She was starting to change her mind. Her voice was lighter, and the right sort of pink was coloring her cheeks. “I’ll go with you to the ball, but only because it’s really silly of me to think I could ruin your chances when you look so beautiful. I bet you’ll receive five proposals before the prince picks his first dance partner tonight.” Marisol reached out with a gloved finger to touch one of the hundreds of silk flowers clinging to Evangeline’s skirts.
“Oh no!” The cloth violet in Marisol’s fingers tore free of the dress. “I’m so sorry—”
“It’s all right,” Evangeline said. “You don’t notice it.” There were so many flowers on the gown, a person would have to look very close to see one missing violet. And yet, Evangeline’s eyes went back to the damaged bit of skirt where the flower had been. There were five purple threads poking out. Thick threads that should not have broken easily.
Could Marisol have torn the flower on purpose?
Evangeline tried to ignore the wretched thought as soon as she had it. This doubt was just Kristof’s article getting to her, resurfacing some of the suspicions that Evangeline had tried to leave behind in the south. Marisol wasn’t her enemy. Marisol would never intentionally hurt Evangeline or damage her gown.
But Evangeline’s doubt was like salt. There wasn’t much of it, yet it seemed to alter the taste of her thoughts. She recalled the way Marisol’s face had shadowed yesterday after reading the scandal sheet that declared Evangeline one of the favorites. And Marisol had gone off alone earlier that day. Evangeline still wanted to believe that if she’d stepped into a spell shop it had been an accident, but what if Marisol was a little jealous? What if that jealousy had tempted her into a store despite her fears of magic?
“Ladies, I hope you’re both ready. It’s time to go!” Frangelica’s friendly voice accompanied two cheery knocks on their door.
A minute later, they were all heading out of the inn, walking toward a carriage pulled by four black horses as shadowy as the bits of doubt still clinging to Evangeline. She really didn’t want to think the worst of her stepsister, but the truth was, Kristof’s observations of Evangeline last night had been mostly accurate, so it was possible he’d written the truth about Marisol as well.
“I’m so sorry.” Evangeline stopped before stepping inside the coach. If Kristof was right about Marisol, Evangeline needed to know before reaching the ball. “I seem to have left my gloves in the room. I’ll be right back.”
Evangeline raced back into the inn and up the stairs in a blur of flowered skirts that weren’t meant for running. She needed to be quick, and she needed to make sure that her stepsister didn’t come after her. If she was wrong about Marisol—and Evangeline was almost certain she was wrong—she didn’t want Marisol to catch her searching her room for spell books. If her stepsister knew that even Evangeline had been tempted to believe what Kristof Knightlinger had written, she’d be crushed.
Once back in the suite, Evangeline walked past the sitting room table where she’d intentionally left her gloves and marched directly into Marisol’s room. The hearth fire was still burning, casting warm light over a bedroom exactly like Evangeline’s, save for the scents of vanilla and cream that always clung to her stepsister.
There were books, but they didn’t appear to be of a magical nature. The only tomes Evangeline found were in a pile of pretty pink cooking volumes on the nightstand.
Recipes of the Ancient North: Translated for the First Time in Five Hundred Years
How to Bake Like a Pastry Goblin
Sweet Salt: The Secret Ingredient to Everything
“Evangeline—”
Time stopped at the sound of Marisol’s voice.
Evangeline spun around to find her stepsister standing in the rounded doorway.
It seemed everyone was sneaking up on her today. No—Evangeline quickly corrected herself. Marisol hadn’t been sneaking. Evangeline had just been too busy suspecting her of witchcraft to hear her walk inside.
“What are you doing in my room?” A tiny, confused line curled like a comma between Marisol’s petite brows.
“I’m sorry—I—” Evangeline cast a frantic look about the room as she searched for something to say. “Did you happen to see my gloves?”
“Are these the ones you’re looking for?” Marisol held up a pair of cream gloves. “They were on the table in the sitting room.”
“Silly me.” Evangeline laughed, but the sound must have been as unconvincing as Marisol’s earlier smile.