Inside the house, Abby took three deep breaths and braced for what was to come. She stomped across the floor of the dining hall, her stomach doing flips. The gold-flecked stone beneath her feet reflected the morning's light that poured through the glass wall on her right, and made her feel as though she were traipsing across the sun.

If only it had been the sun. She could have been burnt to a crisp before she reached the long, glass table at the room's center and all those souring faces.

Her father and Alfren Hudginns sat at the far end, veiled in shadow and chattering away, while the children, Crum and the three Mayweathers, sat nearest to Abby, all miserable and grim.

Abby sighed as her steps slowed.

You should run. There's still time. Make for the veranda, join Sebbi and Lucy outside for some autumn air or visit Simon in the grove. Just-

"Princess!" her father shouted from the far end of the table.

He waved a glass of golden liquid high above his head-Alfren following suit-paying no mind to how it sloshed over the glass's sides. Abby heard Poppy Mayweather, all prim and proper and snotty, snort derisively.

"Come join us!" Abby's dad threw back his drink-Alfren following suit-
-and patted the seat next to himself, which-to Abby's dismay-was across from Crum. She tried to muster up a smile, the corner of her lips turning upward in tiny, rigid movements reminiscent of the hands of a rusted clock.

Abby slid the chair out from under the table, metallic legs scraping across the marble tile, the noise making everyone in the vicinity wince. Poppy ran a critical eye up and down Abby before scoffing and returning to her bird-sized breakfast. She took a piece of melon to her full pale lips, nibbling the tip with the delicacy of a hummingbird. A napkin graced the lap of her pink silk dress, every fold smoothed out, every lock of her red curls held in place around her heart-shaped face.

Polly sat next to her twin sister, sucking on a sour melon, her lips puckered. She was less refined than her siblings, her napkin crumpled beside her plate, her hair a wild tangle of loose, red curls. She slouched in her seat, a dirtied hand fumbling with the wrinkled blue fabric of her dress. She was, by far, the most tolerable of the Mayweather three.

Herich Jo sat next to a frowning Crum, crooning over the elder boy. Like Poppy, he had poor judgment and poorer taste in boys. He'd thrown table manners out the window and leaned in toward Crum, elbows on the table, his brown eyes about as bright as damp earth. Crum was muttering something, probably talking about his newest pair of real leather gloves, while Henrich listened on, glued to every word.

He only broke this posture to shovel chestnuts into his mouth, which exaggerated his already rodent-like features and made them look downright squirrelly.

Abby couldn't help herself. "Storing them for winter?" she asked.

Abby's dad's eyes went wide as he choked on a sip of his drink. He cleared his throat, fussed with his tie knot and gave her a condemning glare. "Play nice," he whispered into her ear, before getting up-Alfren following suit-and excusing himself to the veranda for an after-breakfast cigar.

Henrich Jo, cheeks plumped to their fullest, looked at her in wide-eyed horror. His face like a blotchy map of red and purple anger spots. Crum had snickered at her question, though he swallowed his next bout of laughter down with a forkful of mapled ham.

Poppy Mayweather looked aghast. Polly choked on a piece of melon, her lips turning slightly upward as she continued to stare upon her own bird-sized meal of fruit and boiled eggs with disgust.

"What appalling manners," Poppy commented, looking at Abby with eyes the color of the deepest forest. "But it's to be expected coming from the motherless child of a fisherman."

Abby clasped her fork tightly in her hand, resisting the urge to shove it in Poppy's eye and cut down every tree that lived in her swampy gaze.

Feeling her presence needed-as she often did-Mimi came bounding over, rescuing to diffuse the surmounting tension by placing another plate of food in front of Abby.

Margo followed behind the elder maid and filled each of their cups with Baneberry tea. She saved Abby for last and flashed her an encoursging smile as the pink liquid dribbled over the edge of Abby's cup.

Margo stared at the world beyond the glass wall, where Abby longed to be, her eyes narrowed as she watched Lucy and Sebbi.

Abby's thoughts turned to the food.

Oh, food! You're the only saving grace throughout all this torture!

Seconds and third helpings of Abby's favorites glistened back at her from the ivory plate. There were buttered biscuits, dollops of rose and mint jams, mapled ham, roasted chicken, boiled eggs coated in Laos Thrice Spice, and a red melon parfait, extra cream. Abby's stomach gurgled in delight as she stuck her spoon deep in the parfait.

Henrich Jo returned his attention to Crum, a naseauting sparkle of admiration brightening up his eyes.

"So, Vicrum," he began, his voice similar to that of a lovesickk girl. "Do tell us what you use to style your hair. I daresay, it's the epitome of what's in right now."

Henrich Jo raised a hand and ran it through his own flat, greasy locks. They hung like flayed snakes, limp and lifeless, on either side of his face.

Gross.

Abby shoved her disgust, along with a bite of boiled egg, into her stomach.

Poppy nodded and dabbed her mouth with the corner of her napkin. "Yes, Vicrum. You certainly have good breeding. It's unfortunate not everyone at this table could be raised similarly." She glared at Abby and Abby gritted her teeth.

File it for later. When you have your ivory slippers and your dad isn't around.

Though...

"You and your brother are amazing creatures," Abby said, directing her words at Poppy and Henrich.

Immediately, Crum turned his attention her way as though he could sense what was coming. The others looked at her confused, oblivious.

Abby smiled. She was going to enjoy this. "Truly. My compliments to your parents."

Poppy flashed Abby a wary half-smile while Henrich Jo remained silent, his unsure gaze darting back and forth between Abby and Crum.

Abby's smile and posture were the epitome of a proper lady. "Never have I been around such terrors," she continued cheerily. "What awful, uppity brats you all are. I daresay, you make the beasts on Mingare look like admirable companions."

Leaning in close, Abby looked Poppy up and down. "You don't glow blue."

Poppy raised her eyebrow. "Why of course I don't-"

"And neither do you," Abby interrupted, turning to eye Henrich with the same suspicious gaze. "Amazing. You both aren't alchemically touched."

"Wh-why would you think that?" Henrich stuttered. Abby chuckled. Crum sighed and rested his head in his hand.

"Because somehow you both manage to still breathe even with your heads shoved so spectacularly far up Crum's ass! I thought no such feat could be done without being touched. But you two have proven, once again, that with the right breeding, one can do anything."

Poppy's face twisted in so much anger, Abby thought her head would split open and start fuming like the volcanoes on the Dosday Islands. Her lips snarled, her dainty fingers squeezing her napkin, wringing out its very life. Purple veins popped against her ivory pallor as her entire body turned the color of her hair.

Abby sat back, a satisfied glint in her eye. She plucked a creme pastry off one of the trays and savored the taste of ripe strawberries.

"Just like a Smells to act," Poppy growled, throwing her napkin onto the table. Abby looked up to meet the girl's gaze. "Your money smells, your house, your father, that's why everyone worth their salt looks down on him. I'm even sure your common mother smelled, though we wouldn't know for sure considering you killed her."

Whack!

Without thinking, Abby'd shot to her feet and smashed the remainder of her pastry into Poppy Mayweather's face. "Don't you ever speak of my family again!" she screamed.

Poppy reeled in her chair, globs of jam covering her nose, cream running off her chin. Flustered, she darted from the room, hands over her face, tears rolling off her cheeks. Henrich Jo fled the scene, scampering off in his sister's direction.

Polly reluctantly got up and dismissed herself from the table. Before she'd left, she threw Abby a nod, one that told her she understood why she'd done what she had, and then  had smiled.

"Just what I'd expect from breakfast at the Tells estate," Crum said as he stuffed his face with a butter biscuit. Abby glared. He sighed. "I meant no disrespect, oh great pastry-hurler. Poppy had it coming."

"Abbernathy Tells!" a voice boomed behind her. Abby shrunk back at the sound of her father's angry voice. If only she'd been older, she could have made a vanishing potion for this very  occasion. "Care to explain why I just saw Poppy Mayweather run past with creme on her face?"

Despite hearing her father's words, all Abby could think about were Poppy's.

You killed her. Killed her. Killed your mother.

A warm hand squeezed her shoulder and roused Abby from her thoughts. "Abby—"

His voice had been stripped of its anger as he ran a finger across Abby's cheek. It glistened, wet. Abby looked up and saw that her dad had been smiling at her. She'd started crying.

When had the tears started falling?

"She—" Abby stared at her hands and clenched the hem of her dress between them. "She—" You killed your mother. Abby couldn't tell her dad what happened, but surprisingly, she didn't have to. Crum spoke for her.

"It was Poppy's fault. She'd been insulting Abby the entire time and then," he paused and gave Abby a long, hard stare. "Then she said Abby had killed her mom."

Within seconds, Culpepper had his arms around his daughter, giving her the most suffocating hug she'd ever experienced.

With a gentle voice, he whispered, "You know that's not true? You know, right?" Abby shook her head as she continued to cry. "It's not your fault. Never, for one second, think that it was."

Culpepper turned his gaze on the smashed bits of pastry that dotted the table. His smiled and chuckled. Abby looked at him, perplexed.

He ruffled her hair. "You're just like your mother. If anything, you're the one who keeps her spirit with us."

Abby smiled, wiped away her tears, and just then, Sebbi and Lucy sauntered into the room. Sebbi went straight to the bowls of milk and meat Margo had laid out for them. Lucy ran straight to Abby's side and threw himself onto her lap.

What's gone on here, love? he meowed. Why the tears? Did this boy do anything to you? If so, I'll shear his socks and then those prized locks.

Lucy hissed and made a swatting motion at Crum. Abby and held the cat close to her chest. "It's okay, Lucy. Crum was the least horrible of the bunch. In fact," she said, as she turned to face Crum, "I owe him my thanks. So here they are."

"You could just say thank you. It wouldn't kill you."

Abby smiled. "No, but I wouldn't want to start thinking highly of you. If that day ever came, I'm sure it'd usher the end of the world."

"Well," Culpepper said. "I believe we've had enough of this stuffy breakfast. How about we all get some fresh air at the port?"

Abby's eyes lit up at the mention of Laos. She hadn't gone into the city in what felt like ages.

"We'll have to bring the Mayweathers," her father added quickly.

Abby tensed.

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