Four

Nore

The dead hovered near the doors of the ballroom.

“They’re here,” Nore said to her brother, wondering if he smelled their sour stench.

“Of course they are. You’re of age to debut. They’re waiting. And watching.” He held out his arm as they stood at the entrance to the Gala. The room burst with floods of guests wearing fine clothes, boasting every style of diadem or mask, ornate and simple ones. Marked balls made her especially queasy. She preferred the public ones where unmarked were welcome, where magic was hidden and fewer people knew who she was. Across the grand room’s entrance was a wall of windows that looked out across the snow-capped Rocky Mountains.

Her brother was dressed finely in a drab gray tuxedo that appeared threadbare, but she recognized the careful pattern of its stitching. These clothes were handmade. He jingled gold coins in his pockets before offering her one. “If you’re nervous.”

Nore wasn’t going to let the dead make her superstitious. She tugged at her gray shawl before hooking her arm onto his. She’d been the presumed heir of House of Ambrose since birth. But she’d seen the disembodied shadows of her ancestors more often since she stopped using Red’s persona than she had in her entire life before. Something was up. “They couldn’t find me as Red, I suspect.”

Her brother’s expression lit up. “Actually, I think you’re right.”

Now they didn’t want her out of their sight. But why…

“Good evening!” An usher in a teal suit and iridescent mask bowed at them before pulling the grand arched doors open. “You’re first of the great House families to arrive. It’s an honor to greet you.”

Nore gave him a nod.

“My research has taken a turn, sister.” Her brother leaned in for a whisper. “There’s a link between the ancestors and our magic.”

“What kind of link?”

“Haven’t figured that out yet.”

The usher eyed them, his foot tapping softly as a reminder to them to keep moving forward. Ellery took a step, but Nore’s feet anchored them in place.

“We have to go in, Nore.”

She couldn’t move. But it wasn’t the ancestors. She was growing accustomed to ignoring their brooding presence. It was the feel of the dress against her skin. The music sifting between the doors and the people swaying to it. The last time she was at a fancy ball, a different escort was on her arm. With Red’s face and Yagrin beside her, she was fearless. It felt good not being the only one who wanted nothing to do with the Houses.

Dread coiled in her stomach. She didn’t want to go in there and play the role of heiress. She hated the Order, and all she wanted was the one person in the entire world who understood that on her arm. She looked up, hardening every part of her that she could feel. It would be easier to pretend Yagrin was dead. It’d still hurt, but hope cut deeper. She drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. Life with the surname Ambrose had well acquainted her with doing what she didn’t want to do.

“And you’re sure Mother will be here?”

“I saw her maids preparing her dress before I left. She’ll be here.”

The usher cleared his throat.

Ellery turned to him. “If the door is too heavy, I can hold it for you.”

He reddened. “Please, sir, take your time.”

Her brother’s lips split in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said to Nore. She closed her eyes and realized her hand was trembling. She hadn’t felt this nervous since she attended the Summer Bloom Tea this past summer at Chateau Soleil in order to get face time with Headmistress Darragh Marionne.

“Say the word and we’ll leave,” he said.

Ellery was on her side no matter what. Yagrin had been on her side, too. The days he’d steal away to spend with Red at the farm made her feel like there was no Order at all. She bit the smile at her lips, thinking of the way he would press her to tell him everything he missed since they last saw each other. He listened intently to every single detail, enthralled, and none of it was about magic. They would wander the meadows barefoot for hours, then lie down, their limbs tangled around each other, watching the clouds in silence. Doing nothing in particular. She didn’t want to be anywhere else or with anyone else.

She forced herself to step forward, inside the Fall Harvest Gala ballroom.

Nore clenched her teeth and looked for her mother. Garlands and swags in deep rusts, warm browns, and golden yellow rimmed windows, doors, and chairs around the ballroom. Textured fabrics swallowed the tables, spilling over their edges and puddling on the floor like blooming flowers. The scent of pumpkin spice and cinnamon assaulted her. The holidays used to make Nore nostalgic, reminding her of being with the ones she loved most. Now the smell sickened her.

She refocused. Her mother would be confronted that evening. She wiggled in her plain gray dress, and the blade, hidden in her corset, dipped in toushana, rubbed her ribs. A fire dagger, the Trader called it. Carried by Draguns. A weapon so deadly it could kill death itself. She wouldn’t need to use it. Possessing it alone would show her mother she meant business.

“Nore Ambrose, tenth of her blood, Cultivator candidate and heir of House Ambrose,” the usher announced. “Escorted by Ellery Ambrose.” He went on with Ellery’s titles, but she wasn’t listening. Her breath was a rock in her chest. She skimmed the ballroom, and when she spotted a tall dark-suited fellow with a coin at his throat, her heart leapt. Yagrin. He turned. It wasn’t him.

Dead. Yagrin was dead to her. She had to remember that.

Ellery covered her hand with his. Her nails dug into his arm. She hadn’t been anywhere as Nore since her mother announced publicly that she’d gone on sabbatical. She tightened her lips. When she got what she wanted from her mother, she’d never have to be in a place like this again.

“One second.” She left her brother’s side and cornered the usher by the door.

“Madam, I’m very sorry if you felt I was rush—”

“When my mother arrives, come find me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The minute she arrives.” Nore reset her focus straight ahead and rejoined her brother’s side.

The deeper they went into the room, the more heads turned their way. The stares clawed at her insides. When she was at the Tidwell, dancing with Yagrin, her persona let her be free. Here she had a family reputation and oppressive expectations. She might as well be hooked to strings from the ceiling. Her chest squeezed, but she blew out even breaths. All she had to do was endure this wretched place until her mother arrived.

A busty woman in a heather-gray dress with capped sleeves and a simple bone corset strode toward them, waving. Mrs. Hargrove. She was dressed in classic Ambrosian style, in which the plainer the outside was, the richer the inside was. The Hargrove surname was almost as old as hers.

Her brother groaned.

“The Hargroves aren’t the worst choice.”

“Traitor,” he teased.

“Alright, alright. I have an idea,” Nore whispered to him. “If either of us needs to be rescued, dust off your shoulder, and we’ll make whatever excuse we need to come to each other. Deal?”

“You’re brilliant,” he said just as Mrs. Hargrove smothered him in a hug, smooshing his face against her overly sprayed hair. His mouth puckered as if he’d swallowed something rotten, and Nore hid a snort behind her gloved hand.

“Dear, it’s Ellery,” Mrs. Hargrove shouted at a stocky gentleman in a plain gray suit. He was absorbed in a conversation with a statue of a man whose tuxedo trimmed in golden fleurs made Mr. Hargrove look like a servant by comparison. The man listened intently but kept an eye on his pocket watch. “Darling,” she shouted more insistently across the crowded ballroom. “Tell Ellery about the stones you found on your Egyptian excursion this summer.” She squeezed Nore’s arm. “We all know how your brother loves a good adventure.”

“He certainly does,” Nore said, watching the doors to the ballroom.

Mrs. Hargrove lugged her husband from his conversation without apology. “He’s dying to talk to you. Aren’t you, Darren?”

“Yes, yes, Ellery,” Mr. Hargrove said, tipping his hat. “How have you been?”

“Cigar?” Mrs. Hargrove pulled a silver smoking case from somewhere in her giant bosom and offered Ellery one.

“Thank you, madam, but I am fine.”

She didn’t offer Nore one, which annoyed her even though she didn’t smoke.

“And while we’re at it…” Mrs. Hargrove gestured at a group of girls huddled around drinks, whispering giggles behind thin gloves. “Daphne, Regina, Sara Kate, get your sisters. Ellery is here!”

Nore squeezed her brother’s hand once more in consolation before he disappeared in a flock of grinning Hargroves. She spun on her heels, relieved to not be the center of conversation, and glimpsed the doorway again. No sign of her mother. Then she nearly slammed into someone.

“Nore Emilie Ambrose, is that really you?”

“Mrs. Efferton!” Nore’s heart ticked faster. She curtsied at the familiar face, muscle memory taking over. Nettie Efferton was an elbow-rubbing gossip from House Marionne. Someone you wanted to keep on your good side.

“Mrs. Efferton, how are you and Judge Efferton?” The polite greeting spilled from her lips effortlessly. “I regret I missed your Serenade this summer.” The woman responded, but Nore gazed past her, looking around the ballroom for her mother, just in case.

Mrs. Efferton checked her hair and sparkling red-and-silver diadem in a passing mirror before hooking her arm with Nore’s. She resisted, and Mrs. Efferton looked at her curiously. Nore took a small step, and the judge’s wife dragged her toward a table of members dripping in jewels, shellacked in pounds of makeup, and swallowed by rich fabrics. House sigils everywhere. Tiny fleurs barely noticeable on handkerchiefs, a cracked-column charm dangling from a bracelet, a scale with a darkened sun etched on a ring. Diadems in gold or silver arced over the members’ heads, their woven hairstyles equally ornate to complement their diadems’ shape and color.

Nore couldn’t breathe. She closed her eyes briefly and thought of her wheat fields kissed by evening sun, the way her toes felt in the dirt, how time moved so slowly at her farm. Her heart thudded a little easier.

“You know, I almost took your absence personally,” Mrs. Efferton said. “But when you didn’t show up at the Chrysanthemum either, I asked around and heard you have been on sabbatical?”

“Yes,” she forced out, trying to calm her raging panic. Eyes everywhere stared at her. She could practically hear their thoughts: Nore, the heiress who no one’s ever seen do magic. Nore, the heiress her mother keeps hidden. Nore, the girl if they really knew, they’d hate. Nore, Nore. Nore!

“Did you hear me, dear?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I said I’m sure Isla is glad you’re back. A House needs a strong show of leadership, and the heir…” Mrs. Efferton pinched Nore’s cheek.

Her sloshing insides quieted and instead her jaw ticked. She wasn’t a child.

“Being visible is an inspiring nod to the future. And with the grave news about the Sphere, hope matters more than ever. Don’t you agree?”

Nore scowled. House Ambrose had survived hundreds of years without her. She didn’t care one bit if people saw or were inspired by seeing her. She wanted to find a place in the valley of a mountain to start another farm. She wanted to wake up to roosters crowing and eat cake for breakfast and swim in the lake for a bath if she felt like it. She wanted to live, instead of holding her breath in a world that felt like a corset tied too tight.

“You do agree, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Join me at my table for a drink, would you?” It wasn’t a real request. Nore was already being dragged that way. Mrs. Efferton would flaunt her to the judge’s friends as if to say, Look at me, I am friends with Headmistress blood. But this was the way the Order worked. Mrs. Efferton wasn’t the least bit interested in how Nore’s sabbatical was or why she needed a sabbatical in the first place. Nor were the Hargroves interested in anything more than marrying into the House bloodline in the hopes a granddaughter might fall in the line of succession one day. The Order was a bunch of peacocks flashing their tail feathers at each other. Nore wanted no part of it.

“What did you do during sabbatical?” an elderly woman asked as she sat at the table. “One hears things, you know.”

“Verna,” Mrs. Efferton chastised.

Verna shrugged and sipped from her drink.

Nore’s irritation thrummed. But her eyes were fixed on the doorman in the distance.

“You know, Nore,” said a girl who couldn’t be much older than her. The neckline of her red gown slashed across her chest and hooked over one shoulder. Rubies sparkled from her ears and a gold dot ornamented her nose. Her dark, sweeping eyelashes curled and seemed to wave. “Some blush on those cheeks and perhaps highlights in your hair would really be nice on you. You’re so beautiful, and gray is such a drab color.”

Nore took a fluted glass from a passing tray and gulped it down.

“Your dress would be simply unforgettable with a bit of brocade,” someone cut in. “You’d have all the eligible suitors looking your way.” The one who spoke wore teal feathers in her swept-back hair. Her face was ornately painted and sequined with jewels that matched her diadem. House of Oralia prided itself on freedom of expression in every way.

Nore surveyed the circle, and oddly found herself wishing someone from her House were there beside her to sit through this public interrogation.

“Blue would do so much for your eyes.”

The walls felt like they were closing in. This was mind-numbing. She hastily dusted her shoulder, roving the crowd for some sight of her brother’s long hair. Ellery met her eyes across the room and her heart skipped a beat. She dusted her shoulder harder and he nodded as if to say I’m coming.

“In fact, if I could just—” The girl in the red dress reached for Nore’s dress straps, and the pressure building in her chest burst. Nore slapped her hand away, hard. The girl jumped.

“Forgive me, I must have missed these fashion and beauty lessons when I was preoccupied with analyzing the anatomical structure of complex elixirs. That research was the groundwork for figuring out how to shift others’ faces, not just our own. An art only us drably dressed Ambrosers have been able to pull off. But do go on, what season is best to wear silk again?”

No one spoke. A few tugged at their jewels and avoided her gaze. Nore pled wordlessly with her brother, who was still watching her as an army of Hargroves held on to him. The usher still hovered at the door. He caught Nore’s eyes and shook his head. Where are you, Mother?!

“Mable, did you see the Hargrove girls at the Chrysanthemum?” Mrs. Efferton asked. “Howling like that and calling it singing?”

“And what about the rumors from your House, Nettie?”

Mrs. Efferton, a House of Marionne loyalist through and through, pulled at her pearls.

“Yes, I’d heard some concerning things,” Nore said, stirring the pot. See how it feels to be poked. Truly she hadn’t heard much—only that Darragh Marionne’s granddaughter caused some trouble and ruined her ball.

“I’ve heard that Darragh can control her members with a magic tie she has on them. Her granddaughter apparently outed the news at Cotillion.”

Mrs. Efferton guffawed.

“Oh please,” another said. “I heard Darragh killed that daughter of hers, and that’s why she’s been missing all these years. The granddaughter was after vengeance at that Cotillion, I bet you.”

“Yep, I heard that too,” Nore said. If ridiculous rumors kept her out of the hot seat, she’d fan the flames in that direction.

“I actually heard something far more sinister,” said the Oralia girl, picking at one of her face sequins.

“You all are ridiculous.” Mrs. Efferton took an aggressive gulp from her glass. “This entire conspiracy is no more than a ploy by the Duncans to destroy our great House.”

Nore spotted the usher hustling his way through the crowd toward her. “Excuse me, ladies, my mother has arrived.” She dashed away before anyone could stop her, working the blade from beneath her clothes.

“Where is she?” Nore asked.

“She came in a rush, but I overheard her say she’d only be here a few minutes. And by the time I got to you, she left.”

“What!”

He eyed the blade in her hand. She huffed and stuffed it into the sleeve of her glove.

“Thanks for nothing.”

An Audior sang into a microphone, playing the music accompaniment magically with nothing more than her fingers. Nore sifted through the crowd for her iron-faced mother, just to be sure, when the entire room seemed to still. Every head swiveled to the door, where Darragh Marionne stood in the entryway. The usher opened his mouth to announce her arrival, but she grabbed his wrist and he snapped his mouth shut. Whispers swarmed.

A knot twisted in Nore’s chest. The last time she’d seen Darragh Marionne, Nore had been sobbing, filthy, alone, and terrified, hiding in the fields, watching the barn she used to call home be razed. Weeks earlier, at the Summer Bloom Tea, Nore had vaguely appealed to Darragh for help with a toushana problem because she’d heard a rumor that Darragh Marionne was the person to see for questions about the illicit magic. But the Headmistress feigned ignorance. But her granddaughter, Quell, seemed to be onto her secret. When Nore reached out asking to meet her in the Secret Wood, the House’s security ran her off before she could see if Quell ever showed. She hadn’t heard anything good about that girl since.

But after her farm was destroyed, as Nore hid, rumors spread that the heir to House of Ambrose was missing. That’s when Darragh came looking and found her. She had offered Nore help under strict, confidential instructions.

Regret cinched in Nore’s chest. Darragh moved through the room, dripping with nonchalance, and an idea struck her: She didn’t need her mother’s help if she could win Darragh’s. Again. She followed.

“Headmistress Marionne, do you have a moment?”

“Nore.” Darragh’s lips thinned. She adjusted her dress.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

“And why wouldn’t I?” Darragh met her eyes.

“I—I thought you’d be busy. Season just ended.”

“Get to it, Nore.”

“I’m sorry.”

They’d had an agreement and Nore backed out. She sent a bouquet of black roses hoping to soften the blow. But nothing in Darragh’s face said she’d forgiven Nore as her gaze moved on.

“I should have listened. I should have—”

“How desperate are you? Talking about this here?” She walked away, eyeing Nore over her shoulder as if to say, Come along.

She followed Darragh at a distance, through a waitstaff entrance to the ballroom, down a long corridor, and into a service elevator. She rehearsed what she was going to say over and over in her head. She had to get the Headmistress to look past her betrayal. Darragh slammed a red button and the elevator doors locked with a click.

“Out with it. What do you want?”

“I’m ready to follow through on my part of our agreement. I wasn’t then, but I am now.”

“I can’t help you anymore.” Darragh adjusted the rings on her fingers.

“Can’t or won’t?” Her chest quaked.

“What difference does that make?” Darragh had told Nore the first step to getting rid of her toushana was to die. She had to let go of every person who knew her. Nore had agreed—and at the time she’d meant it. But every time she worked up the courage to break up with Yagrin, to tell Ellery goodbye, the words would not come.

“I couldn’t let go. But now I have nothing to lose.”

Silence grew between them.

“I can’t help you.”

“Why not?” Nore snapped. Her fingers moved to the imprint of the blade in her sleeve. She would not be this close to help and lose it again. Darragh smirked.

“Your audacity is impressive. But the answer is no.” She slammed the button on the elevator, and the doors opened to a panicked Ellery. Darragh shoved past them.

“What are you doing?”

“Ellery, she has a way out for me. And if she’s willing to give it to me, I’m going to take it.”

“Stay away from Darragh Marionne.”

Nore sighed, unconvinced.

“Mother was here,” he said. “But she’s gone now.”

“I heard. I can’t believe you let her leave.”

“I could hardly get away from the Hargroves.”

“I hate this place.”

“Do you? Or do you just hate what it’s done to you?”

“Are those different?”

He sighed and opened his arms for a hug. She tucked her head underneath his chin, listening to the calm thump of his heart. It was steady and strong and reliable, like him. If the Order were made up of Ellery and Yagrin, she wouldn’t mind it. Really, if Mother were gone, then maybe she’d have an entirely different view. But those were foolish, impossible dreams.

“I can’t stay here.”

“Where else are you going to go? Back to the farm?”

She hadn’t yet told her brother about the razing, because he could get a bit too insistent about what she could and couldn’t do. “No, it’s not safe there.”

“So where have you been staying?”

“Here and there. Wherever I can find.”

Her brother made her face him. “You can run from the Order, Nore, but that’s not the same as escaping it. Come home and make your case to Mother. I will back you up.” There was an earnestness in his eyes. “Remember, she wants something from you.”

“Yes, an heir.” She felt sick.

“We can use that as leverage.”

We. She elbowed him affectionately. He was such an idealist. He didn’t know the harshness of their mother’s love the way she did. He hadn’t been held down for days without food, without water, as Sun Dust was rubbed into his skin until he felt like he was on fire. He was the Ambrose son who’d discovered six new uses for enhancers before he was fifteen. He commanded awe from their House like a star performer onstage. But he didn’t realize that beyond the stage lights everyone else was sitting in darkness.

He was onto something, however.

Nore’s mind whirred. The key to getting what she wanted was showing the other person she had what they needed. She knew exactly what Darragh needed.

And Nore was the only person who could give it to her.