to the crowd on the dancefloor's edge.

The clocktower began chiming and I paused to count. 1...2...3... All the way up to twelve. It was midnight.

It must have been a cue to my companion as well as myself. "Nice meeting you, Golden Hair."

I smiled. "And you."

I watched him disappear into the crowd, heading, perhaps, to the balcony.

I turned and made my way to the foyer, receiving another invitation for the following night's admittance, the stranger's story spinning circles in my mind all the way home.

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