Forty-Nine
Jordan
I storm out of the stairwell. Almost all of the lobby crowd has moved into the dining area. I spot Felix dining with an Unmarked. Eyes follow me through the restaurant, but no one dares say a word.
“Felix. What are you doing here?”
“Brother.” He looks up from his copy of the Daily and greets me with a well-rehearsed smile. The woman at the table looks over at me and blushes.
“Rosalind,” he says in an awful Italian accent, “questo e mio fratello. Brother, meet Rosalind. She’s visiting for the day from Sardinia.”
“Piacere di conoscerti.” She holds out her hand, and I oblige it with a kiss.
“I require a word.”
He turns a page in the paper. “Begonia Terrace has gone on the market. Sixty-eight million. House of Oralia is selling. What do you think of that?”
“Per favore scusaci un attimo,” I say to the woman, with perfect pitch and flawless intonation. She thanks Felix, rises from the table, and leaves.
“You just ruined what was looking to be a very promising morning.”
More eyes are on us. Draguns I haven’t seen in years. I snatch the paper away from him.
“Is Charlie here?”
“Do you see him?”
“Yaniselle?”
He quirks a brow. “Aye.”
I lean across the table. “I’ll ask once more. Why are you here?”
Felix shifts. He clears his throat and tosses his napkin on his plate. “Broom closet near the fire exit on the south side of the inn.”
I exit the restaurant first and find the broom closet. He joins me moments later, the playfulness on his face gone.
“Why are you here? What is Beaulah playing at?”
“Sunspots are aggressively growing in number.”
“You wouldn’t have passed Maezre Tramaine’s session if it wasn’t for my brother doing your work. Don’t talk to me about things you don’t know anything about. How much longer do you think Beaulah’s going to be able to hide where her loyalties really lie?”
Felix dusts off my shoulder. “Making your father proud, I see.”
I tighten a fist. “I urge you to see reason and uphold your vows.”
“Funny. I was going to give you the same advice.” Felix straightens his coat and reaches for the broom closet door. “Many understand Mother’s position and are passionate about her cause.”
The other House that’s marching.
I pin him in place. “You will give me something or you won’t leave here at all.”
Felix swallows. “I’ve heard Chateau Soleil is a ghost town.”
“Darragh Marionne would never march in support of Beaulah.” It can’t be House Ambrose. They’d see allying with Beaulah as beneath them. Headmistress Oralia never troubles herself with anything. “There aren’t any other Houses. Duncan? Their House has been dissolved.”
“Grudges outlive people, Jordan. I’m surprised you of all people don’t realize that.”
“They could not care less about House of Marionne.”
They have nothing to lose.
“You dated the Duncan girl,” I say. “The one who died.”
“Aye.”
“Did you kill her?”
“You wound me. I’m still sick with grief.”
This reeks of Beaulah’s plotting. Shelby Duncan was the first Duncan to be admitted to a House for magic training since the House fell decades ago. If she died on Marionne territory, that would cement Duncan as an enemy and put a target on Darragh Marionne’s back. This was calculated, cold-blooded murder. For power.
I snatch the coin from his throat. “Beaulah gave the order, didn’t she? To get rid of Shelby at Chateau Soleil.”
Felix sucks his teeth.
I open the door. “Leave.”
“My coin.”
“Be grateful you’re leaving with your life.”
His nostrils flare, his cheeks flush. “I heard about your visit to the Trial ceremony. How Jordan Wexton threw his virtue pins. You’re out, brother. Exposed. Go bark up another tree. Try Marionne—I hear you like getting underneath their skirts.” He storms off. I drop his coin in my pocket, my pulse thundering.
A war is brewing.
And we’re the only ones without allies.
The chair where I spent the night outside Quell’s room is still there. I sit, pondering some kind of solution to this impending chaos. We can’t stoop to Beaulah’s level of violence. I understand Quell wants to make sure Beaulah doesn’t get to the Sphere before we do, but there has to be another way. We can outsmart them somehow. What if there is no other way, I can almost hear Quell say. I rake a hand through my hair, still able to see the Dragunhead’s face when I asked him to go on this mission. He won’t be happy to hear about this development. My gut sloshes as I slip my phone out of my pocket. I see no other option than to update him and get his wisdom. I fire off a message requesting Maei have him call me.
The door to the room opens.
“You’re not leaving this room until it’s time to cloak to the Sphere,” I say, and I feel anger rising inside her. “What’s the latest count of sunspots?”
“Approaching the hundreds. So I’m your prisoner now?”
“You become my prisoner each time you don’t do what I say.”
She slams the door just as the phone buzzes. I stand, too frazzled to sit.
“Sir?”
“I hear there’s trouble in Aronya.”
“Three on the march.”
“Three! By god.”
“Sir, we need to talk about the brothers matriculating from Hartsboro.”
“I’m listening.”
“I have concerns about their loyalties. They’re all over this inn. I believe they’re helping her.”
The line is silent for so long, I clear my throat to ensure he’s still there.
“I…I don’t know what to do.”
“Keep your brothers in line, whatever it takes. That’s what you do!”
“Yes, sir.”
The line goes dead.
The day whirls by and I can hardly focus. By the time the inn empties of visitors, I’ve eased back into my seat outside Quell’s room. The island is ours again. Ours, and Beaulah’s team of Draguns’. My eyes are heavy and yet my mind won’t stop. I need to think. But I can’t think without rest. I rattle a fist on the door. I hope she’s calmed. I’ll tie her down to keep her in this room, if I must, in order to steal a nap. I knock again, but there’s no response. She could be asleep. With a cursory glance around, I pull on the chill of dark magic in the air and cloak, slipping through the door. Once I’m inside, it’s completely dark.
I pull back the covers but there’s no sign of Quell. The trace on her is also silent. My heart knocks into my ribs. If I’ve lost her or if someone’s hurt—
Creak.
The noise is coming from outside, on the balcony. Over the ledge, a floor below, Quell lowers herself using a makeshift rope. I’m halfway over the rail as she disappears inside the room. By the time I make it there and peer through the window, the room swells with a cloud of shadows. When the haze clears, a dark figure darts out the door. I force my way inside and a biting cold is in the air. I look around, expecting to see bodies. There are two beds, a Dragun in each, and neither moves.
I touch one and he is still warm. To my relief, he’s blinking at the ceiling, frozen in shock. His hands are purple, as if they’ve been badly bruised.
“I can’t…My magic…It won’t…” He gapes in horror. The other Dragun is in bad shape, too.
“Stay here,” I tell them both, and rush out the door. She is using toushana to bruise their hands so badly it stops their ability to access magic. If we use magic selfishly, to hurt people, then we’re no better than Darkbearers.
The hall is empty. I try the next door, listening before slipping between its seams. There are two Draguns in this room as well, scantily clad and in the same bed. She wails at the sight of her hands. I’m too late.
“Did you see who did this?” I ask. How big of a hole has Quell dug for herself?
“It was dark.”
“The room went cold as ice.”
I still may be able to fix this if I can find her before she harms anyone else. I have them stay put before returning to the hall. A head of wavy hair darts around a corner and I’m on her tail. She dashes inside a room. By the time I enter, there’s a Dragun wide awake in bed, holding the covers to himself. Water runs in the bathroom.
“Dragunheart, sir.” He swallows. “What—um—what brings you here so late?” His gaze darts to the wardrobe, then to his clothes, and to the dagger all the way across the room. I move slowly in that direction, shadows spooling in my fist. I reach for the handle and the door flies open. Quell bursts out of the cabinet, but she’s startled by the magic in my hands. And it gives me the moment I need. I tackle her, and her toushana fizzles out as I wrestle her arms behind her back, one after the other.
“I am not the enemy! Look around.”
“How many rooms have you visited?” I ask, pinning her wrists together.
“Not enough.”
“Quell, you have to stop this.” It isn’t right!
“I’ve shown mercy.” She wriggles an arm free, then lassoes it around my neck with monstrous strength. And suddenly she’s behind me, tightening her grip on my neck. “They’ve done terrible things for that woman. We both know it.” She seethes, tightening her hold on me. This is not about their magic. This is not about the Sphere. This is about hurting anyone even remotely connected to Beaulah.
“You’re not thinking clearly. Your magic, it’s too riled up. And this isn’t our plan. Quell, please.” I tug at her arms around my neck, which are making it hard for me to breathe.
“I’ve never been clearer in my entire life.”
I slam myself backward into the cabinet, and her grip loosens enough for me to twist in her hold and grab her firmly by the wrists. “You’re ruining everything.”
A hungry look rages in those honey-brown eyes.
“Please, you have to trust me.”
Her jaw hardens. But her body relaxes against me, and I let her arms down.
“Get back to the room,” I whisper. “I’ll clean this all up. Somehow I’ll fix it.”
“I don’t need you to cover for me, Jordan.” She pushes me off her and paces the full length of the room, stopping at the bed beside the Dragun, who watches her with wide eyes.
“I need you to help me,” she says.
The Dragun fumbles in his covers behind her.
“That is helping you!”
She shakes her head.
Then she gasps as metal protrudes through her shirt, sprouting a flower of blood.