Page 41 of House of Marionne

“Give it a smell, see.” He unstoppers the glass, wafting it under my nose.

If I take it and it works, I’d pass First Rite. But that’s cheating. My fingers twitch. But I ball them into a fist. His offer is tempting. But I can’t. It’s not right. I belong here, and emerging the right way proves it. I won’t be any stronger or have any more control over my magic if I cheat on this first one. I reach for the vial to stopper it back up and refuse him, and then several things happen at once.

An explosion of black fog blinds me.

The vial is snatched from my grip.

Someone grunts.

I stumble off the stool, startled, blinking through the clearing haze. Jordan towers over Octos. The roistering in the Tavern stills, everyone watching.

“Jordan? What are you—”

He stalks to a nearby potted plant and cuts me a sharp glance before tipping the clotty liquid into the soil. Its droplets burn through the plant’s leaves like acid, then through the pot. I try to swallow, to move, to say something, but only a sputter comes out. Jordan meets my eyes, his jaw hardens.

“That could have . . .” Hurt me. I step forward, reaching for the plant in disbelief. But Jordan’s arm stops me, stiff against my torso.

“The off-gassing can even be toxic.” His words are rigid like the lines dug into his face. But his arm across me suggests maybe he’s more than just steel on the outside.

I glare at Octos, who’s gaping at the plant, shaking his head in disbelief, pale as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Rikken, some help with this mess.” Jordan’s mask hardens on his face as he rotates his wrist, calling on his magic. He grazes the stem of the plant with his fingertips delicately. Though his arms tremble as if fighting off some invisible force. He bites down, straining, and thrusts once more. Darkness unfurls from his hands, and the clay pot shudders, then collapses into a pile of charred dust. He exhales, breathless.

I stumble backward, gaping at the mess on the floor, then at my own hands and back at the pile that’s reminiscent of my own dark secret. The bartender shoulders through the crowd with a broom and mop to sweep up the decayed mess. Jordan lifts Octos by the collar, and the room parts to let them through. The doors creak open, and I lose sight of them.

“You all right?” It’s Abby.

Blood pools behind my ears as I stare, unmoving.

“Quell?”

Abby says something else, but I’m halfway out the door on Jordan’s heels.

THIRTEEN

Outside, the night has cooled and the scent of the rain lingers in the air. Octos is nowhere in sight, and Jordan’s stomping off through the park back toward the estate. The forest looms ahead and I follow.

“How did you do that?” I demand, still shaking from what I witnessed.

“What do you mean how?”

Careful, Quell. “I mean, how . . . did you know that guy was trying to harm me?”

He ignores my request, and I have to practically run to keep up with him. My shoes stick to the mud, and cold rain trickles on my skin.

“Answer me!”

He doesn’t give any indication he’s in pain. Or deathly cold.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re still a Ward, so should you?”

“Trust me, I don’t come this way unless I absolutely have to.”

I follow at a stomping pace, urged by my need to know what I just saw. What it meant. What it could mean for me. He destroyed that pot, like my toushana could have done. And no one scorned him for it. He didn’t shiver or look like he was going to pass out. He wielded whatever it was—as dark as it was—with control. A control I lack. I rush ahead of him, blocking his path.

“I asked you a question!”