A porcelain pitcher filled with water sat on a small table by the wall, forgotten by most in favor of the fine wine. Only Morna hovered by its side, staring over the lip at the liquid inside. Clear and dark, rippling each time someone walked by. Each ripple and wave in the surface of the water plucked at Morna's heartstrings, creating a silent melody inside her. She weaved slightly, offbeat with the quartet but perfectly in line with the whispers of the water.

It had been a long time since she'd stumbled upon the pitcher of water, though Morna couldn't tell exactly how long. She was aware of the time passing, but was unable to get a sense of how many minutes had piled up and how many hours had slipped by. The guests skirted by her and she only realized they were there when their clothes brushed her.

Vaguely, she remembered she could not give in to this feeling. It had been years since she'd let it go this far, and she regretted it as she belatedly fought against the pull. It was as if she tried to wake from a dead sleep or walk through a bog. Not only was her mind more fixated on the water in the pitcher than on the party around her, but her body physically felt heavy as she tried to shift her position to break eye contact.

Thankfully, a moment later and the warm and rough touch of Brenna snapped Morna back into the present, breaking the water spell and releasing her to the roaring noise of a ballroom in the middle of a waltz. The dancers seemed put on double-time after the sluggish way she'd been seeing them. The dizzying speed caused Morna to slightly stagger to one side, forcing her to grip Brenna's arm for support.

Brenna, for her part, barely seemed to notice. "Couldn't you see me waving at you?" she asked sharply. Her eyes scanned the room and settled on some group on the other side. Morna barely caught sight of a group of what looked like foreign men before Brenna yanked her through the crush and toward the bandstand. "The aunts and I need to talk to you."

A flush of panic colored Morna's cheeks. Did they notice her and the pitcher? She'd been so good about the water for years, but one slip up could be enough to turn her aunts and sister against her. Who wanted a girl controlled by something other than herself? Morna struggled against the wave of dizziness that increased as they pushed through swirling waltzers.

Aunt Nora and Aunt Perta stood a few feet away from Great Uncle Roma, and Morna immediately recognized their posture for the one that meant they were scheming. She'd seen it in full swing during the planning months for the spring bazaar last year, and now it was suddenly apparent in a party they'd planned themselves. Morna thought about darting out from Brenna's grasp and hiding in the house until they forgot about her incident with the water pitcher, but she knew better than to think it would actually work. So she stayed put and let her sister pull her right up to their aunts.

"So glad to see you've finally deigned to join us," Aunt Nora said with a sniff.

"I'm sorry," Morna began, but they didn't give her the chance to finish her apology.

Brenna bounced on her toes, her neck straining to see over heads toward the same corner she'd been looking at just before. "Do you think they'll stay the whole weekend? I don't think I'd be able to pull it off if I only had one day."

"They'll stay," Aunt Perta said firmly, "even if I have to lame their horses myself."

"Who are we talking about?" Morna asked, a small hope beginning to bloom when she realized they might not be concerned with her at all.

"The Glenfarrows," Brenna replied, jerking her chin toward the group of foreign men.

At the sound of the name of one of those families vying for the Anjeluund throne, Morna's eyes immediately whipped around to inspect them. Her excitement now matched Brenna's and she barely contained her own bounce. They'd all heard of Anjeluund. It was impossible not to have, and the Glenfarrows were spoken about in every tavern and inn along the highway in Ittal. It was like suddenly seeing a character from some myth or legend appear in the ballroom of their crumbling home. It just didn't seem possible.

"They look so normal," she said, impressed by their ability to not be ten feet tall and graced with flowing beards and thunderous arms.

"I met Afton, the heir," Brenna said, a smug smile tugging her lips. She adjusted a curl over one shoulder and shrugged as if she was in the habit of meeting famous people every day. "He bumped into me and then walked me to the window to make up for it."

Aunt Perta placed a hand over her tightly cinched waist. "I knew the brother was coming, but I didn't expect the father and Afton himself to show up. If they'd said, I would have made sure the furnishings weren't so shabby and that we had more rooms prepared for them to view..."

"We can invite them to stay here instead of at the inn," Aunt Nora said. "The Blue Room needs only a little airing out and they couldn't find a fault with it."

"Ha!" Aunt Perta snorted. "The Blue Room isn't anything compared to what we have here on the west wing! Really, the other son should have said he would be joined by the heir to Anjeluund and we wouldn't have this problem."

"Morna, I need to borrow your blue dress tomorrow," Brenna said.

"Why?" Morna asked, defensive. Brenna had a habit of borrowing clothes on a more permanent basis, and the blue dress in question was one of Morna's favorites.

"Oh, come on." Brenna heaved a sigh. "We both know that light shade of blue looks much better with my skin than yours, and I need to look like a bloody painting if I want to capture the attention of Afton Glenfarrow."

Morna blinked in surprise. "His attention?"

"Really, you're as thick as a post sometimes. Afton Glenfarrow is unattached and poised to be the ruler of a country far greater than Ittal ever was. All I need to do is capture his heart and I might raise us from the ashes of one kingdom and into the birth of another."

Morna didn't know which was Afton amongst the foreign men circling the wine table. They all looked similar to her, and she tried to imagine her sister married to one of them. It was strange thinking of her as old enough to have her own family. Even stranger to think of her as a queen.

"With Brenna married to Afton, we'll once again regain our position in the world," Aunt Nora said, eyes sparkling. "The Grand House can be restored, the vineyards back to full production."

"Morna," Aunt Perta said, pinching Morna's elbow between two thin fingers and hauling her to her side. "In order to make sure our claim on the Glenfarrow's favor is truly cemented, we need you to try for the elder brother. Or perhaps one of the younger ones, once they're a bit older."

"Elder?" Morna asked, brows furrowing. "Wouldn't that make him the heir, and not Afton?"

"Well..." Aunt Perta laughed nervously and shrugged. "It's not polite to talk about such things, but his father-- for lack of a more genteel word-- kept a woman, before his marriage to the queen's cousin. The elder son came from that 'union', but holds no blood claim to the throne due to his mother being a mere barmaid. Not that anyone would want a child born in such lewd circumstances to be a king, anyway."

Aunt Nora cut in. "All that matters is, that should Afton gain the throne, his brother will no doubt be placed in a very lucrative position. Being married to any of the Glenfarrow boys will be an honor to the girl who does it."

"Which are they?" Morna asked. Brenna pointed out her quarry, a young man with light brown hair and a gentle face. Aunt Perta had to identify the brother, Robbin, since Brenna had not yet clapped eyes on him. Morna liked him decidedly less. He looked much like his brother, only far taller and with blonde hair. His face held something like a shrewd tension and he never seemed to let his guard down. She knew he must normally carry a sword, for his hand rested on his hip where the pommel would be. He clutched a goblet of wine in the other hand and talked to his comrades without a hint of humor.

"The brother looks ready to fight a bear," Morna said. "I don't like him."

Brenna laughed in one big breath. "Honestly! He's as handsome as a dream and he's young. Are you waiting until you're forced to accept the first portly, old, smelly suitor that asks?"

"No. But I don't want him." Morna crossed her arms and frowned.

"Fine," Brenna said, waving her hand airily to dismiss the matter. "Marry one of the younger brothers. But you're going to have to wait five years or so until they're ripe."

"Brenna," Morna gasped.

"It doesn't matter right now," Aunt Perta said, cutting off an impending argument. "As long as Brenna can catch Afton, that's really all we need. Though, I wouldn't recommend brushing off the brother, Morna."

Morna shrugged, refusing to further travel down the path of marrying Robbin Glenfarrow. They could plan all they wanted, but if she didn't consent to chase him he surely wouldn't come to the decision to marry her on his own. She had the feeling he was much more interested in his horses and his war talk than on noticing girls in crumbling former palaces.

Brenna wasn't shy about what she wanted, though. Morna felt like everyone in the whole room would notice her sister staring with such passion in the direction of the foreigners. A hungry gleam had Brenna's eyes glittering and Morna had the sudden and startling impression that her sister was as lost in herself as Morna was when she felt the call to water. Morna shivered at this thought and gently pulled away from her aunts in order to chase it from her mind by pushing through the crowd in the direction of the balcony.