Page 54 of A Heart of Bluestone

Do they realise how empty the money is, how cold to the touch gold becomes, until it loses all meaning?

No, I don’t think they do.

They hunt it, secure it, hoard it.

And gods forbid I say anything like this to anyone in my circles. I’ll be called a common krum and dismissed entirely. That’s best-case scenario.

“I’m about to leave with Amelia—Amelia says hello.” I know Mother is gearing up to kick me off the call. “Did I tell you about the spa that opened in Vienna’s First District? The potion drips there had my skin glowing for days.”

My mouth puckers with a pout. “Going back, then?”

“I’ll be in Vienna for business. Of course we might stop in for our reservation.”

I snap the knee of my tights. “What sort of business?”

“The committee is scouting locations for the Debutante Ball.”

Business.

A funny word, isn’t it?

It can mean ruling the world if you’re a certain man in the aristos, like my father. It can mean picking out a pretty backdrop for the daughter-selling season if you’re my mother.

“Ethel prefers Geneva,” Mother tuts, and I can faintly hear the clack of her freshly manicured nails tapping together, annoyed,“but it was done eleven years ago. That witch will never hear a word she doesn’t approve of.”

Grandmother Ethel—my father’s mother—is on The Imperial Committee of Europe, too. Most of the aristos women are, particularly the older ones.

One day, I might be on it.

I don’t look forward to the dull day I take up the reins of controlling other young futures, the day I become another warden.

“Your father wants a word. Bye, dear!”

My teeth bare in a grimace.

Before I can shout at Mother that I have to go, there’s no time to talk to Father, the shift happens, and I hear the gentle fall of his watch as he lifts the receiver to his ear.

“Olivia.” He sounds genuinely pleased to speak to me. Of course he is, I’m his favourite child. The most trouble, sure, but definitely his favourite. “How are you? How are your grades?”

I slump against the wooden wall of the booth.

The curtain is drawn, offering me a lick of privacy from anyone who walks down this corridor, but I want someone to steal me away from this call.

This is what I dread.

The inquisition.

The interrogation that will—and does—occur. He asks the same every time, starting with me, then to my grades, then to my blatant lack of extracurriculars.

Between the Snakes and senior workload, I’m having some trouble sparing the time on the monotony of more study.

I don’t care for the extra credit.

Not like I’ll ever need it.

Suitors are after my dowry, not my education.

Still, Father pesters me a while before he relents and releases me from the call. With a suggestion: take up one extracurricular.

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