Chapter 2

The sage said nine was the number of extremes, and by some quirk of fate, the Maquis and Marchioness's real heiress had split into nine.

As for why nine—

The sage stroked his beard.

Not meant to be spoken of, he said.

More "real daughters" kept turning up, and plenty of impostors tried to pass themselves off as one of them too. That only made me—the fake daughter who'd grown up under my parents' roof since infancy—all the more precious by comparison. Add in the fact that I had a honeyed tongue and knew exactly what to say, and it made perfect sense that I'd end up their favorite.

While all this was happening, Marigold came back carrying the bowl.

Sure enough, Ivy and my mother hadn't even laid eyes on each other yet. Blood testing had become practically an assembly line at Griffith Manor by this point.

My mother watched the two drops of blood swirl together in the bowl and dissolve into one, and tears of relief spilled down her cheeks.

"Quick! Get a courtyard ready for our ninth daughter! And pass the word—anyone else who comes claiming kinship gets thrown straight out!"

…

Once Ivy had been cleaned up and dressed properly, they brought her out to the courtyard.

Why the courtyard and not one of the private sitting rooms? Simple—there were too many of us to fit anywhere smaller.

Ivy was led out in a daze, and immediately a flock of sisters descended on her, chattering all at once.

"How old is our little sister this year?"

"Silly, she's the same age as the rest of us, obviously!"

"Where have you been living all these years? Why'd it take you so long to come home?"

"Have you had any schooling, little sister?"

"You look so pale. Are you taking some kind of medicine?"

"What are you good at, little sister? We could all learn from each other."

My mother looked over her nine daughters with unmistakable pride. It had been a chaotic road getting here, but every single one of them had turned out to be a good girl.

Diana, the eldest, had come home early and had already mastered music, chess, calligraphy, and painting.

Vera, the second, had also come home fairly early, though she'd never cared for those refined arts. These days, she served as a battalion commander in the Falcon Battalion and was rarely home.

Nora, the third, had grown up poor and terrified of poverty, so the moment she came home, she threw herself into learning how to make money. These days, she was responsible for most of the household's income.

Sylvia, Iris, Clara, Rosalind, and Odette had all come home considerably later, but every one of them had thrown herself into mastering some skill regardless.

Sylvia excelled at embroidery. In the years my mother's fingers had been off-limits to needlework, it was Sylvia's embroidered pieces that had gone to court as gifts for the palace ladies.

Iris was a gifted painter. Clara had a talent for medicine. Rosalind could charm anyone in any room.

Odette had come home the latest of them all, but she was sharp—sharp enough to already be serving as a princess's companion.

And me? I'd cornered the market on modern cuisine and had every single one of them wrapped around my little finger through their stomachs.

And Ivy?

As far as I knew, she couldn't do a single thing.

After the farmer's wife had swapped her out at birth, Ivy hadn't exactly suffered—but the family had been too poor to afford lessons of any kind for her.

"Who... who are they?" Ivy stammered, trembling.

"These are all your sisters. Come say hello," my mother said warmly, waving her over.

Ivy looked like she might faint on the spot. She could never have imagined it—she'd traveled all this way to find her family, only to discover they already had eight other daughters waiting for her?

"No! It's not possible! I'm the only real one! I'm your only daughter! Mother, they've tricked you!"

The courtyard went dead silent.

My mother's smile faded. Her brow creased.

"Don't talk nonsense. Every one of these girls is your true sister, bound to me by blood just like you are. How could that possibly be faked?"

"Blood? What blood?!" Ivy shrieked. "They're fakes! All of them! Someone's playing tricks! Mother, believe me. I'm your only daughter!"

She was shaking with fury, her eyes sweeping wildly over her sisters' varied expressions.

Finally, her gaze landed on me, standing beside my mother.

She lit up like she'd found her proof, and pointed a trembling finger straight at me.

"It's her! It has to be her! Celeste Griffith! Is this your doing? Did you come back too?!"