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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.”