For fourteen days, there had been only dark waves and gray sea foam and biting salt spray. And then, as if it had been plucked from one of her mother’s bedtime tales, Evangeline saw the snow-covered curves of the Great Gateway Arch to the Magnificent North.
Made of granite with marbled blue veins and as tall as a castle’s keep, the arch’s weathered columns were carved to look like mermaids holding tridents that pierced through carvings of men, the way a sailor might spear a fish. The men’s backs were bowed, and their hands stretched to hold out the sign forming the top of the enormous arch.
WELCOME TO THE MAGNIFICENT NORTH STORIES BE HERE
“It’s even larger than I imagined,” said Marisol. Her light brown hair was shining, and her delicate face was full of healthy color. The weeks at sea had done her good. The first couple of days aboard the ship, she’d been too nervous to leave her cabin. But each day, she’d ventured out a little more, and today she huddled beside Evangeline at the railing.
“Is this where we need to be quiet?” she whispered.
Evangeline nodded with a smile, glad her stepsister was starting to believe in her Northern stories the same way Evangeline did. During their journey, Evangeline had not been surprised to learn that Agnes never told Marisol any stories growing up. So Evangeline had shared some of her mother’s tales, including her warnings about entering the North:
Never speak a word as you go through the Gateway Arch. The ancient magic of the North cannot pass the borders, but it always tries. It collects around the Gateway Arch, and if you speak as you travel through, the magic will steal your voice and use your words to lure unsuspecting travelers into helping it escape to other parts of the world.
It must have been a common myth, or everyone felt the same sense of gravitas that Evangeline did, for the whole of the ship sailed under the arch in silence.
On the other side, the air was cool as ice and full of clouds so low that Evangeline could taste them.
“I wish we could sail faster,” a sailor grumbled. “This part always gives me the collywobbles.”
The waves stopped lapping, and the nearby clouds drifted over the sun, shadowing their ship as it silently cut through the stretch of sea known as Valor Row, graveyard for the first royal family of the North.
The Valors’ ancient monuments were exactly as her mother had described them. Standing knee-deep in the blue-gray waters, the statues were nearly as tall as the arch, every inch of them carved to appear as if they wore armor or finery—except for their heads, which were all missing. And yet, as her ship sailed past, Evangeline could still hear their voices, or perhaps they were the voices stolen from those who had traveled through the arch before.
Free us, they rasped.
Restore us. Help us.
We can …
Evangeline didn’t hear the rest of the plea as the ship reached the docks of Valorfell and everyone became busy disembarking.
“Miss Fox? Miss Tourmaline?” asked a silver-haired woman in a sea- salt-blue gown with a silver underskirt and a belt that held a number of tied- up scrolls in it. “I’m Frangelica. I’ll be escorting you to your lodgings and ensuring Miss Fox makes it to her dinner this evening.”
Frangelica’s smile was warm and her wave brisk as she urged the girls from the ship. But Evangeline could not bring herself to rush as she stepped
onto the drizzly dock full of fishmongers, trading stalls, and knobby barrels of oysters.
She’d always loved living in the south. She loved the heat of the sun and the overbright colors everyone wore. But now the brilliant streets of Valenda seemed too lurid. Here, everything was mist-touched. It was all foggy grays, rainy blues, and deep purples the exact color of fresh plums.
The burly men at the docks all looked as if they could step into a forest and fell a tree with one swing of an ax. They wore leather boots covered in heavy buckles, while the women wore thick woolen gowns with belts like Frangelica’s, which held everything from bottles of tonics to palm-size crossbows.
Just taking in the cool, crisp air made Evangeline stand a little straighter and breathe a little deeper. And—
“Marisol, look, tiny dragons!”
“Oh my—” Marisol went pale as a robust pop sounded and a tiny pepper-black dragon about the size of a chipmunk shot out streams of red fire to sear a fish stick at a nearby stall.
On the docks, the adorable little beasts appeared to be as common as squirrels. Almost every vendor had one. Marisol was clearly not fond of the small winged creatures but Evangeline was delighted to spy tiny blue dragons sitting on shoulders and leathery brown ones perched on carts. The miniature beasts roasted apples and meats, blew glass baubles, and heated earthen mugs of drinking chocolate.
It all was as charming as her mother had said.
Evangeline had to look down at the damp cobbles to make sure her feet were still on the ground and that she hadn’t taken flight, for parts of her were soaring. Stepping into the North didn’t just feel like the start of something, it felt like the start of everything.
Beyond the docks, spires of hearty wooden shops grew upward instead of outward. Each glorious level had storybook-quaint storefronts, all connected by fog-laced footbridges that crisscrossed above Evangeline’s head in a maze of wonderful patterns. The North made her think of her mother of course, but with a pang, she realized it was also somewhere she would have loved to have explored with her father. The few shops she could
see inside looked exactly like the sorts of places he might have found all kinds of new oddities for his shop.
“Get your Daily Rumor!” cried a girl with a satchel full of rolled-up papers. “Perfect if you’re placing bets on who the prince will propose to— or if you want to know who your competition is!”
“We should buy one,” Marisol said, eyeing the papers with curiosity. Given Marisol’s dislike of scandal sheets, her interest was not what Evangeline would have expected. But it was just the kind of adventurous spirit that she’d hoped the North would bring out in her stepsister.
Evangeline reached into her coin purse. Their currency was different, but the empress had generously supplied her with Northern pocket money. “How much?”
“Just half a marque,” said the paper girl. “Wait—” The girl’s brows jumped as she took a real look at Evangeline. “It’s you! And you really do have pink hair.” The girl shoved a mist-damp paper in Evangeline’s hands and winked. “It’s on me. I placed a bet that Prince Apollo chooses you over the others.”
Evangeline didn’t know how to respond other than insisting on paying the girl twice as much as the paper cost.
The Daily Rumor
LET THE BETTING BEGIN
By Kristof Knightlinger
Tomorrow is the first night of Nocte Neverending. The chancery is now accepting wagers on everything from dancing partners to proposals and, as promised, I have my predictions!
We all know that Prince Apollo has said he might not choose any bride, and once Nocte Neverending begins, it may never come to an end. But I would not place bets on that happening. I have it upon good authority that Apollo has his eyes on several ladies, and I have a few excellent theories as to whom these young women might be.
My first favorite is Thessaly Fortuna, who I’m sure needs little introduction. Given that she’s from one of the Great Houses, I wouldn’t be surprised if Thessaly was Prince Apollo’s first choice for a dancing partner tomorrow night.
However, if our crown prince is hoping to garner favor with those of us who aren’t from prominent bloodlines, he might ask the recently popular Ariel “LaLa” Lagrimas to dance first. LaLa’s family is shrouded in mystery, which is often code for being common. But her beauty is almost mythical. And we all know how much Prince Apollo values beauty.
Unfortunately, I’m not sure I’d place any marriage bets on LaLa. I’ve heard repeatedly that Prince Apollo might already be taken with famed foreign princess Serendipity Skystead of the Icehaven Isles. The pair has known each other since childhood.
“She used to send weekly letters to the palace,” a secret source revealed.
If you’re wagering on whom the prince might propose to, Princess Serendipity may be the safest bet.
Although, if you’re fond of taking risks, like I am, you may want to put your money on another foreigner—Evangeline Fox of the Meridian Empire. Orphaned, cursed by the Fates, and now a darling of the new Meridian empress, the stories that swirl around Evangeline sound a bit like one of our own cursed tales—it’s hard to believe they could be entirely true.
My cousin from the south tells me that Evangeline has shimmering pink-and-gold hair and a bold adventurous streak to match. She once turned down a string of suitors as long as a city street so that her hand would be available if Prince Apollo wished to take it—and I might place a bet that he does.
Evangeline found herself grinning at the page and forgetting Luc just a little more. She had been trying not to let her hopes fly too high. Even when she and Marisol spoke of Nocte Neverending, it was never just about the prince. They talked of dancing and fashion and what sorts of people they might meet. But Evangeline had to confess that she really did want to believe she had a chance at Prince Apollo’s affections. She knew it wasn’t the most practical thing to imagine marrying someone she hadn’t met yet, but she also didn’t believe it was entirely unpractical.
Her parents had a fairytale romance that had taught Evangeline to believe in things like love at first.
Every time they told the story, it was a little different, as if it were another one of her mother’s Northern tales. It always began when her father was searching for curiosities in the North, and he happened upon a well with the most hypnotic song floating out. He’d thought the well enchanted, so of course he’d tried to talk to it. The well had answered back. Or rather her mother had replied. She’d heard his voice come out of her family well, and she’d liked the idea of convincing this southern stranger that she was a magic water sprite. She’d toyed with him for weeks in some versions of the story. In others, Evangeline’s father had known early on that it was really a
young woman playing games. But in every telling of the tale, they fell in love.
“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.
