Page 92 of House of Marionne

I warm all over.

“You will be the talk of the entire Season!” Her words are spun sugar. She hands me a silver wrapped gift box. “Just a little something. You can open it later.”

“Thank you. I was proud to do a good job for the House.” I’d be lying if I said doing a good job, seeing my Housemates shouting in revelry, Jordan’s smile, Grandmom’s pride creased around her eyes meant nothing. This place has become a part of me in more ways than I may have fully acknowledged. I’m not sure about staying here, being her heir, but I’d like to reflect my House well.

“Your riband is all a mess. Here, let me.” Grandmom resituates my sash around me, which I hadn’t even taken a moment to notice.

“Over the right shoulder, to the left hip. And you wear the House sigil here, on the heart. You’re going to be circulating in society now; more people than ever will be watching. Think about what conclusions you want them to draw about you, your House.”

I nod, dusting off my clothes and checking myself in the mirror. I can’t risk a single tilted stare, not just from Grandmom, from anyone, getting in the way of Third Rite. If they see through my veneer, they’ll begin to question my past. Cotillion is in four weeks. I tidy my posture and check myself again, this time in the full-length mirror.

“You look perfect, dear.”

“Good.”

“Let’s take a walk in the rose garden. Sunset is simply exquisite from there.”

It takes until we’re all the way downstairs and outside before I get the courage to ask, “Is that really my name?” I keep my head straight ahead at the aisles of roses, red, yellow, peach, and . . . black? How curious.

“Your mother really didn’t tell you much, did she?”

I’m not sure what to say to that. I’m not going to speak poorly of Mom, so I just keep my mouth shut. I run my fingers across the sigil embroidered on my riband, a gold fleur-de-lis wreathed in shimmery stones.

“I apologize for springing it on you right then. I just wanted to ensure things are done properly.”

She stops at a coil of thorny roses and plucks a black one, lifting it to her nose. “I need to apologize for something else. I behaved poorly with you after you didn’t pass the exam the first time. Quell, you matter a great deal to me. I’d never want you to feel any different.”

That doesn’t excuse how threatening and downright terrifying she was. It reminded me of Mom some of those times we were on the run. Desperation does scary things to a person. She’s opened the conversation to honesty. It’s time I share my own.

“I wanted to tell you.” I pull at the hem of my dress. “You’ve mentioned my being your heir, and I’m not sure I’m cut out for it.”

“I thought you might feel that way.” She hands me the rose. “Smell.”

I take it, careful of its thorns, and press it to my nose but don’t smell anything. My brows crease as I sniff again.

“It smells like . . . nothing.”

“A rose is still, and always will be, a rose.” She smiles. “That’s probably too old of a song for you.”

It’s then I notice that most of Grandmom’s garden has been taken over by the black roses. “You have so many of them, and they don’t even smell pleasant.”

“It didn’t start that way.” She rolls the stem of another between her fingers. “Their stems are twice as thick as those of other roses.” She strokes its petals. “They bloom twice as long. And they’re fiercely strong, fighters, taking over their weaker counterparts.” She gestures at the garden. “It lacks a sweet scent but makes up for it in every other way. It’s still a rose. So when you tell me you’re not cut out for this, I understand it’s all very new to you. But you’re more than cut out for it. You were born for it. You’re still a Marionne. You have more than proved it.”

I shift on my feet and hand her back the rose.

“What exactly is it you intend to do otherwise?”

I have no idea. I think back on my lessons in Dexler’s and which type of magic I felt better at. “I’m pretty good at Shifting.”

“A Shifter.” She titters. “You don’t get it, do you?” She pulls another several roses, gathering them together in a bunch, and we keep walking. “Nothing is the same for you.”

“I’d like it to be.” She would have me be an outcast here, too.

“You think that. But do you know what being my heir offers you?”

A home. Security. A place where I’d never have to run again. A history. A lineage. But Mom would never come here. And I’m not even sure Grandmom would want her to.

“Just as I thought,” Grandmom says. “You don’t really know. You will select Cultivator as your specialty just like I did and every Headmistress of House Marionne before me. Understand? Augmenting magic in others will be your specialty.”

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