Chapter 5

I returned to my room, not entirely sure what to expect. I was still shaking from the encounter with Cedric, how close I’d been to everything falling apart around me. Taking a deep breath, I threw my shoulders back and pushed the door open.

Calm and silence met me. My two roommates were each sitting on their respective beds. Mira’s knees were drawn up to her, creating a makeshift desk as she read a battered book. Tamsin sat cross-legged, furiously writing what looked like a letter. Seeing me, she quickly folded the paper up. I didn’t know if it was coincidence or not, but the beds they’d chosen were opposite each other in the room.

“I hope you don’t mind the bed by the window,” Mira said. “Tamsin was worried it’d be bad for her complexion.”

Tamsin lightly touched her cheek. “You have no idea what sunlight can do to freckles. But that doesn’t matter right now. What happened downstairs? They didn’t kick you out, did they?”

I sat down on the edge of the bed between theirs, the one that agitated freckles. “Not yet.” I nearly said that Mistress Masterson hadn’t chastised me at all but then thought better of it, lest I have to explain what I’d really been doing. “Just a, uh, stern talking-to.”

“Well, you’re lucky,” said Tamsin. “But this kind of changes everything. I’m not sure what to do about you now.”

It took me a moment to follow. “Are you chastising me too?”

“No. I mean, yes. I don’t know. But I’m not sure if being associated with two troublemakers is going to help me around here.”

Mira looked startled. “What did I do?”

“Nothing yet.” Tamsin almost seemed chagrined. “But you saw how it was down there after just five minutes. People like Clara aren’t going to let up on you.”

“So you want to be associated with someone like Clara?” I asked.

“Hell no. But I’ve got to plan my strategy here. I can’t fail.” There was the slightest tremor in her voice at that last part—vulnerability, more than arrogance. Mira caught it too.

“You won’t fail,” she said kindly. “Just keep up with everything. Cedric said as long as we score in a passing range, we’re guaranteed to go to Adoria.” Her use of his first name, with no honorific, wasn’t lost on me.

“I have to do more than just pass.” Tamsin glanced down at the folded paper in her hands and then looked up with renewed determination. Her other fist clenched beside her. “I have to be the best. The best in our manor. The best in all the other manors. And I have to do whatever it takes to make the best marriage in Adoria—the wealthiest man I can find, one who’ll do anything for me. If that means being cutthroat here? So be it.”

“Who needs cutthroat when you’ve got me? If you want to be on top, then I’m your best bet. I already know half of all this from being in a grand lady’s house. Stick with me, and you’re guaranteed to succeed. Stick with both of us,” I added, with a glance at Mira.

I still knew nothing about her, but that sense of connection remained. I didn’t know much about Tamsin either, aside from her willingness to become “cutthroat”—which didn’t exactly come as a surprise after our brief acquaintance. But Cedric’s words were weighing on me, about how important it was that I not screw up and give myself away. I was more likely to pull that off if I had backup.

Were these two the best backup I might have chosen? Unclear. But as my roommates for the next year, they were the best candidates.

“You’re probably not the only one thinking this place is cutthroat,” I continued. My persuasive skills hadn’t exactly been top-notch recently, but after winning Cedric to my side, I was starting to feel confident again. “So you know the others are going to be ruthless— especially if you are the best.”

“There’s no ‘if,’” said Tamsin.

“Right. Well, then, someone like Clara’s going to target you for sure. And you know she’ll surround herself in cronies too. She’ll have eyes and ears everywhere—you’d better have them too. Who knows if she’ll stoop to sabotage? And you might think I’m a troublemaker, but I’m also a troublemaker who knows the difference between sec, demi-sec, and doux wine.”

“Demi-what?” asked Tamsin.

I crossed my arms over my chest, triumphant. “Exactly.”

“So you’ve got the insider information. I’m obviously the leader.” Tamsin’s eyes fell on Mira. “What do you have to offer?”

When Mira simply met her gaze unblinkingly, I supplied, “Well, she apparently survived a war zone. I somehow doubt this is going to be harder.”

Tamsin looked as though she was trying to decide about that. Before the conversation could continue, a knock sounded at the door. Mistress Masterson entered with clothing slung over one arm. “Here are some day dresses for you to wear today. We can make adjustments later. Put them on, wash your faces, and be downstairs in fifteen minutes.” Her eyes fell on me. “And Adelaide, I expect there will be no more outbursts from you of such a . . . candid nature. The Thorns employ me to make you into exemplary young ladies. I don’t need that undermined within your first hour.”

“Yes, of course.” She looked at me expectantly, and I added, “Ma’am.” When that still didn’t lift her gaze, I tried “Uh, I’m sorry?” I had rarely had to apologize in my position and wasn’t entirely sure of the process.

Looking exasperated, Mistress Masterson draped the dresses and chemises over a chair. “Please just think before you speak next time.”

That I understood. It was advice my grandmother had been giving me for years.

When Mistress Masterson was gone, Tamsin pounced on the dresses and began examining each one. Mira, however, studied me. “I thought you said she already scolded you?”

I put on a wry smile. “I guess she wanted to make sure I got the message. Or embarrass me in front of you.”

A groan from Tamsin drew our attention elsewhere. “Damn it. This is too long.”

She was holding a cream-colored dress, scattered with green flowers, up to her. I got up and sifted through the rest of the clothes. “Wear this one. It’s shorter.”

Tamsin gave the russet calico a dismissive look. “That’s not my color. I’d think any sort of proper lady’s maid would know orange doesn’t go with red hair.”

“I know that wearing a dress that doesn’t fit you will look a lot worse. Sloppy, even.”

Tamsin wavered a moment and then snatched the dress from me, tossing back the green in return. It was too long for me too, and I handed it to Mira, the tallest of us. That left me with a gray-striped dress of lightweight wool. As the others began to undress, I backed up, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It was silly, I supposed, considering I’d had people dressing me my entire life. But that had been utilitarian. It was my servants’ job. Changing clothes now, with others around, was a reminder of the new lack of privacy I had. The room suddenly felt small, like it was closing in around me.

I turned my back to them and began working through all those buttons that had given me such trouble before. It was slightly easier than initially fastening them up, but the loops they went through were sewn under the edge of the fabric, requiring some dexterity. And good grief, why did there have to be so many of them? When I finally made it to the bottom of the dress, I glanced behind me and saw Tamsin and Mira staring in astonishment. Both were already in their new chemises and dresses.

“Our best bet, huh?” asked Tamsin.

“It’s harder than it looks,” I retorted. “A new style. One I’m not used to.” I turned away from them again and at least managed to wriggle out of it in a timelier manner than the unbuttoning. Ada’s chemise was of better quality than this new one, but I removed it too and put on the whole ensemble.

“Are these dresses torn?” asked Mira, studying one of her sleeves.

It was clear neither girl had ever worn a chemise as anything other than a basic undergarment. In fact, I was pretty sure Mira hadn’t had one on at all. These new dresses were the same style of many I’d worn before—albeit mine had been more expensive materials—where the chemise was meant to be displayed as part of the dress. I knew how it was supposed to look but wasn’t entirely sure of how to implement it. I did my best to explain it, and after a fair amount of tugging and straightening, we all finally managed to look fashionable. The delicate white fabric of my chemise was pulled and puffed out through slashes in the overdress’s arms, creating a color contrast. Lace from the chemise’s neckline peeped out around my bodice.

All of our extra maneuvering had taken time, and we were the last ones to arrive downstairs. We weren’t exactly late, but Mistress Masterson’s sharp eyes told us we shouldn’t have cut it so close. Then, taking in our appearance, her expression turned approving. “You three have styled those chemises very nicely. I’ve been trying to teach the others all week, but they just keep bunching up the fabric.”

I gave Mistress Masterson my sweetest smile. “Thank you, ma’am. We’re happy to help the other girls if they keep having trouble. I see Clara’s is really bunched up in the back. I can help her out after today’s lessons.” Clara shot me a murderous look, and I noticed much of her makeup had been scrubbed.

“That’s very kind of you,” said Mistress Masterson. “And such a refreshing attitude. Most girls come here being so . . . cutthroat. Mira, is there something wrong?”

Mira had a hand to her mouth, trying to cover her laugh. “No, ma’am. Just a cough.”

Mistress Masterson gave her a wary glance and then beckoned for us all to follow her to the conservatory. Mira and Tamsin fell into step with me, one on either side.

“That was excessive,” said Tamsin. But she too was smiling—and this time, there was no show or calculation.

I smiled back. “Best. Bet.”

And so my life as a commoner began, the days flying by faster than I expected.

Cedric didn’t need to worry about my hair giving me away. I’d never styled it on my own in my life, and after its first washing at Blue Spring, there was no way I could have ever replicated what I’d come in with that first day. No one demanded that level of detail on a regular basis, and mostly we were expected to pull our hair back neatly into buns or braids. I wasn’t very good at that either. Disheveled became part of my daily life.

And Cedric was right about the other things. Although we were being trained to fit into the upper classes, freeing the girls from many of the labors they’d grown up with, there were still a lot of skills taken for granted that I couldn’t perform. I did what he’d advised, watching the other girls avidly and imitating them as best as I could. I succeeded with varying degrees of luck.

“Don’t mix it!” Tamsin exclaimed. She darted across the kitchen, jerking a spoon from my hand.

It was a month into our stay at Blue Spring, and we’d fallen into a regular routine of classes and activities. I pointed at the open cookbook on the counter. “It says to break the butter into the flour.”

“That’s not the same as mixing. This thing’ll be as dense as some tosser’s skull.”

I shrugged, not understanding, and she nudged me aside to take over. Culinary skills weren’t something I’d expected to learn here. The hope was that most of us would have servants or at least a house cook to prepare meals in Adoria. But the mistress of a large household was still expected to oversee what was being cooked, and that meant instructing us in the preparation of finer food. The dishes we made here were beyond what most of the girls had ever dined on, but a lot of the basic principles were still familiar to my housemates. Me? I’d never cooked a thing, nor had I had to supervise anything. I’d had servants to supervise my other servants.

I watched as Tamsin deftly chopped up the butter and put it into the flour in pieces. “Let me try,” I offered.

“No, you’ll just mess it up. We all still remember what happened when you ‘blanched’ the asparagus.”

“Look, ‘bleached’ and ‘blanched’ sound very similar,” I said through gritted teeth.

Tamsin shook her head. “I just don’t want to screw up our first cooking test, especially after Clara’s group got such good marks yesterday. Go measure the currants. Mira, can you warm the cream instead?”

Mira slid the bowl of currants over, exchanging an amused glance with me. My roommates and I had also fallen into comfortable roles, not to mention a growing closeness. Despite Tamsin’s initial proclamations, I ended up being looked to as the unofficial leader—though we still usually let her dictate our actions. It was easier than going against her. We all wanted to succeed here, but her undisguised ambition and razor-sharp focus kept Mira and me working at a pace we might otherwise have missed. It was useful having her on my side, but her scrutiny made me nervous sometimes. She rarely missed anything.

“How did you ever survive in your lady’s home?” she asked, regarding her butter and flour with satisfaction. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked that question. Along with being the unofficial leader, I suspected I also served as regular entertainment for them, thanks to both my wit and my mishaps.

I shrugged. “I never had to cook. There were others to do that.” That wasn’t a lie. Ada might have had to cook growing up in her mother’s household, but she’d never had to in mine. “I sewed and mended. Dressed my lady. Styled her hair.”

Both Mira and Tamsin raised an eyebrow at that. They’d seen my hair efforts.

I successfully deflected from that when I saw Tamsin take out a ceramic platter for plating our pastry. “No, use glass,” I told her.

“Why the hell—I mean, why would we do that?” Tamsin had made a lot of progress in her word choice this last month but still often slipped.

“It’s how they’re serving it now. On glass, decorated with sugar and extra currants.”

I might struggle with commonplace activities, but I knew these small, luxurious details—things our instructors often hadn’t gotten around to yet in our education. It was like the chemises. I saw Tamsin’s eyes narrow, immediately filing this away. It was why she often looked past my other inadequacies—both real and contrived. These small things gave us an edge, and it was proven later when the cooking instructor came by to survey our work.

“This is lovely,” she said, studying the artful swirls of sugar on the glass platter that I’d made. “None of the other girls have focused much on aesthetics, but they’re just as important as the quality of the food. Visual appeal is part of taste appeal, you know.”

We didn’t see what she wrote down on her paper, but her pleased look spoke volumes. Tamsin could barely contain her smugness.

“There’ll be no living with her now,” Mira told me when we walked to our dance lesson afterward. She nodded to where Tamsin was animatedly telling another girl about our excellent marks. “She’s doing that for spite. She knows it’ll get back to Clara.”

“You’re saying Clara doesn’t deserve a little spite?” Clara had continued to make life difficult for Mira, though she’d backed off a bit when she realized taking on Mira meant also taking on Tamsin and me.

“I’m just saying that we don’t need to further petty rivalries when there’s already so much evil in the world we need to stop.”

She might not have Tamsin’s frenetic energy, but Mira was an ally—and a friend—I’d long come to appreciate. There was a calmness and strength to her that soothed me and even neurotic Tamsin. Mira was the rock we could both lean on. She gave the impression that the politics and drama in the house were of no concern to her after witnessing the ravages of war and subsequent hardships of the Sirminican ghetto in Osfrid. Her comment about the world’s evils was a rare allusion to her past, but I didn’t push her when she didn’t elaborate.

Instead, I linked my arm through hers as we entered the ballroom. “You should have been a nun with that kind of diplomatic attitude. Hide away in some cloister and meditate.”

“You can’t fight evil with meditation,” she replied. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was quoting from one of her most prized possessions: an old book of heroic tales, smuggled out of Sirminica.

A dance mistress rotated among the different manors each week, and here was an area in which I had to consciously dumb down my abilities. I’d had formal dance lessons since childhood. The other girls had never had any, and most still struggled after only a month. It was one of those areas Cedric had warned I’d stand out in, so I was overly cautious about not attracting Miss Hayworth’s attention—to the point where I almost seemed hopelessly inept.

“Adelaide,” she said wearily. “Are you dancing the gentleman’s part?”

We were in the middle of a complicated line progression, in which it was common for us to alternate standing in for the opposite gender. “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I thought we were supposed to take turns doing that?”

She threw up her hands. “Yes, but it’s your turn to dance the lady’s part—the part you’ll be doing in Adoria. You’re trampling all over poor Sylvia’s feet.”

“Oh. That explains it.” I gave her a sunny smile, and she moved on. Cedric might be able to sell salvation to a priest, but I could make my instructors find me endearing despite my frustrating progress.

We did a few more rounds and then paused for one of Miss Hayworth’s infamous pop quizzes. I promptly snapped to attention. These were not anything to slack on, as those who performed badly were often put on clean-up duty.

“Caroline, how many passes in a Lorandian two-step loop?”

Caroline—Clara’s chief sidekick—hesitated. “Three?”

“Correct.”

Miss Hayworth turned to the next girl, going down the line. When my turn came, I answered promptly and perfectly, earning a puzzled look from Miss Hayworth—seeing as the question had been about the dance I just botched. She walked past me.

“Mira, at what round is the twirl performed on the allegro circuit?”

I saw Mira’s face go blank. She had a natural instinct for the movements and did well in the actual steps—but these quizzes stumped her. Mira always worked so much harder than the rest of us, having to catch up on things many of us already knew as Osfridians—particularly with the language. She spent so much time working on her speech that technical dance facts just weren’t a priority.

Miss Hayworth’s back was to me, and I caught Mira’s eye with a small gesture, holding up four fingers.

“The fourth, Miss Hayworth.” Although her accent was still noticeable, Mira’s dedication to improving her Osfridian was already apparent.

“Correct.”

Miss Hayworth moved on, and Mira gave me a nod of thanks. I nodded back, happy to have helped. The lesson closed with us drilling repetitive steps on a new dance. Naturally, I pretended to fumble through it.

“I saw what you did,” Clara hissed, sidling up beside me while Miss Hayworth’s attention was elsewhere. “You gave her the answer. You do it all the time. As soon as I get proof, I’m going to bust you and that Sirminican slut.”

“Don’t call her that,” I snapped.

Triumph flared in Clara’s face. I’d become pretty good at ignoring her jabs, and it had been a while since she’d gotten a rise out of me. Someone as nasty as her lived for that kind of thing.

“Why not?” she asked. “It’s true, you know. I’m not just making it up.”

“Of course you are,” I said. “Mira’s one of the most decent girls here—which you’d know if you weren’t such a bigot.”

Clara shook her head. “How do you think she got here? How in the world do you think a Sirminican refugee managed to snag a spot in an establishment like this—one whose whole point is to train elite Osfridian girls?”

“Cedric Thorn saw potential in her.”

Clara smirked. “Oh, he’s seen a lot more of her than that.”

I didn’t have to fake my next stumble. “You’re such a liar. I should report you for slander.”

“Am I? Did you see the way he dotes on her when he visits? The way he defied his father to get her and risk his commission? They made a deal. She went to bed with him in exchange for a spot here. I’ve heard other people talking about it.”

“Who?” I asked. “Your toady friends?”

“Say whatever you want, but there’s no getting around the truth. Your Sirminican friend is a dirty, shameless—”

I did what I did next without a second thought. Clara had moved close to me in order to keep her voice down, and I used that proximity to snake my foot out and strike her in the ankle. The results were spectacular, throwing both of us off-balance. Mishaps weren’t uncommon for me, but she was one of the better dancers. I was thrown off by my move, falling backward and striking a bureau rather painfully. It was worth it to see Clara go sprawling on the floor, causing the whole class to come to a standstill.

“Girls!” exclaimed Miss Hayworth. “What is the meaning of this?”

I straightened up, smoothing my dress from where it had snagged on the bureau’s elaborate handles. “I’m sorry, Miss Hayworth. It was my fault—my clumsiness.”

She looked understandably exasperated. “How can you understand the principles so well and not execute them? And oh, look—you’ve torn your dress. We’ll both get in trouble with Mistress Masterson for that.”

I looked down and woefully saw that she was right. These dresses might not be the silks and velvets I’d once worn, but they were a substantial investment by the Glittering Court. Respect for them had been drilled into us. Clara’s embarrassment might have come at a greater cost than I’d expected.

“Well,” said Miss Hayworth, leaning close, “it looks like it should be an easy enough fix, thankfully. You may go early to take care of it.”

I stared up at her in confusion. “Take care of it?”

“Yes, yes. It’s a quick mend. Go now, and you probably won’t be late for Mister Bricker’s lesson.”

I didn’t move right away as I let the impact of her words sink into me. “A quick mend,” I repeated.

Annoyance filled her features. “Yes, now go!”

Spurred by her command, I hurried out of the classroom, taking only small satisfaction from Clara’s outrage. When I was alone in the great hall, I surveyed my skirt’s tear and felt despair sink in. For anyone else, this probably was an easy mend—unless you’d never mended anything. I’d occasionally done fancy, very fine needlework, and if she’d wanted me to embroider flowers on the dress, I could’ve managed that. I had no idea how to mend something like this, but dutifully borrowed one of the manor’s sewing kits and went to my room.

There, I found a housemaid cleaning. I retreated, not wanting her to see my ineptitude, and instead chose to work in the conservatory. It was unoccupied; the music teacher wouldn’t be here for two days. I unlaced my overdress and settled down on a small sofa. I wriggled out of the voluminous garment and spread the fabric over my knees. It was a light, rose-colored wool, suitable for our late spring weather. It was thicker than the fine silks I’d embroidered, so I randomly chose a larger needle and set to work.

My maids had always threaded my embroidery needles for me, so that alone took time. And once I started sewing, I knew it was hopeless. I didn’t know how to seamlessly mend the tear. My stitches were uneven and badly spaced, creating obvious puckers in the fabric. I paused and stared at it morosely. My regular excuse about being a lady’s maid wouldn’t get me out of this. Maybe I could make up a story about how my abysmal sewing skills had gotten me dismissed.

The sound of the conservatory door opening broke my rumination. I feared someone had come to check on me, but to my astonishment, it was Cedric who entered. Remembering I was in my chemise, I promptly exclaimed, “Get out!”

Startled, he jumped back and nearly obeyed me. Then, curiosity must have won him over. “Wait. Adelaide? What are you doing? Are you . . . are you . . .”

“Half-naked?” I draped the overdress over me. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

He shut the door, looking more curious than scandalized. “Actually, I was going to ask . . . are you sewing? Like with a needle and everything?”

I sighed, irritation overcoming my embarrassment. I wondered what he was even doing here. He’d stopped by the manor only once since my initial arrival. “Can you please go before this situation gets any worse?”

He moved closer, daring a hesitant look at the dress I was clutching to me. The torn part of the skirt hung near my knee, and he knelt down to get a better look. “You are sewing. Or well, something sort of like sewing.”

The dry remark was enough for me to ignore his being so close to my leg. I snatched the torn skirt away from him. “Like you could do any better.”

He straightened up and sat on the couch beside me. “I could, actually. Let me see it.”

I hesitated, unsure of giving up my coverage—or revealing my ineptitude—and then finally handed the dress over. The chemise I’d worn under it was deep blue but still thinner than modesty allowed. I crossed my arms over my chest, angling myself away as best I could while still managing to look over and observe him.

“This is a quilting needle,” he said, pulling out my stitches. “You’re lucky you didn’t tear holes in this.” He replaced the needle with a smaller one and threaded it in a fraction of the time it had taken me. He then folded over the torn fabric and began sewing with neat, even stitches.

“Where did you learn to do that?” I asked reluctantly.

“There are no doting maids at the university. We’ve got to learn to make our own repairs.”

“Why aren’t you there today?”

He paused and glanced up, carefully keeping his eyes trained above my neck. “No classes. Father sent me out to get status reports from here and Dunford Manor.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have a lot to say about my progress.”

His response was a smile as he returned to his work. His hair was casually unbound today, framing his face in soft auburn waves. “I’m afraid to ask how this happened.”

“Defending Mira’s honor once again.” As I spoke, I realized with a pang what the accusation had been—and his role in it. I had to avert my eyes briefly before turning back to him. “Clara was being typically mean.”

This caused another pause as he looked up with a frown. “Are they still harassing her?”

“Less than they used to, but it’s still going on. She handles it well, though.”

“I’m sure she does,” he said. “She’s got a strong spirit. Not easily broken.”

A strange feeling settled in the pit of my stomach as he returned to his work. There’d been no missing the regard in his voice. A warmth, even. My stomach sank further when he added, “I hope you’ll keep helping her. I’ll worry a lot less if I know she’s got a strong defender. Only a fool would cross you—I certainly wouldn’t.”

I couldn’t take in the compliment. A terrible thought had seized hold of me.

Had Clara been right?

Had Mira gotten here by sleeping with Cedric?

He certainly treated her with more than the indifference one might have toward an acquisition. He admired her and was concerned for her. And Clara was right that bringing her here had been a risk for him. I didn’t want to believe such things about quiet, resilient Mira, who had such pride and strength in her every action.

And I definitely didn’t want to believe it of Cedric.

Studying his profile now, the fine cheekbones and gently curved lips, I felt the unease spread from my stomach, tightening my chest. In my mind’s eye, I had a sudden flash of those lips on my friend, of those deft fingers running through her luxurious hair. I swallowed, trying to push down the inexplicable dismay I felt.

He looked up again, his expression softening as he took in my face. “Hey, it’s going to be all right. This is almost done. No one will know.”

I must have been wearing my emotions, and he’d misunderstood. I lowered my gaze, murmuring a stiff thanks, as opposed to one of the usual biting remarks we so often traded.

“There we are,” he said a few minutes later, holding up the overdress. “As good as new.”

Looking at it, I saw that he was correct. The stitches were barely visible unless you were right next to it. It would hopefully be enough to evade Mistress Masterson’s notice. I took the dress, turning away from him as I pulled it over my head. I was surprised that in so short a time, it had picked up the fleeting scent of the vetiver he wore.

It took me a few minutes to get the ensemble back together, fastening all the tiny pearl buttons on the bodice and smoothing the petticoat to lie flat. Then, of course, came the tedious process of arranging the contrasting chemise so it peeked out properly. When I finally turned around, Cedric was regarding me with amusement.

“Were you watching me get dressed?” I exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t see a thing,” he said. “Except how much progress you’ve made in putting on your own clothes. I guess this finishing school is really paying off.”

“Someone should send you to a finishing school,” I retorted as we moved toward the door. “You have no sense of decency.”

“Says the girl who let me come in.”

“I told you to leave! You were the one who ignored me and marched right in anyway, despite the state I was in.”

That easy, confident grin returned. “Don’t worry, it’s easily forgotten.”

“Well,” I said huffily, “it shouldn’t be that easily forgotten.”

“Would you like it better if I say I’ll eventually forget it but not without a great deal of struggle and torment?”

“Yes.”

“Done.”

We parted, and I made my way toward the drawing room, where Mister Bricker gave us lessons about both history and current affairs. The door was ajar, and I lingered outside, reluctant to enter. I didn’t want to be called out for being late. I also didn’t really want to listen to his lecture. He was explaining the Alanzan heresy and its growing concern to the Osfridian church. All good, Uros-fearing people knew that six glorious angels had served the god since the beginning of creation and that six wayward angels had fallen and become demons. The Alanzans worshipped all twelve angels, dark and light alike, putting them on nearly the same level as the great god in bloodthirsty, sordid rituals.

I knew much of this, as it was a hot topic in noble drawing rooms—one to be marveled at and then dismissed as something “other people” did. I started to push the door open but stopped when I caught sight of Mira, listening avidly, her eyes focused on Mister Bricker. Alanzans were a big faction in Sirminica.

But instead of pondering if she’d encountered them, I found myself admiring her beautiful profile. It was impossible not to. Her quiet, fearless manner made her mysterious and alluring in a way few could match. Certainly not me. Were those striking eyes holding a dark secret? Had she been Cedric’s mistress?

That ugly feeling started to rise up within me again, and I banished it as I pushed open the door and stepped inside. I took my seat, hoping the scent of vetiver would soon fade from my dress.