Page 16 of Fortress of Ambrose (House of Marionne #3)

Twelve

Yagrin

Nore was a conundrum. Clever and rebellious.

Did she love the Order, or did she not? It didn’t sound like she knew how she felt about her House.

But he liked the way she thought. Living all these years without magic, not good enough by their standards but refusing to let it define her.

He knew a thing or two about the Order making you feel like you weren’t good enough.

It was admirable. More than that, it was enviable.

When Dexler gave them a session room to themselves, Nore hardly spoke.

She paced for a while, and he watched her, imagining her mind analyzing every statistical likelihood that something could go wrong.

What would happen if they were caught? If Dexler found out their motives weren’t pure?

Her frustration carved lines beneath her fiery red hairline, and it reminded him of beachcombing at sunset.

Once she stopped pacing, she sat at a desk and laid her head onto her folded arms. The sounds in the passageways had died down completely, and Yagrin was convinced the others were asleep.

“Nore?”

Her chest rose and fell gently. Her face was buried in a nest of silky hair. He almost felt bad for concealing his true intentions with the Scroll. Almost.

“Nore?”

She didn’t move, peacefully asleep. Watching her knotted his insides, confusing everything. His hand reached to move her hair behind her so he could see her face better. Her pink lips were smooshed against her flattened arm, and a dribble of drool ran down her cheek. He laughed. She blinked slowly.

“Yagrin,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry!” She blinked again, more lucid, then shot up from her seat.

“What are you doing, standing over me?” Her hair was still wild, her words saturated with sleep.

It reminded him of a dead girl he once knew who was wildly free.

For a reason he couldn’t put into words, he reached toward Nore’s sleep-deranged expression and smoothed away the drool from her chin. “It’s time to get up, Buttercup.”

She batted his hand away, blushing, and hurried to the door.

His insides twisted. What was he thinking?

His missing one person couldn’t make him reckless with another.

For so long Red was dead, which meant the feeling being with her gave him was also dead.

The way Red looked at him, without harsh, angry words, without disdain, with pure trust in who he was, he could never see again.

Her laugh made him feel alive like nothing else.

Her love was the only thing that outshined the burn for vengeance.

But now life had been breathed into Red’s memory in the form of hope.

Hope that he could see her again and hold her.

He wasn’t sure exactly how the Scroll worked, but he knew it was his only chance.

Death was otherwise final. The Scroll was his only shot at having some kind of happiness in his life.

His heart belonged to Red or no one. He couldn’t let the clever Ambrose girl confuse that.

She might be a bad liar, but she was an heir.

And people in the Order were eventually all the same.

He tightened his hand into a fist and followed Nore out the door.

Nore navigated the halls of Chateau Soleil too well.

“How long has it been since you’ve been here?” he asked.

“Months. Before Quell’s Cotillion.” She moved along the second-floor landing’s balustrade, heading for the stairs to the third floor.

He stuck to her heels, and once they reached the landing, Nore rushed down the hall, past dozens of doors and sweeping views of the estate. The sun was setting, its golden light slicing the hallway into pieces.

“It’s there.” She dashed to the very end of the hall and a pair of double doors. She twisted the scorched brass handle. The door didn’t budge. She shook it vigorously, but still the door held. With balled fists, she spun on her heel and fumed.

“Let me try,” he said, opening his hands to summon the cold magic that hung in the air.

Toushana gathered and snapped to his hands quickly, but as it pooled, it barely formed a wisp of darkness.

Nore watched, arms crossed. His heart beat faster.

He held still, focusing on the strength of his will, and called to the darkness more firmly this time.

But the hazy dark magic wouldn’t quite come together.

“And my magic isn’t reliable?”

His stomach knotted. He tugged harder, and—thank the Sovereign—the dark mist in the air shifted, and a rush of toushana siphoned to his fingers.

He smoothed the dark magic along the wood, but it only blackened more.

Her eyes narrowed with focus, a thoughtful crease forming between her brows.

She stepped closer to the wall, and he noticed the way she got this look in her eye when her mind was maneuvering.

Like she was calculating several mathematical equations all at once.

“What?” she asked, looking over at him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re smiling.”

Am I? He turned as heat rushed up his neck. When he looked at her again, she was inspecting the wall paneling beside the door. She walked down the length of Darragh Marionne’s private quarters and placed her hand on the wall again.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The doors are protected. Toushana isn’t going to get you in.” She knocked on the wall, and it rang back hollow.

“You want me to go through the wall? Just burn a hole right through it? As we try to, I don’t know, be discreet?”

“You’re scared of getting caught?” Nore set her hands on her hips.

“I thought you wanted to get out of here without ruffling feathers.”

“I don’t care how we get out of here. I just want that Scroll.

” Fire burned in her gray eyes. They were the kind of gray that only existed on rainy days or in a storm.

Where the shade changed depending on how long he looked.

She could be fearless. In fact, the only time he’d seen her look remotely afraid was when dark clouds rolled in nearby.

“Do you care about this place or something?” She quirked a brow.

“I care about one thing. The Scroll.”

“Well, then, get to it.” She took a few steps backward as he approached.

“Out of the way.” He drew on the magic, still hovering in the air, and thin rivulets of black dripped from his hands.

He ran toushana across the wall, and the paneling began to peel like molting skin.

He kicked the damaged wall in and found himself in Darragh Marionne’s bathroom.

He held out his hand to help Nore through the wall.

She eyed it warily and didn’t take it. But she stepped inside, beaming.

Darragh Marionne’s bathroom was stark white and utterly spotless.

A bouquet of wilted flowers sat on her vanity.

Nore hurried out of the bathroom, and he followed her into a grand bedroom with a generous sitting area.

He spotted a row of drawers beneath a bookshelf and tugged on each.

Inside were small luggage items. Nore pulled through shelves, knocking books on the floor, overturning whatever she found.

Her fingers grazed jewelry laid out on the counter.

She took a piece and stuck it in her pocket.

The heir, a petty thief? He chuckled.

“Maybe she has a proper office.” He pushed open the double doors to the room, and it opened up to a sitting room with prim, proper furniture and a fireplace.

There were leather-bound books and delicate vases everywhere.

Gold-inlaid maps lined the floral-papered walls.

Even Darragh Marionne’s curtains sparkled with a glamour and elegance that he’d never seen at Hartsboro.

“There!”

Across the room was a writing desk. He rummaged through the open drawers and tried his magic on a locked one. It wouldn’t budge.

“It’s not here,” Nore said.

“How are you sure?”

Nore pulled a diamond necklace with chunky stones from her pocket. “This is the Fon’t Le Mai. And Darragh just left it out on her table.”

“The phone le what?”

Her mouth puckered to stifle a laugh, but her cheeks rose and he grinned. She handed him the necklace. Their fingertips brushed, and Nore flinched. “This piece was the first replica made of the Regent.”

Yagrin’s brow quirked.

“A one-hundred-forty-carat brilliant-cut diamond owned by the French Crown. Nita Nobu, ancestor of this House, snuck into a party to get a look at it. She ended up getting in a world of trouble and sprouting the Order’s first diadem.

But she did get a look at the necklace, used Shifter magic to make a replica, and sold it.

That was the Order’s first source of wealth.

A few generations later, one of her successors shifted another replica as a trophy keepsake.

This is pure history. And it was just out on a desk. ”

He turned the sparkly jewel in his hands.

From what his brother had mentioned during his years as Ward, Darragh was a woman who trusted few.

Someone so incredibly full of pride wouldn’t hide things in their personal space.

Nore was right: Something from another House, of only legendary value, wouldn’t be hidden here.

“Has that massive brain of yours figured out where it actually could be?” He handed her the necklace back, careful to not brush her skin this time.

She watched his methodical movement, and their eyes met.

The air in the room seemed to rise several degrees as they stood there, frozen, watching the closeness of their hands. Yagrin’s throat was dry.

Suddenly, a whoosh ripped the air, prickling his Dragun senses. Yagrin snatched Nore out of the way, pulling her against him just as metal zipped past her face. She gasped.

“Excuse me!” Dexler spat. The maezre held another dagger raised high. Behind her were a half dozen glaring House members. “Put down the Le Mai and step away!”

Yagrin moved backward, pushing Nore behind him. But her nails dug into his arm.

She elbowed him aside. “I am so sick and tired of people trying to kill me!”

“Nore.” He lowered his voice but kept it firm. “Don’t be rash. Too much is on the line.”

“I ought to lock you up!”

“Careful with the threats, old woman.” He pulled on darkness, and though it churned weakly in his grip, Dexler swallowed hard. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he would if she moved that blade an inch closer to either one of them.

“You parade in here pretending to be on our side!”

“I am doing what Quell asked,” Nore said.

Yagrin’s ears pricked at the subtle twist of truth.

Jordan wanted to save Quell’s life with the Scroll; that’s presumably why they were here.

Yagrin had built the deception; she was just driving the nail into the hole.

If it took the heat off them in this moment, he couldn’t blame her for it.

She marched up to Dexler. “Excuse us for not telling you every single detail. But I’ll have you know what we’re looking for here could save lives.

” She set the necklace down. “I was going to give this to Quell.”

Dexler lowered the blade an inch. Yagrin held on to his feeble magic.

“We’re looking for—”

“Careful,” he warned, recognizing that truth was about to slip from her lips.

Nore’s menacing glare was fixed on Dexler. “You can help us, or we can roll the dice to see whose magic is going to win.”

Dexler fidgeted.

Yagrin held tighter to his magic, hoping Nore knew what she was doing.

“We’re looking for a piece of a very important historical Scroll,” she said. “One that was entrusted to you by my House generations ago.”

Dexler lowered the blade before shooing the others outside.

“A member in the Headmistress bloodline has finally arrived to collect. You should have told me. We have the piece.” She ran her hand along the edge of one of the framed maps on Darragh’s wall, the lavender stone on her finger glowing.

The glass front of the map vanished, and she reached through the gaping hole where it had been into a hidden safe behind the portrait.

Inside was a tear of old paper. She handed Nore the brittle parchment.

Nore clutched her chest as she studied it, feeling the paper, turning it on both sides.

“Well?” Yagrin said.

“It’s it.” She nodded, biting the smile at her lips.

Yagrin tried his hardest but couldn’t help but smile, too. “Well done,” he said under his breath. His heart thundered in the best way. As long as she kept her word to him, and he kept his head clear about her, they would make a good team.

“Don’t doubt me, Yagrin,” she said. “I’m playing to win.”

That she was. It both inspired and unsettled him.