Page 121 of House of Marionne

“I’ll see you soon, though.”

The door shuts. An hour, she said? I grab my checklist. I’ll just have to make sure I’m done by then.

* * *

The courtyard is packed with people even at the top of the morning. Nore is the only thing on my mind. She has a private cottage on her estate. So does that mean Isla Ambrose knows about her toushana and is trying to help protect her? Or is Nore hiding her truth from her Headmistress like I am? Vendors line the front lawn, tent tops as far as I can see. Slow, soft music plays from a live band and delicious smells warm up my appetite. I’d thought getting here before breakfast would help me sift faster through things. But lines snake from each merchant table. Parents and family members have come from far and wide to peruse the festival’s finds. This isn’t going to be efficient or easy. I check my list again.

First a Vestiser. I also need shoes, cake stands, and some sort of party favor for all three hundred whatever of them. This is to be a circus, and I’m the star of the show.

I find the blue tent marked Vestiser Victor where a portly fellow in a tailored suit is handing out cards to everyone who passes.

“Monsieur Victor Laurent.” He kisses the back of my hand. “Vestiser at your service.” His stare lingers on my diadem. “You must be Quell Marionne.”

He rolls a rack of dresses in bags over to me and hands me a glass of champagne. I almost fumble it, Nore tumbling through my memory again. Last time she responded so quickly.

“Ma’am?”

“Sorry.” I gulp down my entire champagne. There is nothing I can do about Nore until she responds. “You were saying?”

“What sort of color or style are you looking for?” He rocks back and forth on his heels.

“I’m not sure.”

“We have a fine selection.” He rolls two more racks out and lingers eagerly.

“What would you suggest color-wise? Convince me and I might not need to keep my other appointments.”

“A green or blue would do wonders with your eyes.” He holds out an intricately beaded dress on his arm.

“Meh.”

“Or how about . . .” He unzips another dress bag and pulls out an ombré blush gown trimmed in sparkles. “I modeled the magic of the sparkles after actual constellations. I can pull it exclusively for you.”

I hold it up to myself, twisting in the floor mirror, and hardly recognize the girl staring back at me. “I don’t think I realized a dress could leave me speechless. I’ll take it. Wait. How much does this cost?”

He laughs. “It goes on the House account, Miss.”

Dress done. I finish up with Victor, and if they’re all that easy, I’ll definitely finish before Grandmom can harass me.

* * *

With centerpieces, party favors, and shoes done, nearly an hour has passed when I hustle to my final stop—flowers. The floral vendors are set up on the courtyard nearest the rose garden, and I smell them before I reach them. Tables lined with bouquets, corsages, boutonnieres, and sample centerpieces are covered in a swarm of debs and their families. I pull a familiar white flower from a barrel of loose blooms sold by the stem. Oleander.

“Oh, these are very special, madam,” says a gentleman in overalls and a wide-brimmed straw hat. “You must be Quell Marionne.”

“Yes, I need . . .” I check my notes. “One boutonniere, a lot of centerpieces, and two arrangements for the stage.”

“Oh, then you must use the finest blooms.” He hands me a deep purple flower, and I cough at the price tag. “The black dahlia. Extremely difficult to craft. A lady of your stature should have something both as rare and as beautiful as she is.”

“Good morning, sir.” His attention shifts to someone behind me, and he tidies his clothes. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Jordan.

“I’ll take these and the oleanders,” I tell the flower guy. “You’ll have to get with Mrs. Cuthers, Headmistress’s secretary, on the exact number of centerpieces. But everything should be billed to the House.”

“A fine choice, madam.” He bows and I walk away, in the opposite direction of Jordan.

He follows.

“What do you have left?”

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