Darkness has fallen upon Kingwood Square when the cab pulls up to my house. Gas lights flicker on either side of the street, casting a gentle glow upon the cobblestone road. I sit in the cramped cab, waiting, until the driver coughs.

"We're here, miss."

Fardles, I mutter and exit the cab. I have to remember that no one will be opening doors for me anytime soon.

"Two coppers," the cabbie says, leaning down slightly, hand outstretched.

I pull out the requisite two coppers, placing them in the cabbie's gloved palm.

" 'ave a good night, miss," he says, tipping his cap. Clucking to his old roan nag, the pair are off, vanishing into the night.

I wish. Slowly, I turn around and face our house. The manors up and down Kingwood Square are ablaze with light, each room illuminated despite the late hour. It's almost as if they're mocking our ruin with such a display.

Actually, I'm quite certain some of them are.

I walk up to the gate and pause by a large box attached to one of the decorative columns. It's stuffed to the brim with letters, no doubt from Father's many creditors. I lift the lid and pull them out by the handful, stuffing them into my satchel. Mother must have forgotten we no longer have a butler to collect the post.

The gate opens with a slight whine, another reminder of how many servants Mother had to let go to save money. I slip through and close it behind me. Weak light from tallow candles flickers behind drawn curtains as I approach the front door. The gas company has yet to cut us off, but Mother doesn't want to risk it. So, we make due with volatile candles instead.

I pull out my house key and insert it into the lock, pushing the heavy front door open.

"Herleva!"

I'm barely inside when Mother bursts out of the shadows like a wraith. She catches me by the shoulders and shakes me twice. "Where have you been, girl? Your father and I have been worried sick!"

I wince and pull Mother's hands off, taking a step back. "I left a note."

Mother takes a deep breath and I watch as she visibly composes herself, smoothing her hands over the front of her wine-red silk evening dress. Although my sister Mathilda and I have had to sell our finery, Mother still retains many of her dresses. I reminded her once that no one was going to call on us, but she was insistent that the lady of the house should always dress as if expecting company. When I attempted to poke holes in her logic, she threatened to box my ears, so I never brought it up again.

"I never expected you to go through with it!" Mother exclaims. "You didn't go through with it, did you? Tell me you did not."

I stare at her.

Mother's eyes narrow and her perfectly-poised hands clench. "Herleva Eloise Marie Montrose! Do not tell me that you went to that wretched mountain!"

"Well, no one else in this household is doing anything to erase Father's debt," I counter, setting my satchel down on a decorative table that used to hold a crystal vase and open the flap. Letters spill out, falling to the floor.

Mother inhales sharply, shoulders lifting. "Your father is trying his best—"

His best? I scoff privately. Begging for trips no one will finance instead of swallowing his pride and asking for employment from Fine's or Macmillan's.

"And what about William? I've yet to see him answer any of those want ads I circled for him."

"He still pines for Arlette," Mother responds thinly.

I wave my brother's broken heart away and continue into the parlor. Mother's slippered feet trail after me as I venture deeper into the dark cavern of our manor. "A woman who has found her opportunity elsewhere," I counter.

Reaching the stairs, I put my hand on the banister. Mother's voice cracks out like a whip and I turn around, one foot on the bottom step.

"Herleva! You are not riding one of those creatures! It is beneath your station."

Does she think this is truly what I want to do? Of course not, but since no one else in this family is doing anything, it falls to me.

"The contract is signed, Mother," I sigh, staring down at my feet, still covered in mountain dust and filth from the station. "I report to the Academy in a week."

Mother's arm snakes out and she grabs me by the upper arm, yanking me off the staircase. I stumble backwards, arms failing before regaining my balance.

"No daughter of mine will debase herself with manual labor!" she hisses, bits of flame from the candles sparking in her eyes. "I'll have your father nullify that contract tomorrow."

I take a deep breath and push ringlets out of my face. "I'm seventeen, Mother. The contract is legally binding. Father cannot break it."

Mother puffs herself up and stares straight at me. "We'll see about that!"

A very unladylike yawn tugs at my lips. I'm so tired. I push past my mother and climb the stairs, ignoring her shouts of, "You're never leaving this house without a chaperone!"

Thankfully, she doesn't pursue me up the stairs. I'm left to trudge along the hall, shoulders slumping lower and lower until I reach my door.

"Livvy?"

I snatch my hand back from the crystal doorknob and spin around. My eight-year-old sister Mathilda hovers in the middle of the hallway in her cream-colored nightgown, blonde curls pinned up and tucked under a bonnet. "Where were you?"

I take a deep breath and slowly walk over to her. "I went to Frostwing Academy," I say, stooping down until our eyes meet.

Mathilda's green eyes are nearly black in the shadowy hall, catching a flicker of color now and then from the tall candle sitting on a nearby table. "The gryphon couriers?" she asks, squeezing a doll to her chest. I recognize the doll as one Father brought back from a trip years ago. The fine black hair is frizzy and knotted into braids, her porcelain cheeks rubbed clean of rouge. She came into my possession wearing a silky blue and gold robe from the Rankea Empire, but that has since been replaced by a more modest Eastarion dress after the robe fell apart from too much play.

"Yes," I tell her, straightening the doll's hem.

"Why?"

I rock back on my heels and consider my choice of words. Mathilda is old enough to notice the change in our fortunes, but still, I can't lay such a heavy burden on my sister's shoulders. "I'm doing it to help Father."

Mathilda bites her lip and looks at the floor. When she lifts her head, I can see her chin tremble. "I can go to the workhouse and help too."

I fall forward onto my knees, wincing as pain shoots up my legs. I grip her by the shoulders and pull her tight. "You'll do no such thing," I murmur into her bonnet. "You're too young to work."

"No I'm not," she says against my collarbone. "Pauline said that her sons will have to go there."

I grit my teeth and sit back, swallowing hard against the anger that boils in my chest. Pauline was one of our maids—before Mother let her go. She has two boys Mathilda's age.

Stuffing my emotions deep down, I lay my hands over my sister's. "Now, you listen to me, Mathilda Josephine, you are going to stay right here and keep Mother company. You will learn your letters and practice your embroidery like a good girl, understood?"

Mathilda stares at me with too-wide eyes. I can see her innocent soul slowly dying inside.

"I'm going to go to Frostwing Academy, William will find a good job, and Father will secure a profitable contract."

Her hands clench the doll tightly. "Will ... will you bring your gryphon home?"

I want to laugh, but I don't. I can't tell her that the beast might pitch me off at the first available opportunity. So I do what any girl of good breeding does—I lie. "Of course."

Mathilda studies my face, looking for any trace of insincerity. She is growing up too fast, I realize. Damn you, Father.

"All right," she says slowly.

I let her go and she turns, bare feet padding on the hall rug. "Good night, Tilly."

"Good night, Livvy," she replies in a small voice.

I watch until the shadows swallow her up before getting to my feet. My knees ache, but the pain in my heart hurts far more. With a sigh, I walk to my room and let the darkness consume me.