The Third Daughter by Adrienne Tooley

Author:Adrienne Tooley [TOOLEY, ADRIENNE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2023-07-18T00:00:00+00:00

18

Elodie Warnou was terrible at lying low. It had been all of one day and already she was dragging Sabine out the front door of the Pained Pig, the hood of Sabine’s borrowed cloak pulled over her head in a weak attempt at disguise.

Sabine didn’t think that anything could truly conceal Elodie’s distinctive look, especially not the cloak’s threadbare flax, which was fraying at the seams.

She wasn’t pretty, exactly. Pretty implied an easiness on the eyes. It was for clouds or flower petals. Pretty was soft. Serene. So no, Elodie wasn’t pretty. Elodie was striking. Sharp-featured and stark in her coloring. Handsome, almost, in that her appearance was not delicate, but intentional.

You’re so enamored by this girl, and for what? There’s nothing special about her beyond the luck of being born to the right mother at the right time. Sabine’s darkness sounded annoyed.

She didn’t know why it cared. The more time she spent with Elodie, the more obvious it was that she had absolutely no idea how to wake the Third Daughter, that she would bungle her part of their bargain and would end up delivered to the Loyalists on one of Castle Warnou’s silver platters. Surely, Elodie had noticed the way Sabine shrank away from her line of questioning.

But then, they were also growing closer. She had known the princess barely a day, but already Elodie saw beyond Sabine’s hesitant exterior, could tell when she was lying, noticed when she took a moment to respond to the darkness’s incessant babbling—something that even her siblings and her mother had never paid attention to.

Because they’re too embarrassed to look, too disgusted by your emotion, the darkness chimed in.

But that meant Elodie wasn’t. This strong, thoughtful whirlwind of a girl saw Sabine’s sadness and instead of turning away, she kept watch. She witnessed Sabine war with herself, and she was waiting on the other side.

The air off the harbor was brisk and bright, drying the sweat on the back of her neck. Leaves tumbled from the trees, crunching underfoot. The streets were empty—either she and the princess had missed the rush of the clamoring crowd on their way to the procession or, more likely, no one in Harborside cared to attend.

They passed the bridge that would take them to the Iron District and instead forged forward, along the circular path down toward the castle on the hill. The trees that lined the High Road were lush, older, and more sprawling in their coverage than the sickly trunks of Harborside. These trees leaned lazily, painting the ground gold with turning leaves.

As the road snaked to the left, a chorus of cheers erupted and Sabine caught sight of the crowd, thousands deep, spilling through the city square. All the market stalls had been broken down, folded up, and stored in alleyways, disrupting the rats. It was astounding how many people could cram into the marketplace. It made the space feel smaller, somehow.

“Citizens of Velle,” a voice boomed from the top of the bell tower in the same church where Sabine and her siblings had sought shelter only two days prior.

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