Page 64 of House of Marionne

“Mom, please, come back!” But I can hardly see her anymore.

The air thickens with an eerie fog, the night darkening. Draguns. I slink back into the shadow of the Chateau and hurry back inside to avoid being caught outside after curfew. Once in my room, I rip open the letter to her familiar handwriting.

I’m so relieved to hear you’re doing okay.

Darling, someone is onto you outside of these gates.

Stay at Chateau Soleil until it is safe.

Stay. Whatever it takes.

Remember, there is good in you, Quell.

—Love, Mom

I climb into bed but toss and turn, Mom’s letter playing on repeat in my head. She didn’t even mention my plan to get rid of my toushana. I stew over her words again and grab a paper.

I wish I could have talked to you! And okay.

Don’t worry, Mom. After I complete Cotillion, it’ll be safe.

Then we can go wherever we want.

—Quell

I write her full name on the envelope and read the words a few more times, then drop the letter into my bag to mail tomorrow.

* * *

Sunlight peers through my window before my alarm goes off, and I hop out of bed with a renewed sense of determination. After an hour of posture and curtsy practice and reviewing the table manners Plume has gone over, I grab my dagger and slip out the door.

Second Rite starts today. It took Abby two years to pass this thing. As if mastering magic, and hiding my toushana, isn’t hard enough, a Dead Languages session has been added to my schedule. Somehow I have to familiarize myself with basic Latin before finishing. The halls are a traffic jam as I sift through the breakfast line before rushing down Sunrise corridor to session.

Dexler’s room is arranged differently today. Round tables are set around the room with a pile of colored stones in the centers. There are more seats than usual, but everyone present has a diadem or mask. I recognize a few from last night at the Tavern, but there are tables full of faces I’ve never seen. I spot a square of bubble gum on a table and I head in that direction looking for Shelby. Her bag is under the chair.

“Primus, what is your charge?” Dexler asks, surveying her box of rings before plucking a gray one.

“Honing one’s dagger. Arduous is the work of the laborer.”

Secundus performs their recitation, and then the door opens and Shelby rushes in.

“A bit late, aren’t we, Miss Duncan?”

“Sorry, ma’am.” Shelby slides into her seat, pale as a ghost.

Dexler rolls up her sleeves. “Daggers out.”

I set mine in front of me. It’s simple and plain compared to most of the others with fancy handles, some gilded, others with silver filigree, another sleek and nimble with a curved handle wrapped in leather. Each style seems to complement their diadem or mask. My insides shrivel. I hope I don’t need Octos again.

“I have a special guest to help us understand honing,” Dexler says.

The door opens again, and a handsome guy in a dark gray coat with piercing blue eyes and unkempt hair strides in, moving with a poise not unlike Jordan’s. Something about him is familiar. Beside me Shelby turns rigid.

“You okay?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer, her fist white-knuckled on her dagger.

A pair near the front giggle, eyeing our visitor, and I roll my eyes. He slips out of his jacket, and a silver coin marked with a cracked column shines at his throat. My nails dig into my desk at the familiar mark. My sleeping toushana tremors. But he looks past me without a flicker of recognition.

“Felix happened to be on the grounds today. Please introduce yourself.”