NaNo Extracts!
Some of the prologue:
Everybody knows that three children are as lucky as it is possible for offspring to be; especially the third of three. They are the heroes and heroines of every good story, the wisest and the most beautiful-and possessed of an uncanny ability to fall on their feet on every possible occasion. It followed, therefore, that the child who followed the third of three could not share that luck.
Deft was unlucky not only because she was the fourth of four, but also because this position was hers by so narrow a margin. Her sister had been born bare minutes before her, and as such was the happy recipient of all that could have been Deft’s. Even the privilege accorded to twins could not change the fact that Deft was cursed with ill luck of the most engrained kind.
Friday, who has been stuck in the Queen of Seas’ body for forty-nine years, and her sort of gaoler, West:
“The Queen of Rivers will provide for you if you go to her,” West told her. The Queen of Seas had told him that once, in one of their exceedingly brief meetings. He hoped that it was still true. “You could make a very good marriage, little Friday; she will be generous. And of course, any investments you did have will have forty-nine years of interest.”
Friday laughed shortly, then stood up and walked to the window.
“Sometimes, West,” she said, and her voice was tight, like a wire that hums with the tension placed upon it. “I don’t think that you know what I want at all…”
Padova failing to understand. (This is not unusual)
“It’s so stupid! It’s a pointless custom, all of this ‘fourth of four’ business. Honestly! As if it made a difference whether you or I was born last.”
Brook, twenty-three and gifted with an empathy that Paddy- however much she loved her twin- lacked, thought that although it made no difference to Padova, it probably mattered rather more if one was Deft…
Except that Deft remained unconcerned. She smiled, tucking her short curls back behind her ears, and lifted her feet to rest on the edge of Ilsa’s chair.
“Superstition or not,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t help with the holly.”
West and Friday following her return to her real body:
He had been right. Friday was crying.
So unexpected was this that West barely noticed anything about her changed appearance. Standing up quickly, he located a handkerchief in his pocket and stepped to her side to offer it.
“Come, Friday,” he said awkwardly as she snatched it and buried her face in it. “What is this? You’re almost free now. Why cry?”
The answer, when it came, was muffled by continuing tears and he had to concentrate to hear it. When he did, finally, he looked more closely at his somewhat altered companion in confusion.
She was, as she had said, blonde; fine hair cut short around a thin and pale face. Most strikingly, she was a good six inches shorter than the Queen, and the trousers and shirt that she had been wearing were almost comedically big.
“You’re crying,” West began slowly, “Because your clothes don’t fit?”
Friday looked up from her hands and nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His first thought was that she was not as beautiful as the Queen. It obscurely pleased him, and he suddenly smiled.
This was a practicality. He was good at practicalities.
Grim involving himself in reconnaissance:
A moment later, when he felt able to raise himself to a sitting position, Grim looked with a thin mouth at the pleasantly situated house on the other side of the treacherous fence. This must be it, then.
As he stood up, brushing dust fastidiously from his coat sleeves, he eyed it with slight perplexity. A well protected house; holly trees on either side of the front door, which rather made him wonder that the Hunt had scented a break.
Unless- unless there was a fourth of four, of course. That was a relatively usual explanation for seemingly inexplicable bad luck. And now the Queen had visited, and any other bad luck that the family had had would pale into insignificance, and Grim’s intention had failed.
No matter, he thought as he stamped the clinging mud from his boots. If he waited for the next evening, he could use the content of the bottle in his pocket and the traces of her presence in the house to track her. It might require some breaking and entering-- but no matter.
In terms of breaking things, Grim was something of a natural.