Once Upon a Broken Heart (Once Upon a Broken Heart, #1)(20)
“Love at first sound,” her father would say. Then her mother would always kiss him on the cheek and say, “For me, it was just love at first.”
Then her parents would both be sure to tell Evangeline that not all loves happened at first; some took time to grow like seeds, or they might be like bulbs, dormant until the right season approached. But Evangeline had always wanted love at first—she wanted love like her parents, love like a story. And looking at this paper convinced her just a little more that she could find it here, at Nocte Neverending.
“This is all so very exciting,” Marisol squealed. It was a perky, purely happy sound. But a second later, Evangeline saw an unsettling shadow cross her stepsister’s petite face. “Even though it says you’re a risky choice, you’re going to need to be careful tonight with the other girls. They’ll definitely be all claws and teeth now.”
Evangeline knew this reaction was undoubtedly Agnes’s poison influence. But Evangeline did feel a sting. Right as Marisol had said the word teeth, the heart-shaped scars on Evangeline’s wrist had started to burn. She’d felt them more and more since she’d decided to go north. Usually, she ignored the stinging pain and the thoughts of Jacks that came with it. But just then, Evangeline couldn’t shake the unnerving idea that it wasn’t other girls she’d need to worry about tonight, but the blue-eyed Fate who’d left his marks on her.
Nocte Neverending didn’t officially begin until tomorrow, but this evening, there was a private dinner to welcome all the foreign ambassadors. Unlike the official ball where the prince only danced with five girls, this evening, he would privately meet with everyone, including Evangeline.
“Ladies!” Frangelica clapped. “None of this will matter if Miss Fox doesn’t make it to her dinner.” She waved them into a waiting coach.
The burning sensation at Evangeline’s wrist grew fainter but didn’t completely disappear as they rumbled down a bumpy gray lane lined with inns and taverns named after various Northern tales and historical figures. They passed a fortune-telling den called Vesper’s Whispers, and a clanging forge named Wolfric’s Weapons. The Eternal Prince appeared to be a popular pub, though Evangeline was more curious about the serpentine line of people leading to Fortuna’s Fantastically Flavored Waters. She didn’t recognize the name from her mother’s stories, but she wondered if the establishment was connected to the Fortuna girl who’d been mentioned in the local gossip sheet as a potential favorite.
They finally stopped near the end of the merry road at the Mermaid and the Pearls: Inn for Adventurous Travelers. Rumored to have been built out of the wreckage of a sunken ship, the inn was full of creaking floorboards and roaring warmth that immediately thawed Evangeline’s chilled skin.
The walls were papered in sepia-tinted pages covered in drawings of dazed sailors and wicked mer-girls. The theme continued in Evangeline and Marisol’s suite. The frames of their beds mimicked open wooden treasure chests with posters formed of the largest white pearls she’d ever seen.
According to her mother, The Mermaid and the Pearls was the story of a mermaid who tricked sailors into letting her turn them into giant pearls. It was one of the myths that always seemed more fairytale than history. But just in case it was more true than false, Evangeline avoided all the pearly bedposts as she dressed for the evening. She’d tried to get an invitation for Marisol, but tonight’s dinner was extremely exclusive.
Everyone in attendance was supposed to wear fashions that represented something about them or the kingdom they were from, and Evangeline’s dress from the empress clearly represented her. Instead of sleeves, there were merely thin lines of silver that wrapped around her arms and décolletage and then continued down, flowing over her snow-white bodice and fitted white skirt like veins of marbled stone.
She looked like a statue come to life.
Marisol went pale.
“I suppose it’s a good thing I wasn’t invited to this dinner. If I’d been given a gown to symbolize my life, it would have probably had a skull and crossbones embroidered over the chest.” Marisol said this as if it were a jest, but her voice was a little too high and a little too raw.
And just like that, the familiar wedge of guilt was back.
“It’s going to be different here.” Evangeline took her stepsister’s hand and squeezed. Once again, she was tempted to confess the truth and tell Marisol that her supposed curse was all Evangeline’s fault.
“Miss Fox!” Frangelica called through the door. “It’s time to depart, my dear.”
Evangeline closed her mouth and swallowed down her secrets. Confessing might ease her guilt, but it would ruin so many other things, and not just for her. If she told Marisol the truth, she might not feel cursed anymore, but she would feel betrayed.
For now, Evangeline would just have to hope that things really would be different here—and that the North had enough magic to create happier endings for both of them.
12
Evangeline didn’t know if it was the light of the moon or the North’s unusual magic, but the fog had turned to iridescent mist that set the streets aglow and made the tips of the needle-trees shimmer with hints of gold blue and fairy green as her carriage rumbled forward, over dips and divots and uneven roads that made her insides twist and churn. Or perhaps she was just nervous.