I spent the next five years in an orphanage among human children. I looked like any other orphan, and I let them believe that I was. What was I without my sisters, without my mother, without magic?
That girl I once was might as well have been dead. I was the day without sun. I did not feel. I was empty instead of full. Lost instead of found. I didn’t cry after the day of the Burning. But I didn’t laugh or smile either. I was a witch without everything that made her so. I needed a place to hide. And what better place than in plain sight?
The orphanage was run by a woman named Madame Viola, who was kind but mostly indifferent to me and to all the other children. I kept to myself. But Hecate was always with me in the pouch I hid around my neck.
As I grew, the anger that was born the day of the Burning grew too. I had no magic. But I would have my revenge. I would wait. Until I was bigger and stronger. Until I could find a way back into that palace and take the life of the one who took everything from me.
But as I grew so did Queen Magrit’s reign. Stronger, bolder, and more powerful. And so did her new word for us. She had killed us twice that day. Once with physical death and once by killing our good name. Entente was the name that we had given ourselves long before I was born. Witch was the name that she had handed us. Entente was a whisper, a prayer, a wish for a better Fate. Witch was a scream, a slur, a denigration.
In naming us, she had accomplished two things—labeled us as villains and made us a target for all that the people didn’t understand. Every bad thing that happened. Every bump in the night. Every crop that went unharvested, every storm that touched a town, every famine that brought hunger. It gave the people a place to put all their hurt and blame and sadness. It was not true for the heart of every woman and man in the Hinter, but it was true for some. And the Queen exploited that, and the word spread from person to person, from Queendom to Queendom, until it was a part of the vocabulary of the world. So much so that you could not say the word “Entente” without someone coupling it with the word “witch.”
It was in essence another Burning, another death for all of us . . . And even though humans were not capable of curse, it was a curse that would haunt us that day and for years to come.
And then, after five years of waiting, Fate stepped in.
I was twelve and in the middle of an unappetizing breakfast of porridge when a woman swept in with a boy my age in tow.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Madame Linea. She’s here to adopt one of you,” explained Madame Viola.
Madame Linea was dressed like a noblewoman, her hair an architectural masterpiece of braids and curls. Her skin and hair were almost the same shade of white. And the boy was dressed in finery that could have matched the prince’s. He was pale too, with brownish-blond hair, a narrow face, and big eyes that held the promise of a very handsome man.
“And I’m Tork . . . ,” the boy volunteered, a twinkle in his blue eyes.
Linea cast him a sidelong glance that quieted him but not his smile, which got wider.
Madame Viola lined us up, and Linea took a look at all of us.
She shook her head when Linea stopped in front of me and looked down. She made me turn around and inspected me like she was inspecting a prized horse.
You don’t want Farrow, Madame Viola’s headshake said. She went over to Linea and whispered something.
I knew what she said without hearing it. I was not fit for taking. I had not made friends with the other kids at the orphanage. I had kept to myself from the day soldiers had discovered me in the forest and brought me there.
“But with a little polish and paint, she’s the closest match,” Madame Linea said.
“But, Madame . . .”
“I can make any girl into something else.”
“I don’t doubt your skills. I just think you should know she’s not like the other girls.”
Linea frowned. “When men say that about women, it’s meant to be a compliment, and when women say it about other women, it’s meant to be an insult. But from my experience, there are no two girls who are exactly the same . . . But I can make her look that way,” she said with certainty.
I glanced from Linea to Madame Viola, confused. But I was sure that somehow Linea had put Madame Viola in her place.
“Do you know what a Couterie is?” Madame Linea asked me.
I shook my head.
“Every princess and every prince, every duchess and every duke, every person whose blood is deemed noble has a Couterie.”
Some part of me bristled at her choice of words. It sounded like the Couterie were possessions.
“What does a Couterie do?”
“She or he trains to become the perfect companion to the royals—from the moment they reach adulthood and until their Ever After.”
“Companion?”
“Advisor, friend, lover . . . Whatever they need . . . A perfectly matched soul who knows their every like and every whim. Who knows their history and the history of the Queendoms. Who advises and protects them and helps them become who they are supposed to be.”
“Isn’t that a wife? Or a husband? Isn’t that what love is supposed to be?” I had read the same tales filled with romance and promising Ever Afters that every child read in the orphanage, though I never imagined love for myself—only revenge.
“Madame Viola keeps you all so very naive,” Linea assessed. “You’ve clearly never met a royal.” The corners of her mouth tugged upward with amusement.
She could not be more wrong.
“There are very few marriages of true love in the Queendoms. Rather, they are contracts of land and troops. The Couterie offer an opportunity for a queen or nobleperson to feel loved without condition,” she continued.
“And what about the Couterie? Do they get love in return?”
Linea paused and then said, finally, “We do not expect love. But we get comfort for the rest of our lives.”
I nodded, but I truly was surprised. The Entente had spent their lifetimes giving to humankind. I had never imagined that the Entente had a human counterpart that was equally dedicated to the whims of the Crown.
“How are they chosen? Why me?”
“The Couterie have been around as long as there were crowns. It is an ancient art that has been passed down for generations. Couterie are chosen to be perfect matches to the royals. They spend their days studying and training to be companions. And when they are both of age and if they both so choose, the Couterie help them cross the line into adulthood . . . and seal the bond between them forever. It’s called Becoming.”
“Surely, you don’t mean . . . ,” I said, my mind filling in the blank.
“It is a great honor to be a royal’s first. Of course, it is purely a matter of choice. The royal’s and the Couterie’s. But the best Couterie do anticipate and fulfill every need of the royals—hearts and minds and bodies alike.”
Behind her, the boy, Tork, pulled a face, breaking the seriousness of the moment. He seemed to want to make me smile. Despite myself, I felt a bit brighter.
Sensing something of what he was up to reflected in my face, Linea turned to the boy, but by then he was all seriousness again.
“She looks just like her, doesn’t she, Tork?” she continued.
The boy nodded. “It’s uncanny.”
“You will be the perfect Shadow for Lavendra.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “What is a Shadow then?”
“If a Couterie falls ill, or dies, or for any reason chooses not to fulfill his or her duties, there is a contingency plan. A Shadow is there to take the place of the Couterie if he or she cannot be there. He or she shadows the Couterie and serves him or her every day.”
“Kind of like an understudy in a play.”
“Yes, what an apt analogy.”
Madame Viola cleared her throat, nudging me.
“You’d think the girl had better offers . . . Hurry up, girl—say ‘yes’ already. You’re wasting Madame’s time.”
Linea smiled and focused on me.
“This is a lifelong commitment. The choice has to be yours, and yours alone. I can promise you a home. You can stay with your Couterie for the rest of your life. Or you can take your purse and make a life of your own one day. Or you can challenge her and become Couterie yourself. Whatever you do, you will be rewarded. It is a life of waiting and servitude, but it is also one that will take you to places you wouldn’t be able to otherwise go. The insides of palaces.”
I perked up at the word “palaces.”
“This Lavendra, who is she the Couterie to?”
“The prince.”
There was only one prince in all the Queendoms. And he was the son of the woman I intended to kill.
Ever since I had seen Hecate on the pyre, I knew I had to find a way to get to the Queen. I had been waiting to get my magic back. I had been waiting to be old enough or strong enough. And just like that, Linea and the Couterie had offered me a way into the palace.
“I would be honored to be a Shadow,” I said.
“Welcome to the Couterie.” Linea opened her arms to me and gave me the briefest of hugs. My nose filled with the scent of some flower I’d never smelled before. It was sweet and rich and rare. She smelled like freedom.
An hour later, I was walked into the Couterie. There was a line of girls and boys waiting to greet me. They stood in pairs of what looked like identical twins. Only, they weren’t twins. They were matched together, Couterie and Shadow, by Madame Linea. Each duo seemed identical at first glance. But upon closer inspection, I could see the slight differences between them.
There were a few more boys than girls at the Couterie because there had always been a Couterie for every Queen, and until now there had never been a prince in need of one. But there were plenty of other noble persons of every sex in need of Couterie so there were still a healthy number of girls. And of course there were Queens who chose female companions. And dukes and other noblemen who chose males.
A girl stepped forward from the end of the line. Her face matched mine.
“Meet Lavendra, Shadow,” Linea said.
Madame Linea had left out this part of the equation. When she’d said there was a resemblance between me and the prince’s Couterie, I didn’t think she meant someone who was almost a mirror image.
Tork, the boy with Madame Linea, winked at me, then leaned into my ear and whispered, “It’s going to be okay. You’ll get used to it.”
I assumed Linea had chosen him to accompany her to the orphanage by design, to ease my fear of going off to a new life with a stranger. There was indeed something about him that was comforting. Unlike the others, who stood perfectly poised in line, Tork was somehow more relaxed and more animated.
Lavendra stepped closer to me.
“She’s almost perfect. But her nose and her ears!” Lavendra said, wrinkling up her own nose.
She was right. Lavendra’s was a perky button of a nose compared to my wider, flatter one. I clamped my hands over my ears reflexively. She was right about them too; her ears were considerably smaller than my own. Was that cause to send me back to the orphanage? Would I lose my chance?
“Don’t worry, Farrow. I’ve already called the doctor,” Linea said without missing a beat.
Tork whispered to me again. “Don’t worry—the doctor is very gentle.”
It took me a moment to understand what they meant. Becoming Couterie was my way to avenge Hecate and kill the Queen. But first, I would have to give my flesh.