Page 99 of House of Marionne

He moves away ever so slightly but stays silent.

“When you pushed magic into your dagger, was it blindingly bright like that?”

“You’re asking if my magic is as strong as yours?”

“No, not exactly.”

He straightens. “Then what is it you want to know?”

We walk a few more paces in silence before Jordan stops steps from the Tavern. He faces me and his whole posture oozes his discomfort.

“I’m sorry if I’ve asked too much.”

“No.” He takes my hand, his fingers playing on my palm, and a hummingbird takes flight in my chest. “My blade did shine bright like that.” He traces circles on my wrist. “But my magic is far stronger than anything you’ve ever felt.”

“How do you know?” I ask, stoking a flame I might be dancing too close to.

“Because.” He expression softens. He sighs. “The Dragun work I do requires I summon dark magic.”

I snatch my hand away. His magic didn’t just look like mine. It’s the same as mine?

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want you to look at me like that.” He rakes a hand through his hair.

“I’m surprised. That’s all.”

His teeth pull at his lip as if there’s more he could say. I take his hand this time, determined to find out more. How do Draguns control it?

“Isn’t that dangerous? Toushana?” I whisper.

“Toushana is mature dark magic that lives inside a person. It flows through them like other magic. What we do is a bit different, the essence of toushana, but not the whole. The aroma of it, a whiff. Like using the steam from a pot instead of the water itself. We summon it from outside of ourselves, use it, and then chase it off. It doesn’t stay with us. Which requires a fair bit of . . . managing. So yes. It’s quite dangerous.” He shrugs uncomfortably as I consider pushing harder and him shutting down.

“It’s getting cold out here,” I say. “We should go inside.”

He tosses his coat over my shoulders before kicking his heel on the cobblestones. The ground opens, and we descend the stairs into the Tavern.

“Ma-Ri-Onne! Ma-Ri-Onne!” The bar is full of familiar faces and several new ones greeting me in a rush of revelry. Casey and crew shout over the crowd, drinks in hand. I spot a few other faces among the bustling energy shoving me to and fro.

“I heard that your exam was wild.” It’s Mynick, Abby’s beau. “This one’s on me.”

I toss back the kiziloxer and offer Jordan half of it, but he turns up his nose.

“Come on, we’re here to have fun.” We move through the crowd, and I’m jostled by the revelry. Conversations pull at me from every direction, some in admiration, others in curiosity. I smile and the urge to look at my shoes is distant and unfamiliar. The attention doesn’t grate like I expect it to, and greeting people doesn’t curl like bile in my throat as it used to.

“Could I have a picture?” A rosy-cheeked Electus with a wooden circlet on her head poses in front of me before I can respond.

“Thanks!” She rushes off, tittering to her friends about me being “so nice.”

“I’ll be over there,” Jordan says, and just like that, he’s drifting through a parting crowd before I can stop him. I sip my drink and wade through the swell of people bubbled around me, taking in their whispers behind hands, their overeager smiles. I loosen the coat around myself and inhale a sharp breath. Maybe this wasn’t the place to let loose.

“The heir has arrived,” a bleary-eyed Shelby says. “What’s up, girl? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Someone with Shelby tugs at her, but she shrugs them off. Shelby pulls at a blond tendril and pops out a hip, her hand placed firmly on it.

“What do you mean?”

The crowd tightens around us.

“I’ve just been busy. It was . . . harder than I thought, getting past Second Rite.”