"Answer me rudely again," I said, keeping my voice pleasant but firm, "and you'll see what happens. Now, help me get dressed. And while you're at it, you're going to answer some questions."
Wow, I thought. I'm actually kind of a natural at this.
Dora, the maid, went stiff. I could almost see her brain rebooting as she started helping me into my clothes. As she worked, I grilled her for everything. Her name was Dora. My name—well, the body's name—was Ava Clark, the third daughter of Count and Countess Clark. Those two teenagers from earlier were my siblings, Sophia and Lucas. The "window accident" happened yesterday; apparently, I'd leaned out to talk to them and lost my balance. According to them, it wasn't a big deal—just a little stumble onto a lower roof—so they decided we didn't need to bother a doctor.
"Why didn't a doctor check me out?" I asked.
"Your siblings said you were fine," Dora muttered, sounding like she'd purposely avoided asking too many questions herself.
"I see." I made a mental note of that. The real Ava clearly had a rough time here. She was thin, looked a bit sickly, and her siblings seemed like the type to cover their own tracks rather than help her.
"Where exactly are my parents taking me today?" I asked.
Dora actually looked concerned for a second. "Did you lose your memory when you fell?"
"Just answer me."
"The temple," she said. "Today you find out which element you carry. You turned seventeen yesterday."
Seventeen. I looked at the girl in the mirror again. She looked younger—fragile, honestly. She hardly eats, a voice in the back of my mind whispered. She's afraid of gaining weight.
It clicked. The real Ava was a girl trying to disappear. I felt a pang of something like pity for her.
When I finally made it downstairs, Count and Countess Clark were waiting in the hall. I got their vibe instantly. The Countess was beautiful in that expensive, polished way where everything is "just so." She wore her disappointment in me like a piece of jewelry—always there, but never mentioned.
"Ava," she said. "You're late."
The Count didn't even look at me. He was already headed for the door, his body language making it clear that it was our job to keep up with him.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I fell out of a window and my head hurts. I'm feeling a little out of it."
The Count didn't even slow down. "Let's go."
He doesn't even care, I realized as I followed them out. Not even a little.
The carriage was fancy but felt drafty, like they had the status but were running low on actual cash. As we bumped along the streets, I asked the Countess to "remind" me about the elements, blaming my confusion on the fall. She rattled them off like she was reading a textbook.
Metal. Earth. Water. Fire. Wood. Five gifts, and not everyone had one. Today, at the temple, an Instructor would see if I had anything at all.
Just like the symbols in the Taoist temple, I thought. It looked like eighteenth-century England, but it was running on the same rules.
"The Porters will be there, too," the Countess added. "And the Marquesses of Young."
I froze. "Porter?"
"Dukes from the border. Very powerful." She smoothed her gloves, not looking up. "It's a big day."
I stared out the window at the passing streets, thinking about the priest's story. If I was the Ava Clark from his tale, then I was the wife who treated the Duke like garbage. I was the daughter of the family that would eventually betray everyone.
And today, I was going to meet Drew Porter for the first time.
The Grand Hall was massive and glowing, with high ceilings held up by pillars of black and white marble. There were crystals everywhere, pulsing with a soft light.
I scanned the room the way I'd scan a floor before a gymnastics meet: fast and focused. The only thing that mattered was finding him.
Lord Drew Porter wasn't hard to spot. He stood off to the side, and the crowd seemed to naturally give him space. He was tall, with broad shoulders and hair so pale it looked like silver. In his black suit, he looked like he was made of moonlight and shadows. He looked serious—like he'd been worried about something for a very long time.