Page 49 of Fortress of Ambrose
“Where are you?” she muttered. But there was still no sign of him. The stone path led to an outdoor area decorated with string lights and sweeping views of wine country. Refreshments sat atop tables, and music played.
She spotted Headmistress Litze Oralia. Maybe she could come right out with what she was looking for, like she had at the Chateau.
She worked her way through the people, searching. And ran smack-dab into a broad-shouldered, slender frame. Her arm stung. She felt it before she realized what had sliced her skin. The cut burned. The person who nicked her pulled a glass vial from their corset and dropped the bloodied tip of the small blade inside.
“Hey!” Nore smacked her hand away, but she was too late. The attacker blew her an air-kiss, spinning on her heel before freezing, face-to-face with someone Nore knew.
Drew, heir to House of Oralia, snatched the vial out of her attacker’s hand, their simple black mask fading into their skin.
“I’ll take that,” Drew said. “Out of here, Shar.”
“Your aunt said—”
“Don’t care. You haven’t even earned enough marks to be at a socialfollowing a performance.Leave.” Drew had changed their hair since the last time Nore saw them at Darragh’s tea. Their dirty-blond braid cascaded over one shoulder. They wore a lacy blazer and fitted leather pants. Drew hardly wore make-up the last time Nore saw them. Today their face was made up modestly, not in the typical gaudy Oralian style. There were cat-eye swipes at the corner of their eyes and a new piercing above their lip. Nore almost didn’t recognize them.
Shar glared at Drew. Then her annoyance dissolved into a sugary grin. She bowed as if signaling the end of a performance.
“Shar Wright, second of my blood, Anatomer candidate, theatrics type. I have a thieving role coming up and thought I’d try out the raw emotion of it on you. Didn’t mean to alarm you.”
Shar left with a flail of her arms in the most dramatic twirl.
Nore would bet anything that girl was lying. She held her arm, feeling sick all over again over her brother. Word had spread to Begonia Terrace that there was a pretty price on Nore’s blood.
Drew offered Nore the vial. “I’m really sorry. Shar is a lot.”
Nore snatched the vial and shoved it in her pocket before hugging around herself.
“What brings you to Begonia Terrace? My aunt didn’t mention you were coming.”
Nore wasn’t sure what to say. Was Drew’s concern authentic or another performance? “Idaho is so bland this time of year.”
Drew cocked their head. “Come on, Ambrose. Why are you here really?”
Nore didn’t know Drew well enough to divulge the truth. She could put on a performance of her own. “I’ve told you.” She smiled, plastically.Where is Yagrin?They needed to get the Scroll and get out of there. Fast.
Twenty-One
Yagrin
Yagrin looked for Nore in the crowd, but he couldn’t find her so he set his sights on Headmistress Oralia. He hustled against the crowd toward the stage, where Litze had disappeared behind the curtain.
“Excuse me.” He shouldered his way through. “Urgent business, please step aside.” He wasn’t familiar with Litze, but he’d worked alongside a few from the House, enough to know that acting confident went a long way with a House of performers. The arts weren’t hobbies to them. It was a way of being. Everywhere was a stage. Every day was a chance to play a different role or be a different character. No one was less trustworthy.
He found Litze backstage, wiping off her lip color in a mirror.
“Well, this is a surprise. My second visit from the Perl family in a week. The last time I saw you, you were running around in diapers. Yagrin, is it? The eldest Wexton brother.”
Yagrin’s body went cold.
“Your cousin Adola was here.” She scrunched her brows too tight to appear confused. Litze was making it clear she had relationships with key people. It was also a question—did he?
“You knew, I presume,” she said.
“Of course.”
She smiled, then opened her arms to greet him with a hug. “It’s good to see you.”
Yagrin leaned into the faux gesture of familiarity. He had no memory of meeting this woman formally. She may have attended a ceremony at his House at some point. But they’d never talked one-on-one.
