Until deep into the night, Daisy Clawyn could not bring herself to believe what she had heard that afternoon. Her tears had run dry, and now she slumped against the chair back, drifting toward sleep. Elisa kept vigil beside her.

  Since dawn, Amy Clawyn had been raving in her bed, lost in delirium. Daisy had remained at her side, clasping her fevered hand, whispering her name over and over. The lady's maid, Elisa, recognizing the gravity of the situation, asked her mistress: "My lady, might I forgo the market today?"

  She posed the question carefully. Even knowing Lady Clawyn to be kind-hearted and understanding, the maid still feared reproach for suggesting she neglect her duties. "The young miss seems particularly unwell today," she hastened to add. "I'd like to stay and help care for her."

  "She's been drifting between sleep and waking lately," Daisy Clawyn said softly. "But I've never... witnessed anything like today. What is she saying?" She leaned close to her daughter's face, straining to catch the whispered words. "...I can't make sense of it." The lady drew back with a sigh. "I don't understand."

  "So I'd prefer to skip the market and remain with the young miss," Elisa repeated, concerned her meaning hadn't been clear.

  "I'm grateful for your offer to stay, Elisa." The lady took the maid's hands in hers. "But is that truly all right? Didn't you mention last night that the Great Poet was eager to meet with you?"

  Now, any reference to "poet" brought a flush to Elisa's cheeks. "We made no firm arrangement," she replied, struggling not to lower her gaze. "And even if we had... he would understand."

  "I can tend to Amy," the lady reassured her with a gentle smile. "Cherry can help me at times. So you needn't—" Amy Clawyn suddenly erupted into two sharp laughs.

  "...The young miss is behaving most strangely today." Elisa released Daisy's hands. "Lady Wynlers is with child, confined mostly to bed and not moving easily. Lilyette and Dalani have gone together to Paripha for spices, and most other workers on the estate are men—they only know how to tend grapes. I believe it best that I remain to look after the young miss, my lady."

  Daisy Clawyn smiled with her usual warmth. "Thank you, Elisa." The maid returned her smile.

  Afterward, save for Amy Clawyn's delirium, everything kept company with silence. Daisy was immersed in a copy of The Vanishing of Alaxia (Locke de Finshel, The Glorious Era, 742), borrowed from the Monowe Public Library, wandering among the towering trees of Blessedwood and the endless sea that pressed against their borders. She had long since abandoned her dog-eared copy of The Monowe Herb Compendium; she knew medicine could not save Amy Clawyn, while fantasies of days past might yet salvage her own mind. Elisa, as always, focused on her needlework, hoping to craft a miracle in thread—one that, once Amy wore it, would spring her from her bed, vibrant and whole again.

  Past midday, a drowsy heaviness permeated the chambers, mingled with the sun-warmed fragrance of ripe grapes. All this was shattered by Amy Clawyn's sudden declaration.

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  "Carl is dead."

  Daisy Clawyn seemed struck by lightning. She flung aside her book and sprang from her chair. A heartbeat later, Elisa reacted, setting down her needlework and staring in horror at Amy, who had pushed herself upright in bed. The little girl wore an expression of arrogant certainty that, beneath her snow-white hair and vacant eyes, appeared truly terrifying.

  "...What did you say?" While Elisa was frozen in shock, the lady clenched her fists and fought for composure. "Amy, what did you just say?"

  Amy laughed again, a gleeful peal that brought crystalline tears to her eyes. "I said Carl is dead!" Her small hands beat against the bedboard. "Carl Clawyn—dead, dead!"

  The maid moved with astonishing swiftness, surprising even herself. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around the lady's waist. Daisy had been about to stride to the bedside and strike Amy Clawyn hard across the face. "Shut your mouth!" Her temper broke its chains. "You vicious... vicious thing..." Elisa gently pulled her away from Amy, then embraced and tried to soothe her.

  "Lord Clawyn will be fine." The words carried little conviction. "The young miss is merely raving..."

  "She has spoken such things more than once!" Tears, forced out by the warring forces of love and hatred, welled in Daisy's eyes. "I cannot fathom how a child once sweet and loving could transform into... this... vicious thing." She wiped the drops away with her thumb. "Why," she slipped free from Elisa's embrace, taking care not to use force, "do you curse your own father?" she demanded of her daughter. "Not him alone—you've also cursed Tyler Wynlers. Why are you doing this?"

  "Why?" The girl tilted her head. "When stating a fact, does one ask why?"

  "These are not facts!" the lady thundered. "Nothing you say is fact! I will tell you what is fact." Elisa had never witnessed Daisy in such fury, not even in former times when she was still Miss Lundyll. Fear prickled through her; she wished to flee the room, yet dreaded that the lady might do something unrestrained, or collapse from emotional distress—she was caught between impulses. "The fact is, for months you have burned with fever, drifting between sleep and consciousness. During this time, I, Elisa, and Cherry have taken turns tending to you. That you might rest peacefully, we sacrificed our own sleep! Only because of this do you have strength to sit up and speak to me, Amy Clawyn. And what have you given us in return?" She flung her hands wide. "Nothing but terror, curses, and hysterical laughter. What are you?!" Elisa felt she had touched the core of the matter. "Are you Amy Clawyn, corrupted—or someone else entirely?!"

  Yet Elisa could discern no answer in the girl's face. Amy remained as inscrutable as before. "Who am I?" Her lips curled upward. "I am Amy Clawyn."

  "Silence! You are not my—"

  "I am also Daisy Clawyn." The lady froze. "I am Elisa Fey. Cherry Wynlers. I am all."

  "Be silent!" Her shout had lost its former strength. Fear crawled visibly across Daisy's features. "Tell me who you are. And tell me why you chose Amy. Why her, specifically?"

  "Why?" Amy Clawyn appeared disinterested in the question—almost intentionally evasive. "There is no why." She shook her head. "None. There is no cause here. Only consequence."

  "Get out of my daughter's body." Daisy approached her step by step. "I am not afraid of you, demon." To Elisa Fey's eyes, the lady's legs were trembling.

  Amy Clawyn studied her feigned composure, the corner of her mouth lifting. "A demon? No, I am not." The girl smiled. "I am nothing so base. I am greater—far greater."

  "Get out."

  Amy slowly reclined, drew the coverlet up before her face, and closed her eyes. Only that mysterious smile remained. Daisy Clawyn staggered backward, and Elisa caught her.