Page 60 of House of Marionne

I fight the urge to flinch. I’ve earned this. I’ve forged my blade fair and square.

“You’re off to an impressive start.” Casey joins the others, and the crowd moves to the door. It opens to darkness, but when we step through, we’re back in a long corridor at the Tavern.

I’m tugged along, jostled with revelry, arms slung over my shoulders, shaking hands, thanking each person kind enough to say anything to me at all. I make a point to look into the face of everyone who talks to me without looking away, stubbornly determined to soak up every dreg of this moment.

“Rikken, a round—kizi,” I shout.

The crowd parts for us, and as they shed their robes and ease onto the dance floor, I do the same and grab a blue fizzy drink. Abby finds me in the crowd and raises a toast.

“To Quell! Miss Badass Extraordinaire!”

I let the senselessness take me and toss back the kiziloxer. It’s bubbly going down like drinking soda too fast, and a ripple of calm breaks over me, my muscles going languid. Every inch of me soothes, like a knot coming undone, and I stare at the cup with pinched brows.

“Don’t worry, it’s magic, not liquor.” Abby laughs. “Rikken is an entire rule follower. Ask me how I know.”

I giggle. “I feel . . . so . . .”

“Relaaaxxeed?”

Laughter bubbles up my throat. We signal Rikken for another round, and I spot a brooding figure. Jordan’s perched over a table alone in a dim corner. He raises a glass to me and I’m not sure if it’s the kiziloxer or the way he looked at me in etiquette, but I don’t sense even the slightest hint of indignation. He is legitimately proud of me. I raise my glass to him but turn my back so the huge, bashful smile on my lips remains a secret. What’s come over me? I glare at the glass. It must be the blue drink.

Hours later I’m standing on top of a table, balancing on one leg with the entire Tavern crowd as an audience. A girl from House of Oralia with an eccentric diadem of silver and multicolored stones watches me, folding her arms. The world has been a bit fuzzy around the edges since about kiziloxer number . . . actually I’ve lost count. But I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more alive.

I finally make my way back to the bar, where a stern-faced Jordan is hovering. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and stress lines mar his perfect skin. He straightens at my approach and starts to speak, but instead his expression hardens.

“You’re ruining my vibe.” I wave for Rikken.

“Your vibe?” Jordan asks.

“Yes, my vibe. You’re brooding.”

“I’m not brooding, I’m just watching.”

“Your watching is brooding.”

Rikken slides a drink my way.

“I’m perfectly relaxed, thank you. This is my natural state.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I say, reaching for the drink, which is intercepted by Jordan.

He pulls a large bill out of the pocket of his blazer, far too large for a single drink. “Thanks, Rikken, but she’ll pass.”

“Hey, I wanted tha—”

He steps closer and he’s so tall I have to look up to really see him. “Walk with me.” His voice is silk this time, and low, as if he’s sharing some intimate secret he wouldn’t want anyone else to hear.

“I—”

Hunger unfurls in his eyes. “Just outside.” His words are a breath and yet hit me like gale force winds. I nod but stand frozen. Not from fear, from something else I can’t quite put into words. “Please.” There’s a song between his words. He walks off leading the way and I follow, foolishly curious to dance to it.

Outside, the night is chilly, but I’m warm all over, either from the kiziloxer or just the thrill of emerging and earning my dagger still buzzing through me. We walk past the park, farther than I’ve ever wandered, until we reach a marble courtyard of towering pillars etched with names. Jordan stops at one, tracing some of the names with his fingertips.

“Unmarked assume this is another war memorial. But this one’s ours.” He presses his fists together gently to his chest.

I don’t recognize any of the names. “These are people in the Order who’ve died?”

He inclines his head. “In service of protecting magic.”