‘Look!’

Peony looks. The road winds down the hill, towards the horizon that seems very far here, in this gently slanting land of fields and meadows. She pats the horse absent-mindedly on the flank as she watches.

The carriages look as if made of gold and amber, glimmering in the setting sun. But Peony knows it is only painted wood. Wasting gold on decoration would be too much even for the nobles. Theirs is not a rich country, even if not the poorest either.

The princess could change that. She comes from a foreign land, to marry into their royal family. She has been met at the border, and taken into the care of her new people. It must be a comedown for her. Peony wonders why she agreed, or if she was given a choice at all. A foreign princess, used to finery and great wealth, would not want to come here — would not want her circumstances so reduced. But it is for the good of both realms. It is said that marriages like this always bring peace, at least for a time. The times are peaceful enough as they are, at the moment, but it is always better to have an assurance.

The carriages draw closer. Peony watches, and further uphill her sister watches, too.

‘Do you think we’ll see her?’ Orchid asks, her eyes on the largest, best-painted carriage. The curtains in the windows are drawn, so there is no way to see inside.

Peony considers it.

‘If she’s not ashamed of being served by the likes of us, then I guess we might.’

‘If she is ashamed, I would not want to see her anyway.’ Orchid smiles as she says this, because it is a lie — it is only a joke. Of course they’d like to see the Princess. They had never seen one, before. But it would be nice if she is… well, nice. Sometimes nobles are, other times they are not, and there is really no way to predict it.

The girls kneel as the carriages pass by. The horses are slow, visibly weary from the hard road. Once the procession has moved on, Orchid stands up, brushing the hay off her dress. Her trousers show from under the hem, disappearing into the riding boots. Peasant girls wear short dresses. It is not exactly proper, but there is not much choice when you have to do so many different jobs and be agile.

‘The sun’s going down,’ Orchid says then. ‘I’d rather not ride home in the dark. Let’s finish.’

Their patch of hay is not large, but it is still a lot of work for only two women to manage. At least they have the horse to carry the load. The hay has dried nicely, and should not rot when stored.

Once they are done gathering it, there is no space left in the cart, and neither of them likes going so high up as to ride on top. Peony walks next to it, while Orchid takes the horse carefully downhill, wary of the load. Peony herself does not like riding: the horse is too large for her, and her feet barely reach the stirrups. It is not a comfortable arrangement. Grown woman though she is, she remains small. Orchid is taller, and so usually takes over this particular task.

As the sun slides below the horizon and the night looms, the wind picks up. Orchid keeps pushing her hair out of her face. Black hair — just like Peony’s own, just like everybody else’s they have ever seen. Some foreigners, it is said, have hair that is brown like tree bark, or gold like straw, or even copper-red, but none who look like that have ever made their way into the village. Peony wonders if the Princess might be one of those odd foreigners. She cannot quite imagine how it would look, to have this strange hair, but she would like to see it, just to know that it is indeed a real thing.

The carriages have long disappeared from view. The girls approach the village, which lies in a small valley. The twilight has colored the world dark blue, but even from the distance the sisters can see that in the tavern every window glows brightly. There aren’t usually many people passing through their village, but the Princess comes with a retinue, and serving all those people would keep everyone busy until the early hours of the morning.

‘Poor Plum,’ Orchid says. ‘No studying for her tonight. She’ll hate that.’

‘We should come and help tomorrow,’ Peony says. ‘In the afternoon perhaps, if we can find time.’

They come into the house, into the quiet. Their mother is asleep in her bed. Orchid moves fast, silently, to check that she is breathing. Both sisters still remember the strong and lively woman she was, teaching them, laughing with them. Now she can do little more than sit in the sunlight, staring at the world around in puzzlement. But at least she’s still alive. As long as she still lives, there is hope.

Orchid lights a candle. It is a cheap one, and therefore reeks, but its light is good enough for their current purposes. There is leftover porridge in the oven, still warm from when Peony made it for dinner. They share the remains before going to bed.

Summer nights are short, and Peony knows sunlight will wake her soon enough. In the dark, she can hear Orchid, breathing slower and slower as she drifts into sleep. Their mother keeps turning restlessly in her blankets, winding them around herself like a cocoon. Peony hopes she is not having a nightmare, but there is no way to know.

This is the fourth time Plum has to run up the stairs. They are not made for running — they are not even enough, and she stubs her toes more than once on her way. She keeps one hand on the railing, while clutching the sheets to herself with the other. She has a nice fresh dress on, so the sheets are safe. Her parents would die before they’d let the Princess sleep on unclean bedding.

Plum has not seen her yet. She glimpsed the entrance, but the Princess was veiled and cloaked so heavily she looked almost round because of all the layers on her. Plum has not yet seen her face.

She runs into the room and shoves the sheets into Magnolia’s waiting hands. Magnolia is the eldest. She would be married by now, if only there were more boys around. But most families here have produced girls. It is unfortunate, the parents say, but secretly Plum is glad. She herself is old enough for marriage, too, but she is far more interested in studying. It is a challenge to get books here, in the middle of nowhere, but she is not picky. Anything will do — the thinnest paper, the shabbiest covers, the palest print — as long as there is something to learn inside. Plum has collected quite a library over the years.

‘Help me,’ Magnolia half-gasps, and Plum notices that her sister is very pale. ‘Help me stretch it over the bed…’

‘Sit down,’ Plum says warningly. ‘I’ll do it, just stop for a moment, before you fall.’

‘There isn’t time,’ Magnolia says, but she does seat herself on a coffer. ‘There are so many of them, too many at once. How can we do it in time?..’

Below, in the dining room, their parents are entertaining their esteemed guests. Plum can hear the distant babble of voices. It is not very loud — no raucousness is allowed in the presence of royalty, foreign royalty especially. The other guests were turned away, and had to lodge with the other villagers. This is not good for business, nor for the neighbors, but Plum hopes they all understand. It is a great honour that the Princess came through their humble settlement at all, greater still that she deigned to stay for the night. Such things do not happen every day.

When Plum rushes downstairs again, in search of their best scented soap this time, she stops when she sees Iris huddled under the stairs.

‘Why are you here?’ she asks in surprise. ‘Did you finish with the cooking?’

‘Mother told me to go away,’ Iris says, looking up guiltily. ‘I broke a plate.’

The common dinnerware used in the tavern is simple and cheap enough to be broken occasionally without much regret, but the prettier items, brought out of storage for today’s special visit, are far more costly. Iris should’ve taken greater care. But Plum knows their mother has probably done enough chastising already, and there is no need for more.

‘Go help Magnolia, then,’ she suggests gently. ‘It will be all right. It’s only one plate.’

‘I also burned the sauce… I’m terrible at this.’

‘You’re young.’ Plum pulls her up by the hand, gives her a quick hug. ‘You can still learn. You should ask Pine to teach you, she’s a better cook than any of us. Now go upstairs.’

For a moment, she watches Iris run, then heads towards the storage room. The dining room doors are shut. She can hear her parents speaking, then some male voices, but none of it clear enough to understand words. She wonders if the Princess speaks at all — if she is permitted to speak to commoners. Plum’s books say nothing about it, but then again, she has not yet managed to acquire any on royal etiquette.

The air in the hut smells strongly of coriander and of fennel. Pine watches the smoke rise up to the ceiling, circling, weaving itself into weird and fanciful forms.

‘Anything?’ she asks, curious, but her mother ignores her, squinting into the depths of the cauldron.

‘River,’ she orders, and Pine hands her the flask of river water. Magic doesn’t always require rare ingredients.

The liquid in the cauldron appears transparent, yet somehow Pine cannot see beyond it — not the cauldron’s bottom or the spoon, nothing that should be there. But she is not surprised, not anymore. She knows the theory of how this works, even if she herself is not yet skilled enough for practice.

‘I am reading something…’ her mother begins musingly, hesitantly. ‘Something in the… She doesn’t come alone. Something’s coming with her, has arrived already.’

‘Something bad?’ Pine asks immediately.

‘Doesn’t look like it… but strange, very strange.’ Her mother gives the liquid another swirl, coughs when she inhales some of the fumes. ‘There’s something foreign here.’

‘Well, she is a foreigner.’

‘No, something else, something other…’

Suddenly the fire flares up, and they both jump back. Pine knows what this means: time is up. The spell has run out of fuel, and is over. But her mother seems to have learned enough. She reaches for a metal grip to take the cauldron off, and once she does, Pine promptly covers the fire. It dies down under the lid, hissing. Her mother lights the candles. Their steadier light reveals beads of sweat on her face. Spells like this take a lot of energy.

‘Something is here that doesn’t belong here,’ she says. Pine must have looked apprehensive at this, because suddenly her mother laughs. ‘Ah, no, that isn’t necessarily bad. It did not feel malicious to me, only strange. Perhaps we will know more if it seeks us. It did feel a little confused.’ She grows more serious. ‘That doesn’t mean we should grow lax, though. Be on your guard if you see it, whatever it is. Always be on your guard.’

‘Of course.’

The hut stands some distance from the forest margin, hidden from unwelcome eyes. Pine can’t see the village from here, but she can sense its emanations if she strains her hearing — excitement and worry, and a great deal of sleepiness. Pine herself is tired, too. It is rather late already. The herbal smells lull her further, but she knows the day is not done yet.

She takes the cauldron outside, to the well, to rinse it thoroughly with fresh water. The sky is clear. When Pine looks up, she can see stars abound in gaps between treetops. It is a good sign, a lucky sign. She knows well not to rely on luck — so many things in the world are stronger than luck, magic one such. Still, the sight lends her tranquility. There is no telling yet whether the coming of this foreign princess will help their country or lead to turmoil. But Pine trusts her mother’s perception. At least the Princess comes in peace.

So many layers, so much cloth…

‘My lady, let me help you!’

But Jade cannot wait. All of these robes are suffocating. Wearing so much made sense back home, in the mountains — but here, where summers are warm and still, it feels hideous. She unwinds the lengths of cloth one by one, letting them drop to the floor. She knows she can do this faster than her new, unfamiliar servant would.

At least this woman knows her language. It was torture at dinner — to hear them all talk, yet understand no more than a lone word here and there. As if Jade had walked into a dream — a nightmare where she could hear nobody, and they could not hear her… It is even worse than home, where people may not have listened, but at least she knew they could understand her. Jade has tried, really tried to learn the language of this new land, but it seems impossible. She’s been working on it for months now, ever since she was informed of her new fate. Yet even after all this time, she is still useless.

At last Jade is free, with only her thin shift remaining. She notices a mirror on the wall, but it is not much good — the surface is not flat enough, and the reflection of herself is wavy. She sits down on the bed heavily.

‘You can do my hair for the night now,’ she says to the servant. The woman has been trying to pick up the garments, and has her arms full of cloth now. She hesitates, and Jade can guess why: a servant cannot disobey an order, but leaving the Princess’s dress in disarray is also unacceptable.

‘If my lady will let me call for someone to deal with this?’ she asks, and Jade allows. She does not care to see more strangers, to hear more of their speech, frightening to her in how unintelligible it all is. But she understands that there are rules in the world of servants, rules best not meddled with.

A girl comes in with a bow, all proper, but once she straightens she cannot keep her eyes off the Princess. Jade meets her stare, and the girl blushes, but does not look away. The people here are poor but proud, she has been told, and do not bend much. This is an interesting change.

She tries to remember the alien words, contort her tongue to produce the right sounds.

‘What is… your name?’ she asks eventually, haltingly. The servant is braiding her hair. The woman’s fingers are swift, and she’s almost done.

‘Magnolia,’ the girl says. Jade doesn’t know the meaning of that word — that name — but it sounds pretty.

The girl smiles timidly, as she folds the clothing. Jade does not intend to smile back, yet somehow it still happens. At the sight of Jade smiling, the girl lights up.

She asks something, but Jade has no hope of understanding, and looks to her servant for help.

‘She wants to know if my lady desires anything else,’ the woman translates. The floor is clear, the many layers of Jade’s attire all in a neat pile.

Jade desires many things. She wants to sleep, and to learn this new language, and above all, not to feel so horribly alone. The last of the daughters, the least wanted, she had come to accept her place and her fate, and stifled as best she could the longing to be loved. Still, sometimes it would rear its head, and remind her of her weakness. This girl is a peasant, and likely only curious, Jade tells herself. Soon enough, Jade will leave this place, and never see her again. This is no place to look for friends. But that smile tugs at Jade’s heart, and Jade is still looking back.

‘Not tonight,’ Jade says. ‘But tomorrow, perhaps. Tell her to come tomorrow.’

The servant relates this, and the girl bows again, smiling wider. She is very pretty, much prettier to Jade’s eyes than Jade herself. If Jade looked like this, maybe her parents would have cared more for her. And she certainly would not need to worry whether her future husband would care. As it is, she worries a great deal.

She never wanted this. Amethyst is the ambitious one, the one who would have chosen this, may have even found happiness in it. Jade can only be wary, thrust suddenly into a fate she’d never expected or asked for. There was always a risk, but she had thought there weren’t any more princes left, that she would be spared, and could live out her life in peace, if not in happiness. Things have changed much too fast.

One candle is left burning for the night, for security purposes. Jade knows that her guards are laid to sleep in the corridor outside, and downstairs, and in the yard. She has been provided with a great deal of guards. But she feels no danger in this land, at least not yet. She has not yet met her husband.

The spirit travels…

It is not common for spirits to lose their way. This one does not know how it happened, or when, exactly — when the forests through which it flows became unfamiliar, when the birds and the trees changed, and the ground itself shifted in color. The spirit had not detected it until it was too late, and now…

Now it has to settle down. Home or not, it can delay no longer. The time has come, and it must heed the call or perish — and it is not ready to die, not when a chance at a new life, a new turning, is so close. But to continue, to do as its nature commands it, it needs to find an opening. A mind, or better yet minds, welcoming enough to understand, to accept, to protect and nurture…

There. In that green valley, close to the forest. There they lie dreaming, not knowing yet what is passing so very near. They will do well enough.

The spirit enters the forest, winding its way between the trees.

The time has come. Soon, very soon, there will be a beginning.