Page 52 of Fortress of Ambrose (House of Marionne #3)

Forty-Two

Nore

Nore awoke while it was still dark outside to the sound of a rough tap at the door.

She stretched an arm across her bed, but no one was there.

She blinked, the haze of sleep blurring her vision.

The knock at the door grew more insistent.

She got up and accidentally kicked the untouched dinner tray at the foot of her bed.

Ainsley rushed in with fresh juice and a bowl of veggies and fruit.

“Are you ready, ma—Headmistress? Today’s the day!” Ainsley held a robe, and Nore blinked the dregs of fog from her eyes as she slid her arms into the sleeves. She stared at the bed, confused.

“Was anyone in here when you brought me dinner?”

“No, no one. You were fast asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

It had been a dream. She’d slept in Yagrin’s arms, curled up next to him while he stroked her hair like he used to do.

“Let’s get you in the bath.”

“I am bathing myself.”

“Well, I’ll at least prepare the water.” Ainsley did not stop talking.

Once Nore was clean and her skin bright red from scrubbing it with jasmine-soaked petals to ensure there were no impurities in her skin that would impede her magic, her head was spinning with details she wasn’t well versed in.

She held the maid’s wrist, urging her to take a breath.

She noticed Ainsley’s eyes were red and her hair wasn’t freshly done.

“Did you not sleep well?”

“I did not sleep at all, Headmistress.” Ainsley pulled a gray frock out of the closet that was the drabbest yet most delicate thing Nore’d ever seen.

“I stayed up refreshing on coronation procedures and protocol. There was so much to read, I hardly got through it all. A maid only gets to prepare a Headmistress for something like this once in their lifetime, if they’re lucky. ”

Nore couldn’t believe her ears. “Ainsley, you will sleep tonight if I have to watch you sleep myself. In fact, I refuse to see you after dinner. You’re in bed by eight. Alright?”

She curtsied. Nore held out her arms as the itchy fabric slid across her freshly oiled body. She’d never attended her mother’s coronation, obviously. But she knew the fashion in her House like the back of her hand. That she had memorized since she was knee-high.

“And your hair? In the simplest style?” Ainsley asked. “Your grandmother wore hers in a single ponytail. Your mother wore it the same but added bangs. A way to give it her own flair. For you—”

“I want curls.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. Curls down to my waist and blue flowers in my hair.”

“Headmistress, that would upset things. Early into your reign, you don’t want people talking.

Dissenters are like a flock of seagulls once they get started.

I prayed in the Caelum this morning with Priest Winkel that you would have a peaceful reign, even if the world outside is falling apart.

I prayed that you would chart a course for us to see it through. ”

A hope sparkled in Ainsley’s eyes that stuck Nore like a knife between her ribs. If Nore was going to make the best of this position, shouldn’t she wish for the path of least resistance?

“A simple ponytail is fine.”

“What about bangs?”

“Bangs were my mother’s. Straight back, but maybe a braid.”

Ainsley smiled. When she finished getting her ready, Nore stood in front of a mirror, her stormy eyes tracing the plain gray gown.

It was made in the most abrasive linen variety available.

A Vestiser had crafted it for her mother for a special occasion.

But the occasion never came, apparently, because Isla never wore the dress.

Nore ran her hands along the corset, taking shallow breaths against the iron that was used in the place of whale bone.

Her sleeve hems were kept frayed, threads spilling over her bony wrists.

The gown was trimmed a smidge higher in the front, Nore noticed, as Ainsley slid a pair of well-worn heels on her feet.

“I think you’re ready.” There were tears in Ainsley’s eyes.

“You are wonderful. Don’t leave my side today.”

“That is not allowed.”

“Aren’t I the person who makes the rules now?”

Ainsley blushed, and it gave Nore an idea.

Her hair might be straight as a board, but she bit her lip and pulled the servant’s cap off Ainsley’s hair.

Dark natural curls cascaded down her back.

Her maid gasped. Nore grabbed some color from the beets on her leftover dinner plate and smoothed it on both of their cheeks, then a little bit on their lips.

It wasn’t exactly make-up like she’d worn as Red.

There wasn’t any of that at Dlaminaugh. The more plain the outside, the richer within, was the lie her House boasted.

The light color on their cheeks could be mistaken for a deep blush.

“Now I’m ready.”

“This is scandalous,” Ainsley whispered.

Nore grinned. “Isn’t it?” She roped Ainsley’s arm around hers and opened the door to her room, where the dead waited for her.

She and Ainsley walked between them, their stares like daggers dragged across her skin.

When she turned the corner, she exhaled.

Yagrin, her mother, and a pair of House Draguns were waiting for her.

Isla gasped at the sight of her and offered her a wrapped box. “You’re breathtaking.”

“Thank you, Mother. If you’ll excuse me.” She walked past her and stopped at Yagrin.

“Is that blush on your cheeks?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You have to be very careful hanging out with this one,” he told Ainsley. “She’ll get you in a world of trouble.”

Ainsley pressed her lips together, forbidding herself to smile.

“How did you sleep?” Yagrin asked as they walked. The dead followed like the train of a ceremonial gown.

“Fine.” Memories of her head against his chest flitted through her mind. “And you?”

“I dreamed of you.”

Nore looked away.

“Would you like to hear about it?”

“You must enjoy frustrating yourself,” she said.

Ainsley’s gaze darted between them.

“Would you say it’s a hobby?” Nore asked.

“Yes. One I’m really good at.” He smirked.

“Well, I have enough hobbies, so I’ll leave that one with you.”

Ainsley’s brows kissed the longer she listened to their conversation.

When they reached the ballroom, Yagrin kept talking, but Nore could no longer hear him.

She forced a smile, taking in the space.

Hundreds of metal chairs were in long rows, nearly all filled with guests from the House, their families.

There were simple reception tables draped in gray.

No flowers. No frills, as if the entire ceremony was drained of color.

And yet this was the finest she’d ever seen the ballroom decorated.

Her palms grew slick. A knot cinched between her shoulders.

“Nore?” The old voice spun her around. Priest Winkel made his way toward her on his cane.

Priest Kimper was right behind him. Of each of the three priests, Winkel was the one who always snuck her candies before dinner and brought her surprises from his travels.

He was Priest to the Sage—a master craftsman and skilled warrior god with a deep value of truth and law—spending half the moon’s cycle in prayers and the other half traveling to study cutting-edge magical research.

Priest Kimper communed with the Wielder—a female god associated with war and fate, foretelling doom, death, and victory.

Kimper was an odd woman of few words. But she had a booming voice when she spoke.

She passed Nore roughly with no more than a head nod before taking her seat in the front row.

Nore craned for Priest Pizor, who she hardly saw growing up, and found him already seated near the front.

He prayed to the Sovereign Sola Sfenti night and day.

The Priests all resided in the Caelum, where the bodies of their predecessors were buried among the texts.

They only left the library for work or very special occasions.

Like your sixth birthday, Winkel had said once.

“You’ve returned to us. I always knew you would.

” He kissed her cheeks, and there was a little girl inside her that wanted to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze.

But she only smiled politely. He slipped something into her fist discreetly before heading to his seat.

A gem sparkled in her hand, changing from greens to blues depending on how the light hit it. She held it to her chest.

“Headmistress, I am going to check on things to be sure all is in order for you,” Ainsley said, and the maid hurried off before she could stop her. Completely forgetting she’d asked her to stick by her side.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time,” Yagrin said. “Is that who gave you the elephant with the trick snout that you kept on your fridge?”

There was no hiding with him anymore. It made her feel naked, exposed.

“Yes. And the leather-bound journal was from his trip to the Netherlands when I was twelve.” Nore lost sight of Winkel as the crowd swelled. She couldn’t move.

“This will be over before you know it,” Yagrin said. “Remember to breathe deeply.”

There was so much concern in his expression. It made her feel ill. “I’m not staying for the brunch reception.”

“Then I won’t either. Where are you going after?”

She wanted to tell him she was going to lock herself in her room and try to slip back to her dream from last night.

But instead, to spare him, she just said, “To sleep.” It was so nice of him to come and be there beside her.

That’s what she needed. She wished she could give him more.

“Thank you for being here, really,” she managed.

But an usher came along and dragged him to find his seat.

She was all alone at the back of the ballroom, waiting for the procession to begin. She gripped a nearby empty chair. She focused on Yagrin’s words, inhaling and exhaling slowly. When sunrise streamed through the ballroom’s windows, a chord of music silenced the audience.