Page 151 of House of Marionne

“What use are bells and whistles if it’s ugly? It’s too humdrum. Too expected.” Grandmom turns me and I catch a sweeping glimpse of myself. I look fine. More than fine. Really pretty. But I keep my mouth shut. This is her show, and she has to believe I’m fully compliant.

Vestiser Laurent smiles at me bashfully, and I try my best to smile back in a way that says, It’s really okay, don’t be embarrassed.

“I need you to fix it to my liking. Or I’m afraid you will not be compensated.”

“I can do it just like you wish.” He pulls off his coat and fluffs the end of my gown. “Now, tell me what you’re thinking.”

Grandmom reaches for words as if she could find them in the air. “Quell is the heir of a great House. No one will remember this dress. Quell should be a sight others miss when she’s gone, like a fine piece of art. I am not missing this!”

Vestiser Laurent’s hands work furiously over the fabric, sweat beading on his brow. I watch stunned as his magic transforms the thin breathy fabric into a thicker one with fleurs that shimmer when the dress shifts a certain way.

“Perhaps . . .” He taps his lip. “More moon illuminance could give us better shine than the rhinestone beading.” He pulls his magic as if poking with tiny pins at each speckle, and one by one they shine brighter.

The corner of Grandmom’s mouth tugs up.

“Do you know,” she says to me, her tone decidedly lighter, “a Vardena Toussaint?”

“The first débutante of our House, I believe? Daughter of Bradley Toussaint, Upper, Two of Twelve, founding member of the Order.”

“She set the standard thereafter of what debs would aspire to in her day.” She pulls at my chin. “You will set the standard. You hear that, Vestiser Laurent? You’re not making a dress. You’re defining an era.”

Laurent finishes and Grandmom tugs the zipper.

“Well, what do you think?” he asks.

Grandmom’s silent, motioning for me to turn around and take a look. I glimpse myself in a full-length mirror and gasp, searching for words, but they don’t come.

“Quell?”

“It was beautiful before, truly gorgeous. But this . . . this . . . I—I—”

She is breathtaking.

Me.

I am breathtaking.

“Speechless. Exactly the response we’re going for.” She turns to thank Laurent, and I chance another glance in the mirror. The pale blush fabric glimmers with a sheen, and every twist I make, the fabric sparkles brighter than a starry night sky. The scoop neckline dances on the edge of my shoulder, and crystal beading cascades down my arms as if on an invisible piece of tulle. If I was dressed for a nice dance before, I’m fancy enough to be crowned queen of something now.

Laurent departs, and I gape in the mirror until Grandmom pulls me away to help me with my shoes. I can’t let whatever this is seduce me. I have a plan, and no matter how dreamy the veneer looks on me, I won’t be fooled by it.

“What about the tether?” I ask, focusing on the matter at hand. “How does it work exactly?”

“Just make sure when you bind with your magic, you’re standing in the center of the stage so that it takes,” Grandmom says, pulling at the ties on my dress to cinch them tight. “The magic is veiled over the stage.”

I nod. So bind offstage. Got it.

She grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look up at her. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life, Quell. A very different life than you’ve had. I’m so proud of you. Are you ready, dear?”

“More than you know.”

“Well then, shall we?” Grandmom opens the door and there is Jordan in a tux, holding my corsage.

FORTY-NINE

“Headmistress, Quell.” He bows and I can’t move. He wears a tux with a coat more ornately trimmed with red embroidery along the rim of the sleeves, nicer than the one he wore to the Tidwell. Gold pins line his lapel, a white bow tie cinches at his neck, and his House riband is slung across his chest. Heat licks the back of my neck and my insides twist, burning through my anger. I hate him.

I’m surprised he went along with all this. I’m surprised he’ll have anything to do with me at all. His tall frame eclipses the doorway, and I feel small again. Weak. Reminded of how I took refuge in that shadow of his. How I craved it.