Ten

Quell

Adola leads me out of the amphitheater to a servant’s entrance down a set of steep steps.

“We’re just going to walk in? That’s your plan?”

“The staff was given the night off. This is how I got out.”

I study her for some hint of dishonesty, but there’s no scheme in her eye. Still, this is the House of Perl heir. The same heir who played a humiliating joke on me the first time we met.

“I can cloak,” I insist. “Just tell me where she is on-site.”

“Tutum et perspicuum.”

My brows cinch.

“Cloaking isn’t possible on the grounds. People don’t pop up on Mother,” she says.

“Your aunt, you mean?”

“I didn’t misspeak.” She offers me a hand down the stairs. I follow her inside Hartsboro.

Hartsboro’s grand rooms and tall coffered ceilings remind me of Chateau Soleil. Where my grandmother’s estate glistened with gold and ornately carved accents, the inside of House of Perl has an understated grandness. A confidence. As if it doesn’t need to prove itself. It is statuesque without being overwhelmingly spacious. Luxurious, without being gaudy or glamorous, with sleek fixtures and accents that aren’t gilded or frilly. There is wood, stone, and brick instead of porcelain and marble. Suits of armor instead of sculptures. Plaques of history and portraits of prior Headmistresses line the paneled walls. And beside them is an engraved list of Never Forgotten names.

My heart knocks into my ribs when I spot the names of the two girls who were killed this past summer: Brooke Hamilton and Alison Blakewell. All thanks to my grandmother. My gut swims.

A hall of portraits portraying distinguished members of the House is the fanciest, with an impressive display of diadems, masks, and tiny gold pins. Being in a House again unsteadies me. I did the right thing at my Cotillion. I told the truth. Still, I can’t move, flooded with memories of walking the halls of my old home, certain a different life was on the horizon. Only to realize the little house on the beach, the life Mom and I imagined for ourselves, would be harder to grab hold of than I thought. Adola urges me to keep going.

That’s when I spot it.

A painting of Jordan, an enlarged version of that photo of him from Debs Daily. My fingers feel for the lump in my coat where the copy of the article sits tucked against my chest. His prim suit, cinched at the collar with his coin. His devilishly gorgeous face despite his hollow stare. His green eyes were a sunlit meadow, now they’re a field of ashes. Beneath the frame is a title: Dragunheart of the Brotherhood, followed by a starting year—this year—without an end date. I back away and bump into Adola. She grabs me by the arm, pulling me along. I go with her, but I swear I feel the portrait staring at me, squeezing my throat. My heart races. Every corner we turn sends a cold shiver up my arms, and I have to remind myself why I’m here. My mother was here. At Hartsboro. She could have stood in this very hall. I walk faster.

“Where is your aunt?”

“Her office, usually.” She creeps along, holding her arms tight to her body. “It is in the Dysiis Wing. We can’t risk taking the direct route.”

We pass through a formal dining area that’s longer than any room I’ve ever seen; its chandeliers are made of carved bones that are eerily realistic. Past it, the foyer opens up to a lounge, its furniture arranged around a projection of the Sphere. The matter inside the orb undulates, still blackened like the last time I saw it at Chateau Soleil, but its glassy surface is cracked like a shattered eggshell.

“What happened to the Sphere?” I gathered from skimming issues of the Daily that the Sphere had been attacked, and things in the Order are shaky. But the Order has never done anything but make my life a nightmare. I couldn’t care less what happens to it. The Sphere, on the other hand…I had no idea it’d become so fragile.

“Is it true what they say about if it bleeds out?” I ask.

Adola’s chin slides over her shoulder. “It’s worse.”

“Worse?” But she doesn’t elaborate. Magic gone for lifetimes. I nudge my toushana, and the coldness shifts against my ribs as I try to picture myself without toushana to keep me safe.

Yagrin used me to track the Sphere. He said he’d located it before. No one I know hates the Order more. Suddenly, I know who is responsible for the attack.

We turn down another long corridor and arrive at a room that smells like stale smoke and fresh leather. It is filled with chairs, a bar, and crystal game tables; bookshelves line the walls.

“Are they onto him—um, the person who cracked it?” Could more than Jordan know she had been on the run with him?

“I don’t know.” She runs her hand down the side of a bookcase before her fingers disappear in the seam. “But my cousin will find whoever did it. He’s the sharpest Dragun alive. And he was just promoted to second-in-command of the entire brotherhood.”

“Jordan?” I spit. “I cannot stand your cousin.”

“That’s not what I heard.” Adola pulls and the bookcase swings forward. A sassy retort bites at my lips. I’ve given Jordan Wexton enough of my time. He won’t dominate my thoughts, too.

We step into a secret corridor and pull the fake shelf closed. Jordan. This is where he lived. He walked these halls. He navigated its secret corridors. Nausea rises in my throat. This place made him into an Order-obsessed, backstabbing betrayer. I hate him. But I think I hate myself more for hoping that he would be different than everyone else in the Order. That he actually cared about me. That the girl he shared green candy with was worthy of love.

Dusty air prickles my nose, and I smooth my leaking eyes to focus on the light from tiny peepholes that cuts through the darkness in every direction.

“Each bookcase in the House leads to a different part of the estate. No one uses these but family and…” She tugs at the skirt of her dress. “Please don’t say anything.”

I nod and urge her forward. The hidden interior hallways of Beaulah’s house are a maze of corridors. Adola halts suddenly and I slam into her back. She presses a finger to her lips and points to a tiny hole in the wall. Peeping through it, I see a grand study room sparsely furnished with a fireplace, bookshelves, a desk strewn with papers, and a few pieces of leather furniture. The narrow hole makes it impossible to see the full room.

“She’s in there?”

“Should be.”

I grip Adola’s wrist as she tries to leave, and lean against the trick wall to open it. It swings forward, opening into Beaulah’s office. Everything is glossed wood and dark colors. And suns, so many engraved suns, on every surface, carved into the shutters, on the windows, on ornamented fixtures, on the lamp, and etched into the hard floor. But Beaulah isn’t here.

“You said she’d be here.”

“This was my best guess.”

I circle Beaulah’s desk, checking beneath documents, going through her drawers—looking for what, I’m not sure. “Take me to her bedroom.”

She pales. “I can’t do that.”

“You knew she wasn’t in here.” Toushana thrashes in my chest. “You’re wasting my time.” No one is trustworthy. Everyone is in it for themselves. “What game are you playing?”

“I did what you asked! You agreed you wouldn’t tell if I took you to find her, which I did. It’s not my fault she’s not here.” Adola fidgets.

I march up to her, letting the cold brimming beneath my skin bleed through. Adola’s eyes widen. “You’re lying. Take me to her.”

Adola’s mouth hardens.

“There’s a party or something going on tonight. I saw people dressed up. Is she there?”

Adola blinks one too many times. I pace, considering my options. Then I inhale deeply, awakening my toushana. Maybe I don’t need her. Magic flows through me, and I tighten my center. Blood rushes to my head. My ears are cold, flooded with a symphony of sounds. The faint chatter and clinking of glasses, along with a low melody of music, urge me into motion. I’m back behind the bookcase, tracking a heartbeat until it’s louder, clearer. Until there are many hearts beating at once in a concentrated area. A crowd of people.

“Quell! Please, you can’t—” But Adola’s words are hardly audible as she hustles to keep up with me. Following the sounds of people takes me to a different section of the estate, past rooms full of desks, more than one sprawling ballroom, a honing lab, endless halls of dormitories, and a strange wing of the house with scorched walls and windowless session rooms, empty of tables or chairs. I finally hear the clink of champagne glasses; soft cheers and low music roll around in my head with a chorus of dozens of heartbeats. When I stop, the thudding is a thousand hammers in my head. I peer through a peephole and find a finely dressed crowd. I glare at Adola.

“Please don’t go in there, I’m begging you! Mother will kill me.” Tears well in her eyes at the sight of my arm wedged against the door, ready to shove it open.

“Everyone knows Perls are liars. Should have known you’d be no different.” I push the bookcase forward. We spill out of the corridor into a swanky reception in a dimly lit, windowless room. A chill washes over me, and it takes me a minute to realize it’s not my toushana. It’s a cold hovering in the air like a cloud of death. The music stops. The conversations quiet as every head in the room swivels in our direction. My palms sweat, biting iciness clawing at them. Beaulah moves among the frozen crowd, clutching a fluted glass, her red, shimmery gown dangling over her feet. At first she watches me in confusion, before her narrowed gaze widens in understanding.

“Quell Marionne.”

Low whispers swarm the crowd. My heart knocks into my ribs. Everyone waits for her reaction. I let toushana seep through my skin but hold my hands in tight fists to conceal my secret. Fear got the best of me with Adola, but I don’t need all these people to know. Beaulah strides toward me and the cold slithers around my bones.

“Headmistress Perl, I need to speak with you,” I shout.

But the room suddenly grows colder as familiar dark ripples move through the air. And it startles me. Toushana. I check my own hands to be sure I’m not hallucinating. But the toushana moving through the air isn’t coming toward me at all. It’s disappearing among the crowd. Draguns. I skim for coins at throats, and many are wearing ones with cracked columns. Several do not have coins at all.

I blink, watching dark whiffs of magic coil around wrists of people who have no business drawing on toushana. Several curious gazes move to me as if they can sense my nervousness. I keep staring, waiting for the scene to change. Waiting for any of this to make some bit of sense. When Beaulah Perl reaches me, I am barely breathing. The amber stones in her diadem gleam, a complement to the fur wrapped around her shoulders, pinned with a glittering brooch in the shape of a cracked column. I take all of her in—the dark gems on her knuckles, the pearls pressed to her ears—reading every line in her stoic expression, noticing the way she is the only person in this entire room completely at ease. And though she tries to hide it, there is the slightest glint of satisfaction in her eyes. She studies me up and down, drinking me in, and then reaches for my hand.

“What is this?” I nearly choke on the words. The magic that’s been a death sentence over my head since I was a child is here, in this room. “I—I mean, I asked if there’s somewhere we can speak?”

Her mouth bows into a smile. Then she fans a hand in the air. “Please, guests, join me in welcoming the heiress to House of Marionne.” She faces the crowd and the cautious stares morph to curious ones. Several raise their glasses and return to their conversations, the music jumping back in motion. But one pair of eyes doesn’t leave me: Charles’s. Reclined on a slick piano, he sips his drink, watching me.

Beaulah notices. “Charlie is a good boy. That girl on his arm, Penelope, was never my choice for him. But you have to loosen the leash on some things or they’ll tug hard all the time. Now the mood’s a bit lighter—shall we?” She holds out her elbow.

“Mother, she made me bring her here!” Adola, who I’d almost forgotten about, shoves her way through the crowd toward us. “She threatened to kill me.”

“Hush your mouth, girl, before you embarrass yourself.” Beaulah turns to me, and under her breath, she asks, “Is this true?”

Not exactly, but she needs to know I’m serious. “Yes.”

She pets my hand. “Next time you want to coerce someone, it is much safer to use your toushana to destroy their memory of helping you. It’s painful for them, but only for a moment.”

I swallow hard, unsure what to say.

“I was told you weren’t feeling well this evening,” she says to Adola, whose gaze darts to me. But I keep my mouth shut. “Calm yourself down, dear. Quell won’t bat an eye at anything she sees here.” She watches for my reaction before smoothing Adola’s cheeks. “You’re a Perl. Everyone expects you to shine. Mingle. In a bit, I might have you demonstrate some of your own shadow magic for us.”

Adola’s heart speeds up. “Please, not tonight.” She smiles plastically.

Curious…Beaulah’s heir is intimidated by the use of dark magic or something.

“She can be so shy sometimes,” Beaulah says to me. “Some other time.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Adola curtsies and rushes away.

We walk and I lose sight of Adola among the festive crowd dancing and nibbling hors d’oeuvres being passed around on trays.

“There is toushana in this room,” I say, unable to resist. “Are others here…bound to it like me?”

“Oh, no, no one here was born with toushana. We haven’t been that fortunate. But we do dabble.” She winks and it unsettles me. I spent my entire life running from the Order because of who I am. None of this makes any sense.

I study the crowd, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. A gentleman in a corner streams blackness to something small until it’s a pile of ash. Then he sweeps the ash into his palm and tosses it into his mouth.

“Is that going to hurt him?”

“Taylor has an eccentric appetite. Don’t mind him.”

Across the room, a lady throws her head back in laughter while massaging a fist of thrashing shadows. The air buzzes with dark magic. I skim faces for scorn, fidgety hands, raised brows, discomfort, or judgment, but there are only jazzed smiles and a festive atmosphere. Beaulah’s beside me, standing tall, her shoulders pulled back. A smile spreads across her face.

She’s proud…

I let my arms hang loose at my sides but hesitate to release my tight fists.

“You don’t fear toushana.”

“I only fear one thing: the unknown.”

I look for some hint of dishonesty in her, but she doesn’t even flinch.

“Not even with the Sphere’s condition?” She must fear for the Order.

She tidies the fur sloped across her shoulders. “That will all be in hand soon. The Dragunhead is quite competent.” She turns a gemless gold ring on her finger.

“Does he know you openly allow toushana use here?” An odd feeling wraps around my ribs just hearing myself say the words aloud.

“Openly? Who’s watching?”

There isn’t a single window in this room, and it wasn’t exactly easy to find. Getting onto the grounds was nearly impossible. Adola fought me to come here because she didn’t want to be responsible for outing her aunt’s secret. I watch faint whiffs of darkness hanging in the air. The cold lurking beneath my skin quiets, and my fists finally come undone. The toushana they use is called to themselves. It’s not inside them, like mine is, as she said. None of them are bound. But still. I blow out a shaky breath.

“What kind of party is this?”

“We miss the business of the Season’s Rites and Cotillions, so we use the off-Season time to host our Virtue Pin Trials. It’s a Perl tradition. I like to recognize distinguished accomplishment. A House thrives on the dedication of its members. And nothing breeds dedication more than pride.”

Beaulah wears six gold pins, like the ones Jordan had, nestled in her shawl.

“There are many Draguns here.” Only Draguns are allowed to draw toushana from outside of themselves, to use it. She must train the others how to do it.

“You’re quite observant. Every House has its secrets, Quell. Ambrose’s immortality. Darragh’s garden of black roses.”

“But they’re here. Not at Dragun Headquarters.”

“I’ve given them a safe place to explore the things they’re naturally good at. They love their Mother. Can you blame them?”

Mother. The word ricochets like a bullet through my chest as Beaulah leads me into a quaint lounge separate from the reception. We settle into a pair of leather armchairs, and she pours brown liquid into a glass.

“How did you find Hartsboro’s entrance? I’d have known if the blood of a Marionne was offered at my gates.”

I explain how I ran into Charles and how I used his date’s dirty knife.

“Powerful, observant, and clever.” She swishes the liquid in her glass. “A débutante, bound to toushana, in this day and age. I never thought I’d see the day.” Her gaze traces me, pausing at my head. I’d almost forgotten. I tighten from my center and shove my magic up through me until my black diadem shows itself, brilliant and defiant.

“It’s a spectacle.”

I shift in my seat. But I can’t stop watching the gleam of awe in her eyes.

“You have nothing to fear here, Quell.” Her gaze falls to the tiny scar on my chest where my dagger disappeared. “People are gifted in different ways. Who are we to judge those gifts?”

“I’ve lived my entire life on the run. The Order judges me.”

“Yes, I suppose history proves they are very hard on people like you.”

“I was speaking for myself, personally.” There were others like me. Bound to the toushana they were born with. But they did horrific things! They earned that name: Darkbearers. “I’m nothing like those the Order judged.”

She crosses and recrosses her legs. “The Order did make a point to get rid of known bloodlines with dark magic after Misa fell.”

I think of Knox. Not all of them.

She smirks knowingly, as if she can read my mind. “And the Dragunhead remains committed to sniffing out any remaining, of course. This makes your predicament curious, to say the least.”

“I won’t apologize for what I did.”

“And no one in this close circle of my friends will ask you to.” Beaulah raises her glass and offers me one. I wave away her offer. She flinches ever so slightly, trying to hide it by taking a sip of her glass. But I don’t miss it.

“To be clear, you and I, we’re not friends.”

“I hear my nephew is looking for you.” She smooths her skirt.

I stiffen, and a smile tugs at her lips. And I feel like that’s the first glimpse of the Beaulah I’ve heard about. Delighting in making others uncomfortable. But I’m not the scared little girl at Chateau Soleil anymore. I’m also not one of the others here who appear to tiptoe on eggshells around her.

“I didn’t come here to answer your questions. I want to know where my mother is.”

“Ah, yes.” Warm light glints in the amber stones arced above her head. She has a confident yet ominous presence, like the rest of this place. “Rhea was here recently. What do you want to know?”

“Is she still here?”

“No. I’d have mentioned that right away.”

“Why did she come here? Did you help her?”

“One of my Draguns brought her in. I’d originally asked him to bring you to me because I’d heard rumors that you were different. I wanted to see and assess for myself—without telling your grandmother, of course. Darragh would run you off like she does everyone else in her life.”

She heard of my toushana and wanted me here? I push my hair behind my shoulder and hook my hands onto my knee, listening. It occurs to me that my grandmother and this woman have known each other a very long time.

“I wouldn’t put anything past Darragh Marionne. This Sphere business is no accident. Someone wants to take down our great Houses, and who has better motive than someone with no allies?”

“You think my grandmother was behind the Sphere cracking?”

“You seem surprised.”

“She’s a terror. I’m not surprised; I just happen to know you’re wrong.”

She waits for me to volunteer more information.

“At any rate, it was smart of you to get out of there,” she says. She strokes one of her six gold pins. Discretion, if I remember correctly. She pours another glass but keeps her eyes on me. “What was it like under her care? And how has your toushana done since binding?”

“Answer my questions. That’s why I’m here.”

“Knowing what you want and being clear about it is a great strength, Quell. I respect that. What is it you want to know exactly?” She rears back in her seat.

“What did you do when my mother came here? Be specific.”

“I welcomed her and sent her to the guesthouse.” She glances over her shoulder at the reception. “I’m sure you understand why we like to keep regular guest access…contained. I inquired about you. But she wouldn’t tell me anything, which didn’t surprise me, of course. And one day she was just gone.” She steeples her hands.

I fold my arms. There’s more to that story. She doesn’t lie, exactly; instead she withholds important details—which is slimier, I think. I can feel my chance at truth slipping away. She plays it cool, sipping her drink. But I know that spark in her eye. I saw it in Yagrin. She’s fascinated that I’ve bound to toushana. She’s dying to ask me more questions. But she won’t volunteer more information. I could search these grounds myself, figure out what Beaulah’s not telling me. What did my mother do here? What exactly made her leave? That should give me an idea of where she went.

Beaulah isn’t the only one who can get what she wants from people.

“Fine.” I pause a beat to sell this act. “Thank you for giving her a place to stay.” I pop up from my chair, and for the first time, Beaulah appears unsettled.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“You’re enamored of toushana.”

She doesn’t move.

“Study me. Learn all you want about what it means to be bound to it. Consider me your science experiment.”

Her grip on her glass tightens.

“In exchange, I need”—to figure out what you’re not telling me about my mother’s time here—“a place to stay, off the radar. I don’t trust you.” I stick out a hand. “But perhaps I can come to.”

Not a moment passes before her hand is in mine. “Welcome to Hartsboro.”

We shake. But she doesn’t let go.

“Integrity says a lot about a person, Quell. Keep your word and my nephew will never know you’re here.”

Betray her and he will, she doesn’t have to say.

“This place can be a haven for you or a dungeon of shadows.”

I snatch my hand away and smooth my dress. “We have a deal, then.”

She smiles, and I hurry back to the party, trying to forget the look of triumph on her face.