Chapter 2

I returned from the preliminary round of the selection feeling a grim sense of satisfaction. The first hurdle was cleared. My old maid, Martha, who had been with my family since before I was born, greeted me at the door, her face etched with worry.

"Miss Sarah, are you alright? The Madam was furious when you left this morning."

Martha was the only one in this house who had ever shown me genuine kindness. In my past life, she had secretly slipped me bread and old blankets when I was cast out. Seeing her now, my heart ached with a fierce loyalty.

"I' m fine, Martha," I said, patting her wrinkled hand. "Better than fine."

I didn' t waste a moment. My mind was clear, my plan already in motion.

"Martha, I need you to do something for me. Go to the steward and tell him I require the carriage and two of the strongest house guards. Immediately."

Her eyes widened. "The carriage? But the Madam..."

"The Madam is not in charge of me anymore," I said firmly. "And one more thing. Pack up all of my father' s old books on military strategy and cartography. Have them sent to my room."

Without waiting for her reply, I strode towards the part of the estate where Emily lived. It was a beautiful, secluded courtyard, filled with exotic flowers and featuring a heated pavilion for winter days. It was the courtyard that should have been mine. My father had built it for me, but after his death, my mother had insisted Emily move in, claiming the quiet atmosphere would be better for her "delicate nerves."

As I approached, I heard voices from inside the main room. My mother and Emily. I paused behind a large decorative screen near the open window, my presence concealed by the rustling leaves of a nearby bamboo grove.

"I can' t believe she did that!" Emily' s voice was high and petulant. "She' s trying to humiliate me, Mother! She knows the selection was meant for me!"

"Hush, dear," my mother soothed. "Let her have her little moment of rebellion. She' s probably already been eliminated. She has no real talent, not like you. She just copies things. Once she comes crawling back, we' ll remind her of her place."

"But what if she doesn' t fail?" Emily whined. "What if she actually gets chosen for something? It' s not fair!"

"Don' t you worry," my mother said with a dismissive laugh. "She' s clumsy and has no grace. The best she could hope for is a position as a low-level clerk, and what good would that do? Your path is to the palace, my dear. We just need to be patient. Let her make a fool of herself."

The venom in their words was no longer surprising, but it still ignited a cold fire in my chest. They saw me as nothing more than an obstacle, a fool to be used and discarded.

I had heard enough.

I stepped out from behind the screen and walked into the room.

The chatter stopped instantly. Emily gasped, and my mother' s face went stiff with shock.

"Sarah! What are you doing here? You should knock before entering a room."

"This is my room," I stated flatly, my eyes scanning the luxurious silks and expensive furniture that had been bought with my father' s money. "Or have you forgotten?"

My mother' s face flushed with embarrassed anger. "Don' t be ridiculous. This has been Emily' s room for years. We all agreed it was for the best."

"No," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "You decided it was for the best. I was never asked."

I turned my gaze to Emily, who was shrinking back into her cushioned chair, trying to look small and innocent.

"You have enjoyed my room, my clothes, and my resources for long enough, Emily."

Emily' s eyes filled with tears, a classic tactic. "Sarah, I don' t know what you mean. I would never take anything from you. If you wanted the room back, you only had to ask. I would have given it to you gladly."

Her performance was flawless, painting her as the generous victim and me as the cruel aggressor. My mother immediately jumped to her defense.

"See? Emily has a good heart. You' re upsetting her, Sarah. You' ve been acting so strangely since yesterday."

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "A good heart? Her heart is as black as yours, Mother. I' m not interested in her phony charity. I am not asking for a gift. I am taking back what belongs to me."

I walked over to the large mahogany wardrobe, the one my father had commissioned for my sixteenth birthday. I ran a hand over the smooth, dark wood.

"I want this courtyard back. And I want everything that was mine returned. By sunset."

My mother looked scandalized. "You can' t just throw your cousin out!"

"Watch me," I said, my gaze unwavering. "Furthermore, I passed the preliminary selection today. The next round requires proper attire and resources. I will need the key to the family vault."

That struck a nerve. The vault contained the family' s real wealth, including my father' s official seal and the deeds to properties he had earned through his military service. My mother held that key like a scepter, using it to control everyone in the household.

"That' s out of the question!" she snapped. "The vault is for family matters, not your personal whims!"

"My success in the selection is a family matter," I countered smoothly. "It is the only chance this family has for any real honor, now that its hopes are no longer pinned on someone who can' t even pass the first round on her own merit. Give me the key, Mother. Or I will go to the magistrate and formally request a division of the family assets, as is my right as the firstborn child of my father."

My mother stared at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. The threat of public intervention, of having our family' s dirty laundry aired for all the capital to see, was something her pride could never withstand.

She knew I had her cornered. The balance of power in the Thompson household had just irrevocably shifted.