Chapter One

February 28, 1796 — Five Hours to Midnight

Magic has always called to me, tugged at my soul in ways I could never explain, like my emotions somehow strengthen it.

Tonight, resentment fuels it.

If it could, magic would manifest my anger in the form of a blizzard, menacing and foreboding, like the storm clouds above me. Numb, like the tip of my nose.

I glare at my father in disbelief and fling my arm toward the seamstress’s house. “I have to give her an answer.”

My father frowns but says nothing. As a child, I found comfort in the brawny build of his shoulders, but now they remind me only of his overbearance and unfairness. The wind blowing into our mountain town, prelude to the incoming storm, nearly steals the bundle of fabric from my grasp. I got my stubbornness from him, so this staring contest could last hours.

Mamma won’t let it. She never does.

“Bianca, let’s finish our deliveries before we freeze to death.” Her curvaceous frame, no taller than five feet, shivers despite her layers of clothing.

She’s trying to change the subject, but I won’t allow it. Leap Day is here again, and I am done backing down from the fight that has been brewing between us for the last four years.

Mamma retrieves the last bundle of fabric from the basket on our mule’s back and heads toward the seamstress’s house, the black skirt of her traditional costume caught by the wind as she traverses the narrow village road. I move to follow her, but my father stops me.

“You’re staying here.” His bushy brows and sturdy jaw harden in disapproval.

I reel, shocked that my father, who regards integrity and honor as the highest moral qualities, would let me break my promise to Donna Lucrezia. “Babbo, I told her I would think about it.”

His hazel eyes dart toward my mother’s voluptuous figure; she’s already at the door of the seamstress’s house. “I trust Donna Lucrezia to buy our linen, not to take you under her wing.” He relieves me of my bundle of fabric as if I were still the thirteen-year-old who could scarcely manage the weight four years ago. “You should not have told her you’d think about anything. Signora Renzi is as good a needleworker, not to mention an honestly made one. She agreed to take you on as a helper this morning, so that’s what you’ll do. End of discussion.”

I wrench the kerchief from my head, my brown hair falling in waves before the wind whips it into a frenzy. Signora Renzi is too old to complete even the most basic sewing tasks. How will she teach me anything when she can barely hold a needle? The fact that my father went behind my back to make the arrangement and circumvented my plan to apprentice with Donna Lucrezia makes me grind my teeth.

My vision tunnels, and the snowstorm gathering in the distance seems to find itself trapped inside my chest. “You will never trust me to make my own choices, will you?”

“This has nothing to do with trust. It has to do with you not listening to anyone.” My father bears down on me with all the severity he can muster. “Why do you insist on learning from someone entangled in the same twisted magic that lost us your brother four years ago?”

Like bile, indignation shoots up my throat at the mention of Nico, especially on the four-year anniversary of his betrayal. “My brother was a liar, scoundrel, and cheat. I would never say something only to do the opposite or give my word only to break it. I am nothing like him.”

Babbo regards me with such displeasure I almost look away. He knows my words only scrape the surface of my bitterness. I love Nico. I miss him. But to this day, the consequences of his choice still haunt our family—and my heart. He left four years ago in search of a wish at the Magician’s Castle, never to return. He abandoned us, abandoned me, like we meant nothing to him. I can’t forget it when everything around me stands as a reminder.

Babbo inhales heavily, the heartache plain on his face. He pivots toward the seamstress’s house, and my breath hitches. I can’t lose another argument to the ghost of my brother. Babbo doesn’t want me to apprentice with Donna Lucrezia because her success materialized after she attended the Magician’s ball sixteen years ago. But I am not the seamstress, as I am not my brother, and my father can’t shackle me with the ramifications of their choices.

“What’s wrong with wanting something better than a life tending sheep and working the loom? I do not seek a wish from the Magician to achieve my dreams.”

Babbo turns slightly toward me, and for a second his expression reveals the compassionate man he used to be—the doting father who let me and my brother dream of magic and wishes even though he disapproved.

“No, cara mia.” His gaze travels down the length of my traditional costume, a creation I made specially for tonight. “But riding on the back of someone who did bypasses the hard work required to get there. You could learn a thing or two about what it takes to make it in a world where not all wishes are granted with magic.”

I frown at the accusation. I’ve promised him I wouldn’t go to the Magician’s Castle to get my wish. Isn’t that enough? Donna Lucrezia is the best seamstress in all the provinces, magic or not, and she’s asked me to apprentice with her. I would be a fool not to take advantage of that.

Mamma secures her shawl and white headkerchief before opening the door to the seamstress’s house. They enter without me, shutting the door on my hopes for a different future. I bury my face in our mule’s neck, hiding the quivering of my chin until I trust I won’t fall apart in front of Donna Lucrezia’s house.

The wind dies down, and the sound of giggling draws my attention to the traditionally dressed townsfolk heading toward the wishing well. They swirl down the street like leaves falling in autumn, full of color and excitement at the prospect of change.

The wishing well—a circular, golden fountain with thorny roses growing around it—is visible farther up the cobblestone street, even under the fresh dusting of snow. It is clearly enchanted. Its surface shimmers like the moon. And the roses? Their stems, twisted thick like tree trunks, rise above the edges on opposite sides to create a canopy. They don’t shrivel in the cold.

They twinkle. Like stars.

Movement catches my eye, and I glimpse a red skirt beneath a black bodice and embroidered apron as a girl rushes past me. We are both dressed in the traditional costume of our town, down to the gold embroidery. But she wears a Colombina mask and practically sprints to cast her coin into the well in hopes of an invitation to the Ball of Wishes.

Jealousy needles me.

I consider marching to the well and casting my own coin—and wish—into the water. I take a step toward it, wondering what it would feel like to lean over the edge and taste the future I want. Its magical allure tugs at the desperation coursing through me, and I am momentarily blinded by desire. Another step follows, and another. And then the memory of Nico pulls me back to reality—that, and someone shouting my name.

None other than Enzo di Giacomo, the miller’s son, walks toward me. My parents would love to call him their son-in-law, but he’s an insufferable clod. Trotting beside Enzo is my dog, Milo, a basket of supplies from the bottega dutifully in his mouth.

Enzo waves excitedly. He removes his cap, his blond curls cascading down his temples as he approaches. He clasps my hand, yanks me closer, and kisses both my cheeks. The greeting isn’t entirely unexpected. But then he lifts my fingers to his lips, lingering longer than he should. He nods at something behind me, and I turn to see my parents exiting the seamstress’s house.

Fantastic.

I jerk free and almost smack Enzo for good measure. He takes too many liberties with me. Looking at me more than he should, touching me more than I want him to, and even advising me on what types of work and hobbies I must have as a prospective wife.

He bows in that self-important way of his as my parents approach. “I was hoping to walk Bianca home.”

Babbo raises his eyebrows, and I attempt to look distracted. I know what he wants me to do, but he is delusional if he thinks I’ll accept Enzo’s invitation. He’ll try to hold my arm the entire way home.

“I’ll walk with my parents, thank you.”

Mamma and Babbo exchange awkward glances. They nod at Enzo with tight smiles, and Enzo places the cap back on his head. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner.” He leans over Mamma with two farewell kisses, one on each cheek, and walks away.

I swivel toward my parents. “Why is Enzo coming for dinner tomorrow?”

Babbo ushers our mule and Milo along. “Not just Enzo. His mother and father are coming too.”

“Because?” My tone drips with suspicion.

Only one explanation exists for such a formal visit: Enzo will officially request my hand in marriage. Which means our parents have already sanctioned the union.

Mamma runs her dainty fingers across Babbo’s back, stopping whatever retort is about to spill from his lips. “We only want your happiness, Bianca. We don’t wish you to be miserable.”

I laugh without humor, and despite my every effort to keep my exasperation at bay, the words rush out of me. “It seems your only goal in life is to make me miserable.”

Mamma gasps, and Babbo’s eyes widen. I press a fist to my mouth to keep myself from uttering another accusation. I can’t make a spectacle of myself in public. Mamma will hold it against me forever. Before I have a chance to say anything else I’ll regret, I glance at the wishing well and run home.

Mamma and Babbo call after me, but I don’t stop until I reach the house. I shut the door behind me, my legs throbbing like fingers stiff from hours of sewing.

Nonna Marianna sits by the fireplace as she tends a pot of polenta. “About time you arrived.” She spins toward me, her plump frame and kind, gray eyes immediately aware. “What did you fight with your father about this time?”

A sob catches in my throat. Though my grandmother is practically blind, she reads people well. I wipe the moisture from my nose and bottle up the hopelessness running through me.I need to keep myself together. I listen to my parents’ approach, but they have to secure our mule in the stalla before coming inside. So that gives me a little time.

“Did you know Enzo’s family is coming over for dinner tomorrow?”

Nonna Marianna pats her crown braid as if a single touch has the power to secure all her flyaways. “Your father loves you.”

“That is not—”

She lifts her hand and stops me. “He loves your brother. He misses him. His parting splintered him. If he loses you, too, he’ll never recover. He’s trying to guide you. Don’t resent him for that.”

The lump in my throat nearly chokes me. I may not be able to count on her as an ally, after all. “He’s not trying to guide me. He’s holding me back.”

Nonna Marianna sighs and wipes the wooden spoon on the edge of the polenta pot, creamy bubbles rising to the top in protest. “What’s holding you back is your refusal to let go of your anger and stubbornness, bambina. Nico made his choice. Don’t let that dictate your future.”

I close my eyes to avoid rolling them. I’m trying to shape my future around the mess Nico left behind. It’s my parents who are letting his mistake ruin my life.

My eyes go to the table at the center of the room. A note, addressed to me and accompanied by a coin, rests at the edge. I recognize the handwriting.

I lift the coin and turn it in my hand, tears pricking my vision as I study the image of the winged lion. My heart shrivels with the realization that it isn’t a local coin. This currency belongs to the same city where the Castle of Wishes resides whenever it isn’t traveling the kingdoms during Carnevale: Venice.

I’ve stopped counting the nights I have dreamed of traveling to that city with Donna Lucrezia, of shopping for exotic fabrics and elegant ornaments, of exploring its markets and ports. This coin makes that dream feel so close and yet so far.

The door flies open, and dread twists my belly. Mamma and Babbo look furious. They enter with Milo, the weight of silence settling between us.

Milo trots over to lick my fingers, and I take a deep breath in preparation for the fight to ensue. “How could you arrange my marriage without my consent?”

“As if you ever consent to anything.” My father tears the cap from his head and hurls it at the table, sending Milo scurrying under a chair. “You are too bullheaded, inconsiderate, and naive to think of anything beyond the tip of your nose. Enzo has been trying to win you over for years.”

“And I’ve been rejecting him for years!” A gust of wind rattles the shutters, as if the snowstorm matches the growing intensity of our argument. “He already tells me how I should live every hour of my day, and we’re just acquaintances. Can you imagine the nightmare my life will become? Of course not! Because all you care about is what other people think of us and how Nico has stained our family name. Never mind that I’m still here, trying to do what’s right with the opportunities I have.”

“Trying to get away with poor choices isn’t doing what’s right. Why won’t you listen to our counsel?” Babbo claps his palms together, shaking them in exasperation. “At first I understood that you dreamed of your own magical wish. I accepted that you were heartbroken over your brother and infatuated with your childhood crush. But after all this time, I thought the waiting had changed you.”

I stare, speechless.

All this time has more than changed me. The Castle is an enchanted kingdom where townsfolk go to get their wishes during the Midnight Ball. Most return home satisfied and eager to share their success with their families. But sometimes a few wretched ones—like Nico and his best friend, who I refuse to acknowledge ever existed beyond his connection with my brother—do something else: capitalize on their good fortune, travel the world, marry into rich Florentine families, or settle in distant cities, away from their humble upbringings. It doesn’t matter. Their fates are usually learned within months of attending the Midnight Ball.

Except Nico and his best friend completely abandoned us. That’s how much we meant to them. No letters. No messages. No nothing. They got their wishes and left. We have all stopped believing we’ll ever see them again. To me, they might as well be dead.

“Is Salvatore the reason you won’t accept courtship from other boys in town?” Nonna Marianna’s tone is inquisitive and gentle, like she finally understands.

Mamma pinches her fingers together in the air—a gesture that can only mean she wonders if I’ve lost my mind. “Mah, don’t tell me you’re still pining away for the most rotten of Nico’s friends.”

Her allegation burns a hole through my stomach. I inhale shakily as I consider the memory of the boy I thought myself in love with for pretty much my entire childhood. “You think this is about Tory?” Even after all these years, my pulse spikes at the sound of his name on my lips.

“I can’t believe you still call him that.” Mamma scoffs like my use of his nickname—instead of his full name, Salvatore—confirms the feelings she accuses me of harboring for him. 

“This has nothing to do with Tory, or my brother, or anyone else. This has to do with me. I do not love Enzo. He is rude and patronizing. I do not wish to marry him despite how much he professes to love me. I want to apprentice with Donna Lucrezia. I want to follow my dream, not the dream you have for me.”

Babbo closes the distance between us until he towers over me like the steeple of our town church. The polenta gurgles within its pot, sizzling as it spills onto the fiery logs.

“Don’t test me, Bianca.” He shakes a finger at me, the vein on his neck pulsing. “Life is not about dreams coming true at the expense of others. It’s about love and commitment to people you can build a life with regardless of how flawed you think they are.” He waves at my traditional costume like it’s an insult to him. “You’ve been sneaking around like a thief and circumventing our rule to work with Donna Lucrezia. You made the dress you’re wearing tonight even though I forbade it. It’s time you embrace your duties, girl, move on from childish whims, and forget about the magic that created her success and ruined your brother.”

My nails claw at the black bodice I finished only two nights ago. It took me months to save the money for the supplies I needed to sew it to perfection, and yes, I did it all behind my father’s back. He is the one forcing his dreams on my life at the expense of my happiness. Not the other way around. I will never embrace the duty he suggests, especially if it involves Enzo. I’d rather seek a wish from the Magician tonight than wed a man I don’t love.

I step back, bumping into the table and rattling the bowl of tomato sauce ready for dinner. “I am not Nico. Nor am I Tory or Donna Lucrezia. But if you attempt to force me into marriage, I will go to the Castle of Wishes tonight, and you will never see me again.”

Mamma covers her mouth in shock, Nonna Marianna makes the sign of the cross, and my father’s eyes widen in horror. But he’s taught me the art of bullheadedness too well. This is a fight he will lose, even if my winning means turning my back on all of them.

Babbo retrieves his hat from the table and twists it in his hands. He stares me down, but I don’t look away. After what feels like four more years of waiting for a brother who will never return, his shoulders droop.

“Very well, ragazza. May you not regret trusting the Magician with your future.”

He ascends the stairs to his room, and Mamma follows. I am left with Nonna Marianna, the boiling polenta, and Milo cowering under the chair. When my parents begin shouting at each other, I clasp my mouth to stifle a sob. I won’t cry anymore. Not about Nico or my parents. I am not the one in the wrong here. 

Nonna takes my hand, the Venetian coin still clutched between my fingers as she presses it against my chest. “Fear is the enemy of reason, bambola. And your father is so terrified of losing you the way he lost Nico that he can’t see we were all lost the day your brother left. Not because he went to the Castle in search of a wish but because he never returned.”

My chin quivers. She’s right. It’s why tonight hurts so much. All the threads that once held our family together were torn when Nico didn’t come back. We are nothing but a memory of who we used to be.

“Su su, bambola.” Nonna Marianna pats my cheek, comforting my aching heart. “The Castle of Wishes holds many secrets. Perhaps we have reason to hope.” She leads me to the door. “If you are determined to go, I won’t fight you. It is time you choose for yourself the path you will follow. But you must take this with you.”

She unfastens the golden Cannatora hidden under the folds of her undershirt. The traditional necklace made of filigree beads features a pendant with two hearts intertwined at the center: a symbol of lovers, known as the Presentosa.

I gasp as she attempts to wrap it around my neck. “I can’t take the necklace Nonno Antonio gave you.”

“Yes, you can. It holds a remarkable pendant.” She leads my fingers to finish fastening the clasp. “You must follow its counsel. It won’t fail you. Return it to its room when the time comes.” She kisses both my cheeks and squeezes the hand with the Venetian coin. “You’ll figure out how.”

I frown, confused, my eyelids blinking repeatedly. Did Nonna Marianna attend the Ball of Wishes back in her day?

Before I can ask, she grabs the door handle. “Whatever you do, don’t trust the Magician. Always read beyond the clues, and remember, faith is the first step you must take when facing uncertainty.”

“Why did you never tell us you’d been to the Castle?” My underarms break into a sweat. Babbo and Mamma are full-on yelling at each other. Any second, they could come down and catch us.

“That doesn’t matter now.” She opens the door a smidge, her expression indecipherable. “Do you truly believe Nico abandoned you?”

Nonna Marianna has always had more hope than the rest of us, keeping the flame alive like a spark of magic that refuses to die. But I walked Nico to the edge of the forest. I watched him leave. I climbed to the top of the hill to watch the Castle disappear in the distance when Leap Day ended. I waited for days, then months, and now years. If he didn’t abandon me, then where is he?

“Does it really matter what I believe?” I ask. Nico’s departure left me shouldering not only the responsibility of our family’s future but also the weight of grief that’s stifling the life out of everyone in our home.

“It only matters what you believe if it leads you to set your grievances aside and forgive. Family is about love, not recrimination.” She opens the door wide, the snow sweeping into the house with a vengeance. “Go. The Castle of Wishes won’t wait for you, and for all your father’s stubbornness, I’m sure you won’t make it to the wishing well if he catches you leaving.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Play your cards well and trust the pendant.”

I kiss each of her eyelids and step into the night, her farewell echoing in my mind after she shuts the door behind me.

I head to the wishing well, fighting the wind that threatens to knock me sideways. I shield my face against it and shiver, lamenting the lack of a shawl as I come to the end of the street. All the people gathered around it earlier are gone, to the Castle or back to their homes. Either way, I find myself alone, wondering if, tonight, I can change my fate for the better or if I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life.

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