Page 115 of House of Marionne

“It’s good to see you making friends with others of your stature, Quell. Keep it up.”

I tell Grandmom goodbye and hurry out into the hall, where a familiar blond-haired, blue-eyed Secundus is sitting.

“Shelby, hey.”

She crosses and uncrosses her legs.

“Is everything okay?”

“What’s it to you?”

She goes back to her notebook, ignoring me completely. I leave her there. I’ve got ten thousand other things to worry about. Once I’m alone, I pull at the seal.

Meet me where the trees are dead.

At midnight.

I read the words again and again. The sun’s glow is dipping below the trees outside the nearest window. My thoughts spin, winding me up. I descend the stairs, rereading the note, when I crash into Jordan.

He catches me around the waist, pulling me into his orbit. “You’re in a rush.”

“Oh, hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you more about the Tea I had with the heirs.”

“Then come to my room tonight.”

“I didn’t realize girls are allowed in the Gents Wing.”

“I’m on duty tonight.”

“Jordan Wexton, are you bending the rules?”

He holds up two fingers barely apart.

“Okay. But I, uh, have to get out of there before midnight to study.” I hold tight to the note from Nore at my back until he’s out of sight.

* * *

Jordan’s room is a corner suite on its own hall between the Gents and Cultivator Wings. He ushers me inside, and I’m greeted by the scent of garlic. There’s a separate bedroom and a bathroom. All prim and tidy. He doesn’t appear to have a roommate, which isn’t a shock.

I sit at the table, which he has set properly with all the settings and a tiny flower on the plate next to a card with my name. He fills my glass with sparkling cider and pulls something out of the oven.

“I really didn’t take you for a chef.”

“I’m not.” He dangles a recipe. “This is the one dish I can make pretty well. I learned it from my grandmother’s mother. My parents would leave me with her—”

“For summers, I remember.” He told me the other night all about his stern great-grandmother with her penchant for extreme punishments. He slides a pan of flaky golden bread rounds onto a trivet on the table, and it smells heavenly.

“What is it?”

“Popovers. Or Yorkshire puddings, as Gran called it.”

“I didn’t realize you were close with her.”

“I wasn’t, but I watched her closely enough.” He doesn’t say any more, and I don’t push.

“So the Tea was interesting.” I dive right in, Nore’s note needling me. “What do you know about the heirs of the other Houses?”

He slips a bite into his mouth. “I know Adola fairly well, obviously. Never met Drew. But I’ve heard they’re sharp. And I don’t deal with Ambrosers if I can help it.”

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