House of Marionne

“Octos?”

I tighten my fist on the stolen bauble and skim every shadowed corner of the forest for some glimpse of him.

“Here.” He comes out of the bramble.

“I have what you asked for. Now do what you promised.” I smooth my clothes and press my shoulders back, then open my hand. He looks at the stone, stare alight with veneration. I close my fist.

“What does this mean to you?”

“Questions weren’t a part of the bargain.”

He’s right. But his expression drips with yearning. It’s a Location Enhancer; what is he trying to find?

“If you know anything about Location Enhancers, you know that it takes a dozen of them at least to do anything.”

“I only have one.”

“Which is all I asked for.” He holds out his hand and I place the stone in his open palm. “We still have a deal or—”

“Yes, but let’s be clear, whatever trouble you’re trying to get into with this, leave me out of it.”

He agrees. “If you’ll remove your scarf, Miss.”

I do. And it’s only then I notice how much shorter than me he is. He tiptoes to get above my head to take a closer look at my diadem.

He hands me a thin flat branch. “Bite down on this and be still.” He winds his hands in a smooth circular motion.

“What do—” My head throbs, and I shove the bark between my teeth a beat too late. “Ah!!!”

“Shh!”

I bite down, regretting not listening immediately. But the world blurs from the pain. I sway, stumbling sideways.

“Don’t move!”

I hurt, all over. Bark is a wall at my back, holding me up, thankfully, as my senses weaken. I’m not in a forest. I’m not a person or body at all. I’m a head swimming in an inferno. I bite down harder, swallowing every utterance that grazes my lips.

“Almost,” he says between his teeth.

I stagger as a surge of sharpness rips at the inside of my head like the world’s worst migraine. My eyes feel like they’re being sucked into my skull, and my brain is being squished. Then a rush of calm breaks over me. The feeling of the world being ripped apart comes to a halt.

“There.” He stumbles back, panting for breath. Sweat beads on his face. He sits down on a stump and takes a long swig from the water at his waist.

I blink, confused by the absence of pain, and reach for my head, only to realize I should have brought a mirror.

“Here.” He pulls himself up, despite his exhaustion, and digs out a shard of mirror from a bag hidden beside a tree. He holds it up. I gasp at coils of what was just black metal now shining in rose gold above my head, dotted with almond-shaped gems the color of happiness, pinkish crimson. It sparkles with every twist of my head, and it steals my next breath like an endless field of spring’s first bloom. I try to speak, but my hand is cupped over my mouth.

“How long will this last?”

“As long as you keep that rotted magic you’re carrying under control, forever.”

Forever. “It’s so . . . beautiful.”

“Always was. It’s just gold now.”

“Thank you.” I roll my neck, unwinding the frazzled mess that I am. “A-And I apologize if things were tense there for a moment. I just—”

“No explanation needed.” He gulps down a deliberate breath, his chest still rising and falling loudly.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” He gathers his coat and the dagger, which I realize, in the chaos of everything, I dropped.

“You’re quite talented. It’s a shame your House didn’t let you finish.”

His eyes meet mine.

Octos has saved my life. The words hang on my lips, but I hesitate to show my full hand. He rolls his jaw as if there’s something he wants to say.

“Yes?”

“Most wouldn’t give me the time of day.” He turns the dagger in his hands.

“Before I came here, me either.”

We shake. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

I offer a tight smile and watch him go. When he reaches the edge of the forest, I go back inside and tuck the scarf away.

The estate has quieted as I sneak to my room, and my eyelids are heavy, demanding to be closed. My head swims with the chaos of the last couple of hours. But I urge my feet forward, the warm sheets of my bed calling to me. When I wake up, maybe this will all have been a bad dream. It’s a lie, but without it I’m not sure I’d be able to put one foot in front of another at the moment.

I could have been killed.

I claw at my throat, willing it to unclench. My fingers reach for the metal on my head again, and I ease out a breath. It’s rose gold not black. My secret is hidden.

Broken glass litters the halls, swept aside as if cleanup is in progress. Whispering somewhere freezes me on the spot, but it’s too far and too faint to make out. I ease around the banister and up the grand stair to the Belles Wing, my head still pulsing with a minor throb. It’s hardly noticeable compared with what it felt like ten short minutes ago.

When I enter our suite, Abby’s wide awake, shifting the fabric on a long gown.

I stop, a ball of tightness and nerves.

She gasps at the showing arced above my head, and the dress in her hands falls to the floor. She rushes to greet me, shaking my shoulders.

I force them to sink and try to relax my arms as I close the door behind me. It takes every bit of focus not to look down at my shoes.

“You! It’s so tall and . . .” She steps back with sweeping dramatics, brandishing her arms in every direction. “Magnificent, regal, resplendent, grand!” She swings me around and curtsies.

Shame burns in my chest. But I force myself to look at her and smile. To step into this world of make-believe where I am actually worthy of this fawning affection.

“Well go on, curtsy like a proper lady!” She scrunches up her nose and I laugh, a burst of joy rushing up against the dam of my indignity.

I copy to appease her, but my heart is not in it. My knees go all wobbly when I get too low. “That’s harder than it looks.”

“Plume will whip you into shape, don’t worry. You’ll be the talk of the entire Season!” She pulls me to the mirror, and I suck in a breath as I take myself in fully. Despite the events of the night, the stranger who stares back at me holds her shoulders squarely; her chin doesn’t point to the floor as it usually does. I look away. She’s a liar. A cheater. Disguised as someone deserving.

Abby rotates my head, making me stare into the mirror. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she says, mimicking a stuffy announcer’s voice. “I present Quell Janae Marionne, granddaughter of Darragh Marionne, Headmistress and Cultivator extraordinaire.” She laughs, and the bubble in me somehow resurfaces, spilling out in bashful laughter.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You just don’t seem nearly excited enough. First Rite, down. Two to go!”

“I am, really.” I shrug. “There’s a long way to go to Cotillion, that’s all.”

She sits on her bed and pulls her dress across her onto her lap, her magic shifting the shiny purple fabric to a deep shade of green.

“That looks nice.”

“Oh, thanks. The nice thing about being away from home is I don’t have to listen to my parents nagging about how Vestisers are a frivolous waste of shifting ability.” She rolls her eyes. “I like fashion. They act like that’s a crime.”

“Well, I’m glad here you get to be yourself.”

She slips her dress onto a hanger before climbing into bed. “I have honing exam tomorrow. Finally. It’s taken me forever to even qualify to sit the exam. Like two entire summers. Give me all the good juju to pass.”

I wiggle my fingers in her direction. “Juju sent. You’ll do great though. I’m sure of it.”

She reaches for the lamp with a yawn as I climb into bed.

“Thanks, Abby. For sticking by me and being excited and stuff.”

“You just wait. This entire House is going to bow at your skirt.”

The light clicks, and my insides swirl with nerves. A different kind than I’ve felt before. Angst, yes, but rooted in something strangely unfamiliar. I hadn’t thought about what people would say. My diadem is beautiful. More glorious than I could have even dreamt up. Even when blackened, it was stunning. Maybe even more so.

But the truth—that this isn’t the real diadem—needles me.

You emerged, my conscience whispers. That matters.

I stew on the thought, and something uncinches in me.

“I belong here.” I mutter the mantra to myself, but it sounds hollow. I squirm to get a bit more comfortable with this thing on my head. Careful to not shove it into the pillow too hard. I pull the covers tight to my chin, and my thoughts shift to Octos, the tally marks all over his arms. The rogue life he lives. But I have my own self-destruction to fight off. I hug my pillow and obey my heavy eyelids.

“I belong here,” I say again, low enough so Abby can’t hear. I have to say it until I believe it. I have to say it so I can face tomorrow.