Prologue

THERE WAS SOMETHING IN EMELIA’S eye, a speck of dust that caused tears to stream down her cheek. Sniffing, she rubbed her face, not caring that it left a black panda smudge. Honestly, she didn’t really care about anything anymore.

“Emelia, bella! Are you okay?” her mother called over. Emelia’s parents sat side by side on the Italian designer sofa, but her father didn’t even glance up from his book.

It was almost a year ago to the day that Emelia’s whole life had been turned upside down.

“I’m fine, Mother,” she replied sweetly, the ring of mascara making her left eye look like an empty socket in her skull. “Just something in my eye.”

Last year Emelia had been kidnapped along with a deaf boy named Percival Butter. He was the son of Richard Butter, owner of the Butter Company and a direct competitor to her father’s confectionery company, Hubbub. Although they could not remember a single thing from the time they were held captive, they’d been found safe, unharmed and with no obvious impact on their health or well-being. Which meant the only remaining question was . . .

“Emelia, I think it’s time for you to go to bed. You have track practice in the morning.” Her father turned another page, still not looking at her.

Emelia glanced at the window. “But it’s not even dark yet,” she protested.

“I said go to bed.” His tone was dark and oppressive, extinguishing any chance of further conversation.

She resisted the temptation to scowl at him, knowing she’d be picking a fight she could never win. She grabbed her track team schedule off the gilded coffee table and marched up the marble stairs to her bedroom, fighting the urge to slam the door behind her and scream.

As she’d been thinking—before she’d been so rudely interrupted—the only remaining question was: If I’ve been returned safe and unharmed, why is my father so clearly disappointed?

Ever since her return, her dad had turned distant. At first he had watched her like a hawk, as if expecting something of her. Whatever it was, she never found out. Instead she saw his hope turn to disappointment and now to this—a cold withdrawing.

She’d been upset, of course. She’d taken up every improving hobby imaginable to try to satisfy him. She excelled in school, tried to assist him with work. But nothing pleased him.

Emelia carefully unpinned her white hijab, folding it neatly to put away in the pristine gold armoire where she kept all her headscarves. They looked up at her, in a variety of colors, but the white one had always been her favorite. It made her feel neat, straightforward, turning her into someone to be taken seriously, and now she was going to make sure she felt like that underneath it too. She took one deep, furious breath, letting go of all the rage and hurt as the reality of the situation settled in her belly.

She went through everything she knew. A few months ago, Percival Butter had been admitted to the hospital after a mysterious group called Leviathan had made a kidnapping attempt on the princess of Maradova. Fact.

She knelt down and reached far under her four-poster bed to pull out an unassuming wooden box. She eased back the lid. Inside were piles of curling newspaper snippets, everything she’d been able to find on Leviathan, Percy, and the princess of Maradova.

Percival Butter had been brainwashed and couldn’t remember a thing. His father had known and allowed this to happen. Fact.

Emelia had been kidnapped by Leviathan a year ago along with Percival. Fact.

Emelia’s father, for reasons she still didn’t understand, was disappointed that the brainwashing had not worked on her, making her useless for whatever plan Leviathan had. This was speculation, but there were two things Emelia was absolutely sure of, deep in her gut.

One. Leviathan had ruined her life.

Two. She was going to make them pay.

At the very bottom of the box was what she needed, the things that would let her feel like herself again. Free and true.

Emelia had spent her whole life being the perfect daughter, the perfect young woman, always doing what was expected of her, but it had never been enough.

She strode over to her lavish dressing table and sat down, grabbing a fistful of thick, curly ebony hair. With decisive cuts, she allowed the silky locks to fall like water through her fingertips, leaving a little halo of black around the top of her head. Then, without hesitation, she turned on the electric razor she’d retrieved from the box. Vibrations coursed through her fingertips, a low buzz of power in her hand as she raised the rotary blades to her scalp. She brought it closer . . . closer still . . . keeping her eyes trained on the mirror until she felt the halo fall around her feet. When she glanced down she saw the curls glimmering on the white marble floor like writhing black snakes.

There. It was done.

She ran a hand over the shape of her skull, newly exposed. Silky spikes of freshly shorn hair covered her scalp like a glistening helmet. Her eyes somehow looked bigger, more soulful—dark orbs staring out from an unrecognizable face. She smiled at her new friend, a real smile, welcoming the familiar stranger in the mirror.

A buzzing from the bed caught her attention. The caller ID simply read “4,” but she knew immediately who it was.

“Hello, Riri.” She grinned down at the phone, still admiring her reflection in the mirror. “How’s our little project going?”

The girl on the other end of the phone pondered, a melodic hum that sounded out over the noise of engines revving.

“We’re still trying to decipher the puzzle.” Her tone was thoughtful, distracted, and Emelia could imagine the exact expressions on her face. “How are you holding up?”

“Pretty good.” Emelia sat down on the bed, absentmindedly reaching to curl a lock of hair around her finger. It was no longer there. She turned to stare at her new image again, her head feeling lighter, her body free. She smiled again. “You’re not going to believe what I’ve just done.”