I woke up to the stirring breeze and the song of a lark, and something falling on my hair.
Disoriented, I opened my eyes. There was a lacy canopy overhead, the balcony doors were open, and Bryoni perched at the headboard, snowing rose petals on my hair.
I stared at her for a moment, already having no clue where I was. I’d been dreaming about home and France, and had expected my own bedroom walls.
“Morning,” the child chirped, jumping down on the bed beside me.
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