Page 26 of Fortress of Ambrose
Dexler led them deeper into the estate, where there was little to no damage. But Nore only had eyes for Yagrin. The truth would devastate him. She let the distance between them stretch, shaking off any tinge of longing she felt. There was no world in which Yagrin could ever love the real her.
Twelve
Yagrin
Nore was a conundrum. Clever and rebellious. Did she love the Order, or did she not? It didn’t sound like she knew how she felt about her House. But he liked the way she thought. Living all these years without magic, not good enough by their standards but refusing to let it define her. He knew a thing or two about the Order making you feel like you weren’t good enough. It was admirable. More than that, it was enviable.
When Dexler gave them a session room to themselves, Nore hardly spoke. She paced for a while, and he watched her, imagining her mind analyzing every statistical likelihood that something could go wrong. What would happen if they were caught? If Dexler found out their motives weren’t pure? Her frustration carved lines beneath her fiery red hairline, and it reminded him of beachcombing at sunset.
Once she stopped pacing, she sat at a desk and laid her head onto her folded arms. The sounds in the passageways had died down completely, and Yagrin was convinced the others were asleep.
“Nore?”
Her chest rose and fell gently. Her face was buried in a nest of silky hair. He almost felt bad for concealing his true intentions with the Scroll. Almost.
“Nore?”
She didn’t move, peacefully asleep. Watching her knotted his insides, confusing everything. His hand reached to move her hair behind her so he could see her face better. Her pink lips were smooshed against her flattened arm, and a dribble of drool ran down her cheek. He laughed. She blinked slowly.
“Yagrin,” she muttered. “I’mso sorry!” She blinked again, more lucid, then shot up from her seat. “What are you doing, standing over me?” Her hair was still wild, her words saturated with sleep. It reminded him of a dead girl he once knew who was wildly free. For a reason he couldn’t put into words, he reached toward Nore’s sleep-deranged expression and smoothed away the drool from her chin. “It’s time to get up, Buttercup.”
She batted his hand away, blushing, and hurried to the door.
His insides twisted. What was he thinking? His missing one person couldn’t make him reckless with another. For so long Red was dead, which meant the feeling being with her gave him was also dead. The way Red looked at him, without harsh, angry words, without disdain, with pure trust in who he was, he could never see again. Her laugh made him feel alive like nothing else. Her love was the only thing that outshined the burn for vengeance.
But now life had been breathed into Red’s memory in the form of hope. Hope that he could see her again and hold her. He wasn’t sure exactly how the Scroll worked, but he knew it was his only chance. Death was otherwise final. The Scroll was his only shot at having some kind of happiness in his life. His heart belonged to Red or no one. He couldn’t let the clever Ambrose girl confuse that. She might be a bad liar, but she was an heir. And people in the Order were eventually all the same. He tightened his hand into a fist and followed Nore out the door.
Nore navigated the halls of Chateau Soleil too well.
“How long has it been since you’ve been here?” he asked.
“Months. Before Quell’s Cotillion.” She moved along the second-floor landing’s balustrade, heading for the stairs to the third floor.
He stuck to her heels, and once they reached the landing, Nore rusheddown the hall, past dozens of doors and sweeping views of the estate. The sun was setting, its golden light slicing the hallway into pieces.
“It’s there.” She dashed to the very end of the hall and a pair of double doors. She twisted the scorched brass handle. The door didn’t budge. She shook it vigorously, but still the door held. With balled fists, she spun on her heel and fumed.
“Let me try,” he said, opening his hands to summon the cold magic that hung in the air. Toushana gathered and snapped to his hands quickly, but as it pooled, it barely formed a wisp of darkness. Nore watched, arms crossed. His heart beat faster. He held still, focusing on the strength of his will, and called to the darkness more firmly this time. But the hazy dark magic wouldn’t quite come together.
“Andmymagic isn’t reliable?”
His stomach knotted. He tugged harder, and—thank the Sovereign—the dark mist in the air shifted, and a rush of toushana siphoned to his fingers. He smoothed the dark magic along the wood, but it only blackened more. Her eyes narrowed with focus, a thoughtful crease forming between her brows. She stepped closer to the wall, and he noticed the way she got this look in her eye when her mind was maneuvering. Like she was calculating several mathematical equations all at once.
“What?” she asked, looking over at him.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re smiling.”
Am I?He turned as heat rushed up his neck. When he looked at her again, she was inspecting the wall paneling beside the door. She walked down the length of Darragh Marionne’s private quarters and placed her hand on the wall again.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The doors are protected. Toushana isn’t going to get you in.” She knocked on the wall, and it rang back hollow.
“You want me to go through the wall? Just burn a hole right through it? As we try to, I don’t know, bediscreet?”
“You’re scared of getting caught?” Nore set her hands on her hips.
