A housemaid's quiet life is disrupted when the arrival of a mysterious visitor causes her to question the nature of her seemingly-charming cottage home in this sweet, cozy romantasy with a dark heart. Step into the Oubliette and forget your troubles.... Housemaid Tansy’s days are all the same. Her only duties are to tend to her charge, old Lady Aster, and take care of their quaint cottage home. The seaside house is charming, peaceful, and above all, isolated. Tansy can't remember the last time she left...or when she arrived. Merit is a Carrion Knight. A servant of the dark entity the Unmaker, she has been raised to be a monster. But when she's wounded during a routine raid, she stumbles through a mysterious door… and finds herself tumbling into the Oubliette. When the two meet, an instant connection forms, and a crack appears in Oubliette's perfect façade. As the bond between Merit and Tansy grows and powerful feelings rise to the surface, Tansy must question not only what she wants, but who she is. Because the origins of this charming world are darker than she could imagine—and the key to uncovering them might lie with Tansy herself. Lili Wilkinson is the author of more than twenty novels published in Australia, including Pink , The Boundless Sublime , and the Bravepaw series. She established the Inky Awards at the Centre for Youth Literature, State Library of Victoria. Lili has a PhD in creative writing from the University of Melbourne and spends most of her time reading and writing books for teenagers. Her fantasy novels include A Hunger of Thorns , Deep Is the Fen , and Unhallowed Halls . 1 Wild marjoram: Steep fresh leaves in boiling water for a tea that will dispel melancholy and bring peaceful sleep. TANSY The cat woke her up, batting an insistent paw against her cheek. “You horrid thing,” she said to it. “I was having a perfectly nice dream.” Gray light was only just starting to seep in through Tansy’s little attic window as she pulled on her linen shift and petticoat, the cat watching with luminous yellow eyes. A brown woolen overdress came next, the hem embroidered with a motif of marigolds, and a white kerchief for her neck and shoulders. Then a pinafore, white cap, and finally stockings and a pair of sturdy brown boots. Outside, the goose honked. The cat sprang from her bed with a gentle thump and led the way down the narrow attic stairs. She lit the fire in the kitchen, her cold fingers clumsy as she fumbled for the tinderbox, then went out into the damp morning to fetch water from the well. The cat followed her, picking its way carefully down the garden path. It was soot-black, with lamplike golden eyes that seemed to watch her every move. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” she asked it. “Surely there are mice to be caught.” But she was grateful for the company. Back inside, she filled the black iron kettle and hung it over the fire to boil for Lady Aster’s tea. She took the crock of milk from the larder and splashed a little into a dish for the cat, who lapped it up. “You’re welcome,” she told it. Lady Aster’s bedroom was stuffy, the dusty scent of old lavender hanging heavy in the air. Tansy set down the tea tray, and Lady Aster stirred in her sleep, muttering a word that sounded like anhelion. “Good morning, ma’am,” Tansy said brightly. She opened the curtains and the room was washed with morning light. It was very much an old lady’s room. Lace doilies. Mahogany furniture. Gilt-framed paintings of flowers and meadows on the walls. Nearly everything was embroidered with leaves and flowers and vines. It was how Tansy passed the long evenings after Lady Aster retired to her room, stitching neat rows of greenery on every piece of fabric she could find. She brought real plants inside from the garden too, flowers and bunches of herbs. Nothing made a house feel more like a home than the presence of green, growing things. Lady Aster’s eyes snapped open, watery but sharp. She lay still for a moment, taking in her surroundings, then sat up in bed. Tansy rearranged the pillows to make her more comfortable. She was a small woman, shrunken with age. Her white hair was escaping from the silk bonnet that she slept in, giving her a slightly loose, disheveled look. Tansy poured the tea and passed the cup and saucer to Lady Aster, who took it with a brief nod of acknowledgment. “I’ll be back in a bit to help you dress, ma’am,” Tansy said. Lady Aster didn’t respond, just sipped her tea and stared moodily out the window at the grassy meadow and beyond it, to the wide stretch of ocean, gray in the morning light. Tansy bobbed a curtsy and returned to the kitchen. “She’s not feeling chatty today,” she remarked to the cat. The cat ignored her. Tansy sighed. “Neither are you.” The chickens were more talkative, loudly demanding their breakfast while the goose watched from his nest under the blueberry bushes. Tansy fed them, then collected six brown speckled eggs from the