As the heavy carriage ground to a halt in front of the Minister's mansion, the silence inside—once thick with the shared secrets of the mountain—was shattered by a violent crash. Isabella didn't wait for a footman to lower the steps or a polite hand to guide her. She kicked the door open like a whirlwind of ruined yellow silk, her muddy skirts trailing behind her like the tattered, pathetic flag of a lost battle.
Her screams for "Mother!" erupted before her feet even hit the gravel. They echoed off the limestone walls of the estate, sharp enough to cut through the late afternoon air.
