Page 84 of House of Marionne

“Yes?” Beaulah rotates a ring on her knuckle, and I imagine her wringing her hands around my throat.

“You have one minute left to answer the question,” Dexler announces.

“Because it is destructive in nature.”

“Anything else to add?”

“No, I don’t know much about it. Only what’s been mentioned in session a few times.”

Beaulah resituates her fur on her shoulders, fingering her jewelry, apparently done with her questioning.

“And Quell, my question is, what is our House motto?” Grandmom asks.

“A cut above the rest!”

“Brilliant.” She winks. “It’s only fair to get an easy one from your own House. You’ve done very well,” she says. “Dexler has outdone herself preparing you.”

“Your dagger was inspected and found without any abnormality,” Dexler says. “You’ve honed it beautifully. Now, if you would, show us you know how to push your magic into it. If done correctly, the blade will glow to some varying level of brightness. And then I believe we’re done here.” She hands me my blade, and Grandmom’s grip tightens on the arm of her chair. Beaulah leans forward.

Please cooperate.

“You have three minutes, starting now.”

I grip the dagger firmly in both hands, forcing myself to look anywhere but at Beaulah. I latch on to a flicker of warmth, incensing it with my focus. My toushana twinges. There is good in you, Quell. I dig again for the warmth that I’ve felt so many times before, urging for it to unleash. Proper magic that I know is there, but my bones answer with an ache.

“Two minutes,” Dexler says, tapping her pen on a clipboard. Beaulah clears her throat.

“Come on,” I mutter. Again. I call to my proper magic, tightening my midsection, holding on fiercely to it, imagining it combusting in a cloud of fire and smoke, burning everything in its path. A gust of hot swells in me, but my magic doesn’t bluster around or grow heavy. Instead, a knot of cold unspools from my side, clawing its way through me. The world blurs.

“One minute.”

Grandmom stands. Her glare and Beaulah’s ghost of a smirk spurs my panic, and my slick hands slip on my dagger. The gnaw of cold in me grows to a tide, rising up, then falling back, but growing closer with each lapse. I shudder, unable to feel even a single granule of warmth. The rush of cold pools, swelling until I am ice, all over. Heat, I need heat. I call to it, copper spreading on my tongue as a sudden fever blooms in my belly like a rose in the middle of a winter storm. I pant in anticipation. The feeling stretches, and I tighten all over, every muscle within reach, trying to grab hold of it. My throbbing side softens, my toushana being tugged back into the crevice of death it emerged from. It’s working. Hope beads on my forehead.

I groan. The world dents at its edges, color bleeding away as my toushana plays to win. But I’m so close. “Please . . .”

“Time,” Dexler says.

“She’s almost got it, hush.” Grandmom nips at her knuckle.

“The rules are the rules, time is time.” Headmistress Ambrose’s smirk has returned, reminding Grandmom she’s not the helmsman here.

“It’s obvious she can’t do it,” Beaulah says.

“No, wait,” I plead. “Just a few more—”

“I’m sorry, dear.” Dexler’s hand cups my shoulder. “Passage of Second Rite, denied. Discourse for expulsion will be scheduled per the Council’s availability.”

Something bangs as her words drown me in a tide of chaos, a rush of hollowness that unsteadies me on my feet. The Headmistresses are up from their seats arguing with Grandmom, but it blares in my ears. Everything came down to this moment.

And I failed.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Time must still because I can’t feel anything. No air swells in my lungs, no drum beats in my chest. All I hear are Dexler’s words. Expulsion. The Headmistresses circle Grandmom, who talks with her hands, insistent and sharp. Chatter swarms around me, a tangle of hushed conversations, but I can’t make sense of it, the last several moments replaying like a song I loathe stuck on repeat. Breathe. Say something.

I wait for tears, but they don’t come. They’re wound up, a knot in my chest so tight it’d probably take a lifetime to be undone. I pull myself up off the ground. My heart ticks, and I focus on its hum, grasping for ideas about how to fix this. The places we’ve lived roll like a reel in my head, and calm breaks over me, muscle memory taking over. First, Mom. I have to get to her.

A tight grip grabs me by the shoulder.

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