September, 1769

If I could do it all again, I would never have chosen this life. Then again, I don't think I ever had a choice.

The ship bobbed over the waves, and spray, almost like mist, was splashing up onto the deck. My feet were wet, and my hair was blowing into my face in dark tangles. Wonderful.

My ship was coming from London, where I had lived with my grandparents after my mother passed me into their care. After their rather unfortunate deaths three months ago, I was made come to America, to meet my only living family: my birth mother.

As death took him slowly and painfully, my grandfather had told me: find Achilles Davenport. He will look after you.

"There's land, captain!" a sailor yelled from the crow's nest, above my head. I looked to where he was pointing, and I saw the outline of the city of Boston shimmering on the foggy horizon. The city that was to be my home.

How funny that though this was my life, I had no say in how I lived it. My grandfather had arranged for a ship to America just before he and my grandmother died, settling the fact that I was to move. Not just move house, but move country.

My best friend, Thomas, stood at my left side. I had grown up with him, friends since the beginning, and his father had managed to get himself a new job in the New World, meaning Thomas and his family would move alongside me, to which I was grateful. The last three months had been difficult, not only dealing with my grief, but also the fact that I was on a ship and I was mortally terrified of the sea. He was my rock, my anchor (if you would pardon the pun), and if I was honest, I didn't know where I might be if it weren't for him.

At the sailor's call, he grinned. But when I didn't smile back, his smile faltered, and he put his arm around my shoulders. "Cass, it's going to be okay. They're your parents. And don't worry; I'll be living near you, so if you get any trouble, you know where to go."

I nodded sadly, my mind elsewhere. "Yes, I suppose. I just miss them, that's all."

"I miss them too," Thomas said. "Ryan and Sophia were good people. You carry that with pride."

The closer we drew to the harbour, the more I felt like I was unravelling like a spool of thread. Gone was my old life living with my grandparents in our large house near Queen Anne's Square. Never again would I walk the streets, nor would I speak with them again; never practice combat with my grandfather, never sew with my grandmother. I felt as though my heart was in my hands, bleeding, dripping onto the deck below, staining my shoes.

The ship lurched to a halt, and I staggered once or twice, placing a hand on the wall to steady myself. The luggage bag between my ankles was a weight, keeping me somewhat upright, and when I bent to pick it up, I noted once again how light it was. I didn't have many possessions: I believed that memories were kept in feelings rather than superficial objects. Following Thomas down the gangplank, I glanced around at the people gathered at the harbour, hoping to recognise someone, though unfortunately the people of this city were far scarier than I had imagined. Savage even, uncivilised - how could I possibly live here?

Thomas nudged me and nodded to a young couple who was eyeing me with interest. The woman tilted her head, a smile growing on her face, and I saw her mouth my name. Oh great. My cheeks burned.

Her face lit up and she rushed over to me. "Oh my goodness, Cassandra? I can't believe this! Oh, look how big you've grown! You're so beautiful!" Her hands were on my shoulders, her blue eyes wide. Suddenly she gripped me in a hug so tight I heard my spine crack.

Still beaming, she pulled back to look at my face once more. She was a lovely woman, with curling blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her fair skin glowed in the sunlight, and her cheeks dimpled with her smile.

I looked nothing like her. Where her hair was light like spun gold, mine was dark and heavy; my eyes were quite unlike hers in colour, being a sharp green, like foxfire. Her skin was smooth and there was not a mark on her cream-coloured face, while mine was covered with freckles. When she smiled, she showed off straight teeth within a pretty smile; my teeth were slightly crooked and my smile nowhere near as pretty as hers.

"Oh goodness, you don't know who I am, do you? My name is Lydia. I'm your mother. This is Gabriel." She waved back at her husband, who had appeared behind her. "And this is Meredith."

A small girl, maybe four or five years old, peeked out from behind her mother's red skirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back by a blue ribbon, complimenting her blue dress. "Hi, Cassandra," she said shyly.

Gabriel gripped my hand in a warm embrace. "Hello, Cassandra." I looked more like him than I did Lydia. He had dark brown hair that curled slightly, and big brown eyes like Meredith, and he was pale like me.

Lydia smiled warmly. "Well, this is lovely! How old are you now? Ten? Eleven?"

"I'm twelve," I said. I'd always looked a bit younger than I really was. I had a childlike face, and when I was younger Sophia had often told me that I was a pixie. Of course, I didn't believe that anymore, but it was a nice thought: to be part of something darker, more magical, than oneself.

"Twelve? My, my, has it been twelve years?" Lydia beamed.

I glanced at Thomas, who smiled apologetically. Lydia linked her arm with mine, and began to walk slowly through the bustling streets of Boston, stepping around halted carts. A group of children were standing in a huddled cluster around something on the ground; when we passed I could see it was a snake.

Snakes and everything here? Sweet mercy, what had I gotten myself into?

*

The manor was huge. It was made of large grey bricks, with beautiful big windows around it. Brightly coloured flowers, pink and purple and yellow and orange, adorned the window sills and large balcony. A young woman with sparkling eyes and smooth, dark skin greeted my parents at the door, offering to take their jackets and my bag.

"Thank you, Nadia." Gabriel flashed her a grateful smile.

I looked around in wonder at the grand hall. It was brightly lit and smelled of spices and flowers. To my left was a lovely dining room, with six chairs at the dark wooden table. On the right was a living room, with a lit fireplace and a few chairs. Portraits hung on the walls, some of the family, some landscape views. There was one in particular that caught my eye. It was of a beautiful territory with vast forests and mountains. The artist seemed to capture the untamable wild of this area in the picture. Past the living area was a kitchen, where Nadia stood at the stove, stirring something in an iron pot.

"Merry?" Lydia asked the child. "Would you like to show Cassandra her room upstairs?"

Meredith obediently took my hand in her tiny one, and led me up the wooden stairs. She made quite the tour guide. "This one is mother and father's one, this is Nadia's, this is father's office, this is my room, and this is your room." She dragged me to a large room on the left, at the end of the hall. I took a cautious step into the spacious area. It was painted a plain white, with warm brown floorboards. A four-poster bed occupied the right wall. A pair of double doors opened up onto a large balcony, the one I had seen from the front of the house.

Meredith smiled toothily. "Do you like it? Me and mother put all your furniture in it for you, and a man came in and painted your walls white!"

I bent down in front of her. "Thank you, Meredith. It's lovely."