Fourteen

Quell

I awake to darkness and panic. Night has fallen. Beaulah! I’m supposed to meet her. When I pull the door open, a petite woman is standing there; I can hardly see her face over the stack of dresses across her arms.

“I’m Della, your attendant while you’re here. Pleased to meet you.” She curtsies before coming inside. More attendants pile into the room, loaded down with jewelry boxes, shoes, bags, and garments.

“Uh, I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself, thanks.” I reach for a dress, but Della doesn’t let it go.

“Mother insists.”

She’s determined to watch me at every turn. I eye the spot where I shoved my invitations, and thankfully they’re out of sight. I concede, and Della and the other attendants busy themselves all over my room. By the time I’m dressed, I’ve been scrubbed with lavender-infused water and waxed; my hair’s been washed, styled, and coiffed; and a set of jewels heavier than any I’ve ever held lies across my neck. I’m breathless when Della and her crew leave, but I hurry to the mirror.

Every part of me sparkles with darkness. From the black sequin gown that hugs my waist, then flares; to the glamorous smoky eye makeup; to the obsidian earrings pulling at my lobes. I pull my belly button in toward my spine and feel the stirring of my magic deep inside. Cold rushes through my head, and black metal emerges from my sprayed hair until my full diadem arcs above my head. Its rose-colored stones shine. The girl in the mirror is a far cry from the one who hid from her grandmother so many months ago. I hold my chin up, eyeing my diadem once again. I don’t have to hide it here. For the first time in forever, I can be proud of who I am. The time. I should go. But I could stare at this girl in the mirror until the sun rises.

Two steps out my door, I think of Abby. I need to update her the first chance I get.

Using the map Adola left me, I hurry to the cigar lounge, late to meet Beaulah. When I arrive, a smoky sweetness reaches my nose. Adola is waiting outside the doors.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting me a new room?”

“It’s Trials week. Guests are traveling in from all over. You’re stuck with the room you have.”

I glare at her. “I’m sure you tried your best.”

The doors open and someone who I don’t recall seeing at last night’s party exits. He doesn’t bat an eye in my direction. “Shouldn’t you be at the platforms?” he asks Adola.

“I’m going at the end of the week.” She glances at me.

“Fratis fortunam.” He holds the door for us to enter.

“The heir has days until her own Trials,” I say.

She cuts me an angry look.

“You could let me help you and all would be well.”

“I’d rather fail.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Beaulah waves me over as Adola pushes past me. I make my way around the lively audience; they shimmy to peppy music in fine tuxedos, sparkling dresses, and decadent furs, their necks and knuckles swallowed in jewels. Drinks or cigars are in every hand, and there’s chumminess to everyone’s demeanor. It’s like walking into a room where everyone’s in on the same joke. People compliment my dress as I pass. Several eye my diadem, and the attention covers my skin in prickles.

I keep to the perimeter of the room, and I smile politely at the next string of compliments. Beaulah is seated beside a wall of windows overlooking a balcony and the lawn below. I join her. The open field we crossed earlier is empty except for three raised platforms. Adola doesn’t join us. Instead she gives plastic greetings to everyone and isolates in a corner. I swear, the girl is determined to hate me.

“I hope you weren’t alarmed earlier at the guesthouse,” Beaulah says. “When I couldn’t find you, I was concerned, so I sent Charlie to look for you. You should stay out of the woods. As a precaution.”

“I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.”

“No one doubts that.” She squeezes my shoulder. “You’re here just in time for the finish.” Beaulah turns her attention to the grandiose view of the grounds below. The commotion in the room settles as more people gather around the window. A bottle of champagne is passed around and glasses fill. One is shoved into my hand as I notice a dark-robed person below, holding up five fingers.

“Five minutes,” someone says.

Beaulah grabs a cigar from a tray. “Watch the tree line.”

Another few minutes pass. The robed figure holds up two fingers.

“What’s happening?” I ask, but Beaulah only leans forward in her seat.

“Gather around,” she announces. “Any moment!”

The dancing music shifts to a soft melody as the crush of bodies bubbling with excitement tightens even more around us. I slide to the edge of my chair—watching for what, I’m not sure.

A horn blares. The robed figure holds his arms in an X overhead.

“And…” Beaulah mutters.

Three people emerge from the forest, each collapsing at the finish line. The room explodes in applause. However, Beaulah doesn’t move.

“Georgie? Where is he, Headmistress?” The woman speaking holds her handkerchief tightly to her chest.

“He’s a strong boy, May. He’s got one more horn.”

“He’s down to seconds.”

A long wail from the horn blares right as someone dashes out of the forest. Barefoot, shirtless, and covered in filth. His long blond hair is wild and his expression feral. His skin is coated in red. I straighten, realizing that it is not paint. Beaulah and the boy’s mother embrace in a tight hug. She catches me staring, and a thousand questions swirl in my head.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Congratulations to your son. I’m sure you must be very proud for the, um, pin he is earning.”

Beaulah pulls off a shelf an ornate box like one I’d seen in Jordan’s room at Chateau Soleil. The one he refused to let me touch. She passes it into the woman’s hands. “This is Miss Marionne’s first time visiting Hartsboro.”

“Ah. The Trials are our favorite tradition. I didn’t get to say hello last night.” She says the last part under her breath. “I’m Maybel Kinsley, of the original Kinsleys. Nice to meet you in person, Miss Marionne.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“And just in time,” Beaulah says as the four candidates from the grounds below enter the room. Each is slick with sweat, their bloodied clothes hanging in shreds. Georgie is the worst off, with a puffed eye that’s swelling shut. Raw slashes cut into his pale chest and he stares into space, hardly breathing. The room greets them with raucous applause, chanting, “Memento sumptus.” The revelry finishes with a collective growl and a firm fist to the chest. The four candidates are bleary-eyed and jumpy as they watch the crowd close around them. Champagne sloshes in glasses, and the music picks up. The room pops with celebratory giggles.

“Let’s get them pinned,” Beaulah shouts, with four boxes in her hand.

Mrs. Kinsley appears beside me with Georgie roped onto her arm. I try to meet his gaze, but it’s vacant, as he stares at nothing. His fingers are badly bruised and remind me of my own hands. What on earth happened in that forest?

“Mom—they put us”—his voice cracks—“in holes. And—” His hand trembles on his mother’s arm.

“Listen to you. You sound delirious. You’re okay.”

He sways.

“A chair. Can someone get him a chair?” I take him by the arm and sit him down.

“What’s happened to you?” I ask, but Beaulah steps between us as a fine tailored coat with red stitching and gold buttons is slung over Georgie’s shoulders, uncaring of the blood beneath. A garment I know well. The buzz of idle chatter and clinking glasses quiets as an audience of bright eyes and wide smiles swells around Georgie. She helps him stand and the beautiful jacket hides his battered body.

She opens the box and a gold pin gleams inside.

“George Kinsley, Marked son of House of Perl, you’ve earned this distinct honor for valor. Pin number one hundred sixty-three. You join the ranks of one hundred sixty-two others in our great House who’ve been bestowed such an honor. If you receive this honor, say I accept.”

His mother elbows him.

“I accept,” he whispers.

Beaulah presses the valor pin to his coat. The longer he stands there, the more lucid he becomes. His mother dabs her face, teary-eyed, as Beaulah moves on to the next candidate across the room.

“Thank you.” He perks up. “My magic was faster this time, Mom,” he says. “The details are fuzzy, but I just know my magic was way faster. That, I remember.”

“You’re sure you’re alright?” I ask.

“I’ve never been better.” He flexes his bruised fingers, which don’t appear to be hurting him anymore. “Tore right through the earth when they buried me.”

I titter but realize no one else is laughing. “You don’t mean literally…” Guests swirl around us, dancing. Georgie smooshes his brows and turns his wrist, examining a deep gash in his flesh. He absolutely does mean literally.

I swallow a dry breath.

And blink.

Then blink again.

“Valor, Miss Marionne, is difficult to breed,” Beaulah says. “I have my methods.”

The air crackles with laughter. Glasses clink, and cheering shouts blare in my ears as the world spins. I tighten my grip on my chair but it doesn’t help. Georgie pulled himself from a grave. How?

But the answer hits me. Not everyone in Perl knows Beaulah’s dark secret.

“You used toushana,” I whisper. His eyes widen. I touch my diadem. “You can tell me.”

He nods. “She told me I could if it answered to me.”

My skin turns to gooseflesh. He fought his way out of pounds of dirt piled on top of his body before it suffocated him. With only his will and toushana at his fingertips. The cold in my bones unfurls, screaming, begging to get out of here.

“You learned this in your sessions?”

He glances over his shoulder, then leans in. “She picks some of us for special classes.” The children of those in her inner circle.

“Is everything okay here?” Mrs. Kinsley barges in.

“Everything’s fine, Mom. I was speaking with Miss Marionne about how good my Trials went. Actually”—he shifts—“my bones are still hurting.”

“Give it a few hours, dear. It’ll all be a lot better in the morning, from what I recall. You’ll hardly remember your time in that forest. What you’ll remember most is”—she pokes the valor pin on his chest—“this.” She kisses him despite his best effort to dodge it.

They depart and I stand, unable to stomach the nausea.

“I’m going to bed,” I tell Beaulah. Her fingers lasso my wrist.

“I’m sending along some light reading to prepare you for our time together tomorrow.”

“Right.” Experiments. I rush out of there, and once the lounge is completely out of earshot, I take off to a run. Burying people alive? As a test! Bile climbs up and out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I hurl on her polished floors, Georgie’s deranged expression burned into my mind.

I have to get what I need from this place and get out of here.