After that, the days pass in a blur of etiquette lessons mixed with Cultural Appreciation and more lectures on Nordanian trade. Molly proves herself more than competent, and I do well enough that I’m no longer in last place. Zerah holds her own in the middle of the pack, but the strain shows in the darkening shadows under her eyes.
“I need a whole vat of this,” she says, tucking into her coffee. Despite the warm morning, she wears another long-sleeved yellow frock with an old-fashioned, round collar that emphasizes the less flattering undertones in her pale skin. I’m not sure her benefactor is really helping her with this wardrobe, but she doesn’t seem to care. I sip my own coffee and bite into a cheese and cherry danish.
“It’s a lot harder than I expected,” I say, nodding into my coffee.
“I couldn’t get back to sleep last night,” she says. “I mean, you know. Not after all that.” I narrow my eyebrows. I don’t know what she’s talking about. She catches my expression and offers an apologetic grimace. “Oh, right. You’re in a different hall. I forgot.”
“What happened?” I ask. She sets down her coffee and leans in.
“Deena left.”
“She did? Why?” I ask. I try to remember Deena, and a vague memory of a girl with dark hair and an odd accent comes to mind. Zerah looks at me, and then scans the room, as if taking stock of who might be listening. Fiona holds court across the room with six other girls, and based on their expressions, I’m almost certain they’re having the same conversation.
“Fiona’s telling anyone who will listen that ‘sluts get cut.’”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I try to look ambivalently offended, but my heart races, and I feel exposed. What if someone saw us together outside my room the other night?
“Rumor is someone caught Deena and Declan together. In some state of undress.”
“When?” The question comes out with a sharper edge than I intended. Does the thought of Declan with someone else bother me that much? It’s not like I have a right to know what he does with the other girls. I have no claim on him. Despite what he said outside my door, we’re not actually friends. I haven’t even seen him since that night.
“Last night, of course. When else?” she says with a cocked eyebrow. My stomach burns. I don’t think it’s from the coffee.
“Unbelievable . . .” An angry little shudder rolls down my arms, and I huff into my cup, unsettled by my own reaction.
“I’m not sure I believe it, to be honest,” she says.
“I would,” I say, glaring into my coffee. “He literally has women delivered to his house.” Zerah frowns and shakes her head.
“No. I mean, I don’t think that sounds like her.”
“It doesn’t have to,” I say in an almost whisper, but I know she heard me. She shakes her head again and lowers her voice.
“Her room is next to mine, and our maids are friendly. I heard some things . . .” I’m not sure I really want to hear the tawdry details, but something else in me clearly does, because my curiosity gets the better of me.
“What kind of things?”
“Shrieks. Crying.” My heart stops, and my hand ghosts over my scar. The anger that boils to the surface is palpable. How could I have ever thought Declan might be different?
“She found insects in her bed. There was a note.”
“What?” I ask, certain I’ve misheard. Zerah purses her thin lips and blinks too many times.
“I don’t think she has a lot of money. She didn’t have a benefactor. Her father has a shop, I think? She was alone, you know?”
“We’re all alone, aren’t we?” I say with an annoyed scoff.
“No, not all of us.” She sits back and lifts her coffee to her lips. I look around and notice the divisions. Avery sits with a couple of girls, deep in conversation. Their dresses are a similar style and cut, their layered necklaces almost matching. Fiona laughs with a different gaggle of girls, all wearing similar chokers and ear cuffs, in a way that feels old and intimate.
“You think they all know each other?” I ask, turning back to Zerah.
“I don’t know. But if not, they must’ve read a manual we didn’t.” Her fingers touch her bare throat.
“What does that say about our chances?” I ask.
“I’d say we’re top contenders,” she deadpans. But it’s a real question, and now that Deena’s gone, there’s one less person to ask.