"I know," I said quickly so that she didn't have to explain. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her tight, pressing my cheek against her blonde hair. "Where's Papa?"

"'Round the barn with the Girards." Josette gave me a sly smile. "You should know, Papa gave me your pony."

"What?" I demanded, pulling away. "Why would he do that?"

Joss' grin widened and she grabbed my hand. "Come on."

Together, we ran across the yard towards the barn. I kept my skirts hauled up with one hand, leaping over the puddles so my boots would stay clean. Going around the side of the old wooden building, we found our father leaning against the fence next to Jerome Girard. His son Christophe stood a few paces away holding the lead of a beautiful bay mare.

"Thank you for the dress, Papa," I shouted, twirling in a circle. When I stopped, I noticed he had a strange expression on his face — not one I'd ever seen before.

Jerome took the piece of straw he was chewing out of his mouth. "Spittin' image of Genevieve. Won't be long until you have more help around the farm than you know what to do with."

I smiled, pleased at the comparison, but my father only grunted. Then he cleared his throat. "You ain't grown much taller this past year, but it's still past time you had a proper horse. This mare here's for you."

Shrieking, I grabbed Joss' hands and we spun in a circle. I threw myself at my father, wrapping my arms around him. "Thank you!"

He patted me on the shoulder. "You're a good girl, Cecile, even if you are a fair bit louder than a proper girl should be. Now git off me, you're going to get your new trappings dirty."

My face hurt, but I couldn't stop smiling. I hugged Jerome, then went over to where Chris stood with the horse. He was friends with my brother, but I'd barely seen him since Fred left for Trianon.

"She's beautiful," I said, stroking the horse's shoulder. "What's her name?"

"Oh. Well, we call her Cecile's filly." He scraped one of his boots across the ground and switched the lead from hand to hand. "I suppose that means you have the naming of her."

I held out a hand and the horse snuffled at my palm, looking for treats. "I'll call her Fleur."

"A good name for her, I reckon." Chris broke off his determined inspection of the ground to meet my gaze for a brief moment. "She's only just broke, but you can sit on her, if you want."

"I do want to. Will you give me a leg up?"

Taking hold of my knee, he lifted me onto her shiny back. She frisked around for a bit before settling under Chris' calm hand. He led us out into the yard, and I admired her smooth rolling stride. From up on her back, I could see all around, out past our sprawling farm house and barn and into the fields to the forests that carpeted the range, with the exception of the massive sheared-off face of Forsaken Mountain, its fallen half a broken slide of rocks between the range and the ocean shore. Beyond it lay Trianon, the largest city on the Isle, and the center of all my dreams.

"You like her?"

Chris' question tore me out of my thoughts, and I forced a smile onto my face to match those of every-one looking on. "She's wonderful."

Why could I not be content? I had a good home, a loving family, and everything a country girl could possibly want. But logical or not, my mind still burned with the desire to stand on stage and sing. Almost against my will, my head turned, eyes searching the road disappearing into the trees with the hope I might see a carriage coming towards us. But it was empty.

"Well, we'd best be getting back," Jerome said. "Horses won't feed themselves."

I reluctantly slid off Fleur's back, wishing she were wearing a bridle so that I might gallop off wherever my heart took me.

"I'll bring her back when she's ready," Chris prom­ised, patting the horse on the neck. "I'll get her trained up good for you. Then I'll take you riding."

I smiled and nodded, saying all the things I should, but my mind was wrapped up in irritation with itself. Why couldn't I be satisfied with what I had? Why did I want more when I knew that leaving would hurt those I loved?

The Girards said their goodbyes, and I silently watched them trot up the road on their horses, Fleur trailing along behind.

"What do you have planned for the rest of your afternoon?" my father asked. "Your sister said she's doing the rest of your chores as a birthday gift."

I smirked at Joss' white lie, but didn't out her. She was chasing my pony around the field in a fruitless attempt to catch him, so I suspected a lot of my chores would be waiting for me the following day. But my amusement didn't last. I considered the options avail­able to me, including stealing my pony back and riding to town to visit my best friend Sabine, trekking up to the pond to see if I could catch a trout, or sneak­ing over to the outskirts of the rockslide to see if I could find a glint of gold. On any other day, all three would be appealing, but I was reluctant to undertake anything that would take me away from the farm. What if she came while I was gone? What if she left because I wasn't waiting?

My father raised one eyebrow. "Well?"

"Things," I replied, hoping my tone suggested I had something better in mind than waiting in the ditch until dusk. Holding up my new long skirts, I started down the road.

"Cecile!"

I turned to look over my shoulder at him.

"She don't wake much before noon. Will be a few more hours yet before you can expect her."

I wandered through the trees of the forest, always making certain the road was within sight. There was only one way she could pass, and I wasn't willing to risk missing a moment of her visit. Anticipation kept me moving, and I danced through the trees, singing random notes and attempting to imitate the birds fly­ing overhead. My voice echoed through the woods, and closing my eyes, I imagined how it would sound in a theatre, what it would be like knowing the right songs to sing. What it would feel like having an audi­ence listening.

Finding a patch of springy moss, I lay down, watch­ing the clouds pass over the treetops through eyelids that grew heavier as the sun passed over the sky.

I don't know how long I slept before the sound of cantering hooves and jingling harness startled me awake. Scrambling to my feet, I sprinted toward the road, heedless of the branches clutching at my hair and dress. Through the trees, flashes of grey and brown were visible, the carriage moving much faster than was advisable on the rough dirt track. I stumbled out onto the road just after the horses passed, and the coachman gave me an angry glare though none of the animals had spooked.

"Wait," I called out.

But the carriage kept moving. I stood stock-still in the center of the road, certain they would stop. Cer­tain that my mother had seen me or sensed my presence, and that the door would open, one slender hand emerging to beckon me inside. But the horses plowed onward, slowly disappearing into the distance.

"You been waiting in the bushes all day, im-be­Cecile? Good thing I got here before dark, or the trolls might have snatched you up for dinner. Not that you'd make much of a meal."

I turned round to glare up at my older brother, who sat slouched in his saddle. "Hardly. I spent the morn­ing doing your chores."

"Aren't my chores anymore." Fred dropped a stir­rup for me and I swung up behind him, cursing my long skirts when they caught. "Bloody stones and sky."

"Gran will wash your mouth out twice with soap if she hears you talking that way," Fred said, starting down the road at a slow walk.

"You going to tell?" I asked, although I wasn't really paying attention. The carriage was already out of sight. I dug my heels into the horse's side, trying to urge it faster, but Fred checked the reins. The animal

sidestepped, ears pinned back, so I left off the effort.

"Nah," Fred replied. "She'd probably say you'd learnt it from me and wash mine out for good meas­ure."

"Probably." I leaned around him, considering whether I'd be better off hopping down and running on my own two feet. "Could we go a little faster?"

"Ain't I good enough company?" Fred turned around and grinned at me. He'd gotten taller in the intervening months, although no wider. Holding onto him was like holding onto a broomstick.

"Clearly we're the ones who aren't good enough company," I retorted. "You haven't been back once."

The smile slid from his face and he turned back around. "It's hard to get leave." His voice was dark, the tone indicating to me that there was more to the story than just an overbearing commander.

"Maybe they think you're coddled enough without time off, living with your mother and all," I teased.

"I don't live with her!"

I flinched, startled by the venom in his voice. "But I thought..."

"Well you thought wrong. I live in the barracks now, and frankly, I'd rather sleep on the streets of Pigalle than spend another night under the same roof as her."

My chest tightened and a million questions sprang to my mind. But before I could say a word, Fred laid the reins to his horse's shoulders and we were gallop­ing full tilt down the road. I almost toppled off the back, but it wasn't the first time he'd pulled such a stunt on me so I'd unconsciously been holding on. And anyway, I was far more concerned with the anger he'd directed at our mother than with the prospect of falling off a horse. What had she done?

As we tore down the lane towards the farm, I leaned around him to get a better look at the carriage. It was stopped. The coachman had secured the reins and was climbing off so he could open the door. My father stood a few paces away from the carriage, shoulders managing to be slumped and tense all at the same time.

Fred pulled his horse to a sliding stop, spraying mud everywhere and earning a frown from our father. I jumped off before he could push me off, and barely managed to smooth down my skirts over my woolen stockings before she stepped out of the carriage.

She didn't look old enough to be my mother. Her skin was pale and smooth against the dark purple vel­vet of her gown, blue eyes startlingly bright even from paces away. Before the sun had a chance to even kiss her skin, she snapped open a black satin and lace parasol, holding it above her head as she brushed her hair back over her shoulder. With one hand, she lifted up her skirts, revealing high-heeled brocade shoes that were slowly sinking into the mud.

My father took a few steps towards her, then paused, seeming uncertain of whether she wanted assistance or not. "It's good to see you, Genny."

"I've told you not to call me that." Like my own voice, hers carried well on the air, and I grimaced at her rejection of my father's familiarity. Seeing them in close proximity, it seemed barely possible they could be acquaintances, much less a pair married fifteen years. My father, the dirty, weatherworn farmer, and my mother, the sparkling opera star, A more incon­gruous pair I'd never seen. Time changed people, but either one or both of them must have been completely different when they first met. What had they been like, I wondered, and what had made them change?

"Papa, where's Joss?"

Fred's voice startled me, but my mother's frowning inspection of her shoes didn't waver.

"In the barn brushing the pony, I reckon."

"I'll go get her," Fred said. "You do want to see Josette, don't you, Genevieve?"

I looked up, surprised to hear him call her so.

"I'm sure I'll see her at some point," she replied, either used to him calling her by name, or not caring that he did. And clearly not caring whether my little sister made an appearance or not. Given everything that had happened today, a dull burn of anger seared through my guts at her casual dismissal of Josette. I snapped my face around, ready to put her in her place, but the full force of my mother's gaze stopped the words in my throat.

"My sweet little bird." She tilted her face slightly to the side, lips blossoming into a smile. "I've missed you dreadfully."

It was absolutely the most perfect thing she could have said to me. My anger disappeared as though it had never existed, and I started towards her, arms outstretched. But she didn't mirror the motion, and I ground to a halt. Awkwardly, I lowered my arms and took a step back, aware that both my brother and father were looking anywhere but at us. "I'm going to find Joss," Fred muttered, dragging his horse towards the barn.

Of course hugging her would be inappropriate. It was far too familiar. And while I might have started the afternoon off clean, Fred's horse had left sweat stains on my dress and out of the corner of my eye I could see a twig stuck in my curls. "I missed you too, Mama."

Her smile brightened, and with one hand, she reached out to cup my cheek. "My darling Cecile." Her fingers were soft and smelled of flowers. "Come, come. Let us go inside before the sun puts any more freckles on your face. We've much to discuss."

She took my arm, and I slowly helped her across the yard towards the house, wondering the entire time why she had worn such impractical footwear. No amount of scrubbing would get the mud out of the brocade. I steered her around the puddles, taking small steps so that I wouldn't splash water onto her skirts, but she didn't seem to care that she was wreck­ing her fine things.

"How was the journey, Mama?" I asked, helping her onto the steps.

"Dreadful, as always," she replied, waiting for me to open the door for her. She didn't bother to knock the worst of the grime off her feet before going inside, and I winced as she tracked mud across the wooden floor.