The Empire of Dreams
Contents (61)
Map
Dedication
For every reader who wrote me a letter, emailed,
or messaged me on social media to demand that I tell Red’s story.
You made this book happen.
Thank you.
Contents
Cover
Map
Title Page
Dedication
1. Then
2. Now
3. Then
4. Now
5. Then
6. Now
7. Then
8. Now
9. Then
10. Now
11. Now
12. Then
13. Now
14. Now
15. Then
16. Now
17. Now
18. Then
19. Now
20. Then
21. Now
22. Now
23. Now
24. Now
25. Now
26. Now
Author’s Note
About the Author
Books by Rae Carson
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
Then
THE little girl’s memories began in a dark cellar.
She huddled there, knees to chest, fingertips digging into the earthen floor. She liked the feel of it, the coolness, the slight sting as grit separated skin from nails. The earth had always called to her, and she had always answered. Her mamá despaired of her ever having clean hands.
She would have stayed forever if she could, there in the cool dark, smelling the baskets of turnips and hanging braids of garlic, digging with her fingertips. Because it was better than being up there, with the banging and the screaming, which she was definitely not listening to but instead digging and digging and digging. Maybe she could dig a tunnel to the other side of the world, or at least a hole so deep she could disappear for real.
She thought hard about the other side of the world. What it must be like. Everyone said it was hotter than a fire pit in summer, with a sea of sand that stretched as far as the eye could see. She’d love to see something like that, she truly would.
The girl imagined it so hard that she did a wonderful job of not listening to up there for a very long time. Until she realized she had to pee.
The outhouse was up the ladder, out the door, and off to the right of the hut she shared with her mamá. She was not to leave the cellar. Mamá had specifically said to hide, to be silent, to not cry, no matter what happened. No matter what happens. But she was a big girl now, and big girls did not pee in their drawers.
The girl pressed her knees tighter together. It would be over soon. The noises would stop; the trapdoor would open. Light would pour down, and Mamá’s hand would reach into the darkness to lift her out.
Something banged against the floor directly overhead. She looked up, startled, as dust fluttered down and peppered her eyes. The girl did not whimper, or even gasp. She blinked against the dirt, blinked and blinked until her cheeks ran with tears. But she would not cry out, and she would not pee. “Put on your big-girl face,” Mamá had said.