The riding party had left the camps and the hills beyond them far behind, passing through countryside marked by low green bushes and softening earth, dotted with farms and fields of crops as the sky turned a more natural blue. As they’d ridden by, farmers had looked up and smiled or called out in greeting.

Now, they crested a small mound behind a village. Red poppies bloomed on either side of the road. Claire gazed at them swaying gently in the breeze and smiled as a warmth spread through her.

Glancing at her, Rael smiled too. “I see you enjoy these vibrant flowers,” he said, all the hostility gone from his voice. “The gardeners planted them to represent the fire of our House, the fire that is your birthright.”

Remembering what her father said about her mother’s family specialising in fire magic, Claire wondered again what kinds of spells these people could use. Suranne hadn’t said much, saying the memories were painful now she couldn’t touch her magic and James had told Claire not to pry. A shiver ran through her as she looked to the top of the hill where the flowers came to an end at a wooden palisade. She couldn’t wait to find out.

They were soon outside the gates. Rael smiled as men dressed in bright red tunics, a flame symbol painted on the chest, stepped back into the shadows to let them pass.

Claire’s eyes widened as they passed through. This place was huge. She couldn’t see where the estate ended, with the outbuildings sprawled every which way, reminding her of the haphazard demountable classrooms at her school. Some buildings had purposes she recognised: a stable, a barracks for the soldiers who’d escorted her, a blacksmith’s with smoke puffing from the chimney, a laundry where men and women laboured over tubs of steaming water. Others she guessed were storehouses.

And there were people everywhere, all of them hurrying from one task to another. At least half of them were redheads. Claire had never seen so many gingers in her life. Any last shred of doubt vanished – now she knew she was in a different universe. In Shale, she and Suranne were the only gingers and she was forever made fun of at school with nicknames like “carrottop” and “freckleface”.

A group peeled away from the others, making straight for Claire and the rest of the riding party.

“We leave the horses here,” Rael said. He watched with approval as Claire dismounted Shera and handed the reins to one of the men who’d approached from the outbuildings.

“Who are all these people?” Claire asked.

“Dorran House servitors,” Rael said.

“Slaves?” She was thinking of the people in the camp.

He gave Claire such a look of contempt that she felt red rise in her cheeks. “We have no slaves. Some are retainers whose families have lived here for generations. Some have come from the nearby villages for apprenticeships and the like. Some have married into the clan and some of us are cousins from outer branches. Dorran isn’t just a House, it’s a family.”

He turned back to his party. “Dismissed. Clean up in the barracks and then the evening is yours. Come, Lady Claire, we are expected at the manor house.” Without checking if she was following, he strode ahead.

Claire trailed after the leader of the guards, determined to tread more carefully from now on. There was so much that she didn’t understand about her mother’s world, and she didn’t want to cause offence.

As the last of the outer buildings fell away, she goggled. The structure in front of her was nothing like the sagging, ramshackle farm she’d lived in her whole life, or like any other building in Shale. Not even when Claire had gone to Sydney for an overnight excursion to Hyde Park Barracks had she seen a house the size of this one. It was bigger than a two-storey house, bigger even than a mansion. This was like something out of a book she’d read on English royal homes, like the really old ones.

As they drew closer, she saw the building was made of red stone and there were windows made of dark glass set in black wooden frames on the lower levels; she couldn’t imagine that much light would get inside. Her grandfather could be looking out on her now and she wouldn’t know. What would he make of her?

She followed Rael. With every step she felt more and more nervous. The roots of her hair tingled and itched as they headed for a set of carved ebony wooden doors decorated with bas-relief flames; a long time ago they must have been painted brightly, but now the colour was faded. A man and a woman stood guard outside, each wearing light leather armour, a sword at their waist and a staff in their hands. At a nod from Rael, the guards pushed open the doors, and she followed him inside.

She was immediately grateful for the cloak she was wearing. The entry hall, deep and long, was bare and ridiculously cold for a place owned by a family possessed of fire magic. She pulled the woollen fabric tight around her, eyes adjusting to the gloom within. Torches flared in brackets, but gave no heat. There were no floor coverings, only the rosy flagstones, and there were no paintings or tapestries on the stone walls.

“Welcome to Dorran Manor,” Rael said with a grin as he half turned towards her. He continued into the hall.

Sticking close behind him, Claire passed the entrances to multiple corridors that ran left and right, with more doorways visible along them lit up by lamps in brackets along the walls. It was a rabbit warren; she just knew she’d get lost. Rael, though, seemed to have no trouble – why would he, it was his home – as he picked the third corridor from the left. Claire counted doorways, trying to remember directions while she also tried not to lag too far behind, but it was no use. She could never remember the route they’d taken.

At last, Rael paused before a plain wooden door. “How are you feeling?”

It took Claire a moment to answer. Where should she start? “I … it’s chilly. Why doesn’t someone warm this place up?”

“You’ll get used to it. Your blood will remember soon enough, and then you’ll mind it as little as I do.”

“Is Grandfather inside?”

“What?” He blinked. “Oh, no. This is your room. It’s next to ours. It used to be your mother’s. She and Kiera would talk all night.”

“Kiera?”

“My wife,” he said. “Anyway, there’s a hearth inside and you can wash before you meet with Lord Dorran.” He stepped forward and pushed the door open.

Claire squinted at the sudden burst of light. Flames from a blaze set in a hearth made of pink stone illuminated a middle-aged woman with brilliant red hair that tumbled down her back in soft curls, bound up from her face in a black kerchief. She stooped over a fire-blackened cauldron. As Claire and Rael entered the room, the woman straightened, smoothing her thick woollen dress and stepping over a pile of rags towards them.

Her gaze slid past Claire. “You took your time, Husband.”

Rael stooped to kiss her on the cheek. “It was worse than when Marcus was summoned. The Rift spat her out closer to its centre. Thank the Saura we found her.”

Kiera grimaced. “This water’s almost done. I’ll draw the bath.” She turned to Claire. “Stand closer to the warmth, child.” She jerked her head to her right.

Claire moved towards the hearth. To her left, near a small window, was a bed surrounded by thick red curtains with a woven carpet beside it and a wooden chest at one end. Between the hearth and the bed was what Claire took to be a washing tub. It could have been any luxury bedroom. Though this had once been Suranne’s room, nothing of her remained.

She started as Kiera coughed. “I was friends with your mother, you know,” she said.

“The best of friends,” Rael interjected.

“Yes.”

Claire didn’t know if she should react to the strange bitterness in Kiera’s face. Before she could find something suitable to say, Kiera began to size Claire up, the way the older kids sometimes did in the playground. Claire stiffened, her first instinct to get someplace quiet that was her own – like the school library – but that place didn’t exist here. She felt powerless. If only Marcus were with her. He’d know the perfect thing to do and say. She dug her nails into her palms and counted silently to ten. The sooner she had a wash and met her grandfather, the sooner she’d be reunited with Marcus.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to clean up now,” she said as steadily as she could.

Kiera smiled. Was it Claire’s imagination or was there a nasty edge to it? “Of course. As for you, Rael,” she said with a quick glance over one shoulder, “I’ve already drawn your bath, so you can bathe, then get changed to take Lady Claire to Lord Dorran.” Her expression softened at the mention of Claire’s grandfather.

Claire wasn’t too keen on Kiera staying in the room with her. She wished she’d go away with her husband. She didn’t think she imagined the animosity she sensed from Kiera and she hated conflict. At school, she kind of withered up and didn’t look at people and hoped they’d leave her alone. She didn’t think that would work with an adult.

Rael didn’t seem to notice the tension between them. “Come out into the corridor and knock on our door when you’re ready,” he said, then departed.

Kiera returned to the hearth. Wrapping a rag around her hand, she bent over the cauldron, grasping the handle.

“Let me help you,” Claire said. She picked up a rag from the heap beside the cauldron and grasped the other side of the handle. She struggled to keep time with Kiera, but soon they’d hauled the cauldron to the bath. It already contained some cold water. Using a pitcher, they filled the rest of the bath with hot water.

Kiera straightened, rubbing at her back. “You look more like your mother than Marcus.” She said it like it wasn’t a good thing.

“Where is Marcus?” Claire asked, grasping her courage. “Is he OK?”

Kiera blinked. “You’ll have to repeat that,” she said. “I could barely hear you. I thought you said is he ‘oakey’ …”

Confused for a moment, Claire suddenly realised that Kiera didn’t know what “OK” meant, just like she didn’t understand some of the things Kiera and the others said. What, for instance, was Saura?

Before Claire could reframe her question about Marcus, Kiera had turned her attention back to the tub. “Is that warm enough?” she asked. “I can heat it up with a bit more magic if you like your baths piping hot.”

“What? No, thanks.” Part of Claire wanted to lie about the temperature to see a spell in action, but she felt pretty gross so didn’t want to have to force herself into scalding water. “But do you know if my bro—”

“There’s clothing here,” Kiera said, cutting her off and pointing at folded red garments on a chair. Before Claire could speak again, Kiera pulled a screen made of folded wooden frames strung with painted sheep skins away from the wall and arranged it around the tub, saying as she did so, “When you’re dressed, I’ll do your hair.”

“Do my hair?” stammered Claire. She patted at it awkwardly.

“You can’t see your grandfather like that,” Kiera replied coldly. “We don’t always expect ceremony, but this is a special occasion; the return of another of Suranne’s children.” She emphasised “Suranne’s children” in a way that let Claire know she didn’t think much of them.

Claire swallowed. She hoped she wouldn’t be paraded in front of all of Dorran House. She knew she’d turn bright red and chew her nails trying to think of something to say. She waited as Kiera reached inside a small bag tied to her belt and sprinkled some kind of sweet-smelling herb into the water. Just as Claire recognised the lavender scent, so similar to the kind her mother put into her own baths, Kiera moved outside the screen, rearranging it back in place so Claire had some privacy. She stripped off her clothing as fast as possible and stepped into the tub, thinking of Suranne. Had her mother picked up her love of lavender from Kelnarium? Claire sank into the lovely and warm water, wondering.

She waited for the tingles all over her body to subside as her skin adjusted to the warmer temperature and lathered herself in soap. She couldn’t stop thinking about Suranne and how she must have had to adapt to Claire’s world, just like Claire would have to adapt to Kelnarium. Grime scudded the water as she sponged herself with a cloth Kiera had left her for that purpose, then she jumped out. If her mother had survived in a new world, then Claire could too.

She wrapped herself in the plain brown towel beside the pile of clothing Kiera had left her, then sorted through her new attire. Beside the chair were some leather shoes that came to a point at the toes, and resting on top of the chair was a crimson shapeless tunic that went to her ankles when she held it up, a pair of dark woollen stockings and a bright poncho thing with ties and ribbons and gold embroidery that Claire couldn’t make head or tail of. There wasn’t a bra or underwear in sight. With a sigh, she placed her old ones back on and resolved to hand wash them later, then put on everything else except the weird poncho. She folded the screen back, the confusing garment under her arm.

Kiera waited on a wooden stool beside the hearth, a small pile of what looked like jewellery – it glittered – in a small open chest at her feet. She nodded briefly at the poncho in Claire’s hands. “I can help you with that,” she said dispassionately, like she hoped Claire would go away.

Claire suppressed resentment. What was this woman’s problem? She and Marcus hadn’t asked to be summoned here.

As Kiera rose, Claire passed her the poncho. Without speaking, Kiera shook it out, then placed the linen-like fabric over Claire’s head. Poking and pushing, she smoothed the edges on Claire’s arms, tied the golden ribbons together, then rethreaded the gold ties at the bodice and laced it up tight. Finally, she reached for a belt of metal links, tying it around Claire’s waist and letting it sit like a girdle. She stepped back. “There. You look better.”

Claire bit back a frustrated retort. Kiera was clearly one of those people who delivered a compliment like a knife to the back. Besides, her new clothes were rough and made the back of her neck itch. She felt ridiculous, like a character in a Shakespearean play.

Kiera pulled up another stool. When Claire sat, she passed her a hunk of bread and some hot soup that she took from beside the fire. “You must be hungry and it’s still a while before dinner.”

James had taught Claire to be painfully polite in the face of rudeness, so she shot Kiera her widest smile and tucked in, the delicious warmth from the food spreading through her as she ate.

Kiera waited until Claire was finished, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “Did your mother ever talk about me?” she asked.

“She never spoke of Kelnarium.” Claire knew so little of her mother’s life before she’d arrived in Shale. Maybe this was a chance to find out more. “How did you know Suranne?”

“I thought I knew her. She was my cousin. Lord Dorran’s brother, Kelt, was my father.”

“What do you mean you ‘thought’ you knew her?” Claire asked.

Kiera’s voice was hard. “She was my best friend and she left me for another world. You wouldn’t understand.”

Claire said nothing, turning her face away in embarrassment. She’d never had a real best friend. There’d been Liz but she’d turned on her and—

“Let me do your hair,” Kiera said, as though nothing had happened. She moved her stool behind Claire. “I cut and arrange everyone’s in the manor. I used to be a Lady-in-Waiting to Lady Dorran. I can make elaborate peaks and curls and even swans and crowns from a person’s hair.” Her pride was obvious. “Tonight, I think I’ll pin yours back. It’s a perfect fire-red, just like Suranne’s was.” She held up a hair clip with a salamander carved on top in gold.

Claire thought about how different things were in Shale. No one ever complimented her hair at home except for her family and they didn’t count. Kiera used a delicate comb to brush out the tangles, then pulled Claire’s hair into place and it got too hard to think about anything but the short, sharp stabs of pain at her scalp. Claire could have sworn Kiera was rougher than she needed to be and when she got to the salamander hair clips, she let them dig into Claire’s skin. When Claire protested, Kiera told her not to be a baby. “They need to hold your hair properly.”

When Claire tried to touch one of the clips, Kiera batted her hand away. “You’ll ruin it. I’ve arranged them just so. There. Done.”

Claire’s roots tingled worse than when she’d first approached the Manor, her forehead feeling stretched from the tight bun.

“Now for the headpiece.” Kiera carefully drew the chest close and selected a small gold tiara from inside, a rearing salamander stuck to a flame as its centrepiece.

This was too much. She’d look like an idiot wearing that. “I don’t need it,” Claire said firmly.

“It’s tradition. You must show respect for your people and for the Saura.” Kiera’s tone brooked no argument, even if Claire had no idea who or what the Saura might be.

***

Two guards waved Claire and Rael past wooden doors covered in the same carvings she’d seen on the front door of the Manor. As soon as Claire entered the throne room, her slippered feet sank into a plush crimson rug which led all the way across the stone floor to an old man seated on a cedar wood, leather upholstered throne on a dais. Eight other men and women, all dressed in stiff embroidered tunics and dresses with gold salamanders stitched over their chests, stared at her from their vantage point behind the throne. Claire had once auditioned for a regional dance performance. The way these people looked at her now reminded her of the way the judges had looked at her then. None of them were Marcus.

Reaching the throne, Rael quickly bowed to the seated man then moved ahead to join the standing group. Claire had to stop herself from putting out a hand to keep him by her side. She could have done with the moral support.

The seated man – her grandfather she presumed – smiled, his eyes warmer than those of his impassive courtiers. “Come closer,” he beckoned, and Claire couldn’t help but notice a gold ring with a red opal centrepiece on his left thumb.

Claire did as she was told. She didn’t know if she should bow or curtsey, so she met him stare for stare instead.

“At last, Granddaughter,” he said. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Claire pressed her hands into the folds of her dress. “Um, you too.” She hesitated then added a tentative, “Your Lordship.” She didn’t know how to address a grandfather who was a lord. She studied her grandfather’s face. He didn’t look like Suranne, but then, he was very old; his skin wrinkled and parchment-like and his hair grey.

“Your blood hasn’t adjusted yet,” he observed, frowning. He pointed a finger at an enormous grate to his left. With a sudden whoosh, flames burst to life.

“Cool!” Claire said, the word echoing in the enormous space. She flushed as some of the courtiers behind the throne shot her stern looks.

Her grandfather laughed. “Give yourself a few days and you’ll be able to do the same.” He waved at the people ranged behind his throne. “These are my advisors. On my right-hand is Maen; remember him for he’ll teach you magic. He’s taught everyone with talent, large or small, for the last twenty years. On my left is my younger brother, Aed. The rest you’ll meet properly at dinner; all of them are related to you.”

Claire tried not to stare at Aed, a man who looked almost identical to Lord Dorran, except that he seemed younger, standing straighter, his hair thicker and with strips of brown alongside the grey. He even wore a matching ring. It was kind of nice to know she had relatives after all, even if she’d had to travel to a whole new universe to find them. This whole thing felt weird, like a dream. “Why did you summon me?” she blurted out before she could stop and think, desperate to know why she was in Kelnarium.

“We must have given you a nasty shock,” Lord Dorran said. “I apologise. We thought Suranne’s first-born would have strong abilities, but Marcus was a disappointment.” He smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re who we need.”

“What do you mean, Grandfather?” She wished her voice was steadier.

“Marcus had the smallest of talent for magic. What do you know about us?”

“Not a lot,” Claire admitted. “Dad said you’d only have taken Marcus if Kelnarium was in danger.”

“Kelnarium is in danger,” Lord Dorran explained. “That’s why we need you.”

She shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable at her grandfather’s conviction that she could save anyone from danger, let alone a whole world. “You must have made a mistake about Marcus. He’s good at everything.”

“There’s been no mistake. He is one of the weakest learth users Maen has ever tested.”

“Where is Marcus?” she asked. She’d burst if someone didn’t tell her soon.

“In the capital,” Lord Dorran said. “I was sick of his endless moaning about being good at things in Shale. Councilman Eidan gladly took him off our hands, thanks to his talent for painting. Marcus is teaching the next generation of artists, or so I’m told.”

Claire couldn’t help smiling, even though the situation was clearly serious. That sounded about right. If there was one talent her family had in spades, it was art.

“Maen tried teaching him for a fortnight. That was enough to make it obvious he was never going to get anywhere. He’s been in Kelnariat for just over a week, thank goodness.”

Claire hoped her bewilderment didn’t show. Marcus had been gone in the real world for four days and yet he’d been in Kelnarium for nearly a month already? Then she remembered that her father had said time ran differently here. Still, she was puzzled. Marcus made friends with everyone. If he hadn’t, there must have been a reason. “Take me to him and we’ll do whatever’s needed to get out of here,” she said. As soon as the words left her lips, she realised how blunt she’d sounded. “That is, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t belong in your world. Take me to Marcus and we’ll both help you but then we need to go home.”

“He’s in Kelnariat and that’s too far a journey.” Lord Dorran grinned. “Besides, haven’t you been listening? We don’t need him.”

Claire’s stomach sank. He seemed convinced that she could somehow fix this strange world. “How exactly is Kelnarium in danger?” she hedged.

“There was a war forty years ago between the magical Houses and the Council. Your mother was still a young girl.” He flung up a hand before Claire could interrupt. “Yes, I realise this means nothing to you. I’ll explain the history properly later, but for now, you need only know that the Houses went to battle with the Council and united to use their magic in dangerous ways. As an unintended result, they created the Rift. Now, nothing lives in the Riftlands. The sickness spreads more and more each year. One day all of Kelnarium will be uninhabitable. But that’s not all. It’s been foretold that the Rift will explode this year, taking all Kelnarium with it. You must stop that happening.”

“How?” Claire’s head swam.

“Promise you’ll learn the magic of this House and help us close the Rift. Then we’ll reunite you with Marcus and send you back to your parents.”

“Do you really think I’m capable of doing that?” she asked. “I’m … I’m nothing special in Shale.”

A slow smile stretched across her grandfather’s ancient face. “You’re Suranne’s daughter, aren’t you? She was one of our best, and Maen and I will help you.”

Claire wasn’t so sure, but the thought of her mother and father, burning up inside with fright and worry because they had no way of knowing what was happening to both their children in Kelnarium, raised a lump in her throat. She bowed her head, staring at the carpet to hide her face as she thought about never seeing them again. Life in Shale might not be great, but she loved her parents. She’d die here, and Marcus too, unless she found a way to stop this Rift thing from exploding. What choice did Claire have but to help?

“All right. I’ll try,” she conceded. No, she could do better than that. She made herself meet his gaze, shoulders back and spine straight. “I’ll do it.”