Page 132 of House of Marionne

The Dragun who cornered me at the gas station.

The Dragun after me.

I stagger backward and bump into a table. A few gasp. My pulse races as I watch the Dragun getting what appears to be a stern talking-to by two House of Perl men and a girl with red hair. The discussion escalates to an argument, and I am careful to keep my head down. I yank Jordan, pulling him in the opposite direction.

“Is there somewhere else we can go?”

“I know just the spot.” He takes me by the hand and leads me through the room to a back door where waitstaff go and come. The service entrance of the ballroom empties into a long hall. We traipse through the bowels of the hotel and finally arrive at a service elevator. “I hope you don’t mind taking the elevator. Cloaking here is a risk.”

“Jordan, when I’m not with you, I take the elevator and stairs everywhere.”

That gets a laugh. We exit the elevator onto a rooftop veranda where there is lounge furniture, a glittering overlook of the city, and a grand piano. A helicopter takes off in the distance. The commotion in the hotel appears to have moved to the sidewalk below. But my hold on the lip of the balcony slacks as the men disappear into a car. Jordan watches intently beside me, until it speeds off.

He tugs at his coat. “Well, whatever was going on, it’s done now.”

I exhale, feeling a bit more relaxed. I join Jordan on the piano bench. Tonight could have gone completely differently. And yet I am here, in a dress, dancing, having drinks.

“I’m glad I came tonight.”

“The Tidwell is . . .”

“It’s not the ball or any of that. It’s being out here in the . . . open.” Able to move in a world where I used to have to be a shadow. “You don’t know how much that means.”

“I’d like to.”

I pull at my earring and press a few piano keys. We laugh at how terrible it sounds. It unspools the tightness in my posture. I slide closer to him on the bench.

“There’s so much I want to tell you,” he says. “So much I’ve wanted to say to you for so long.” He sighs. “I can’t figure out what tomorrow looks like and that doesn’t work for someone like me. You understand? Everything I do has to be careful, calculated. And with you it’s like . . .” He leans toward me, insistent, and I warm all over at the adoration in his eyes.

“Like what?” I play with the ends of my hair to do something with the angst buzzing through me.

“When I’m with you . . .”

I squeeze his hand. “Go on.”

“It’s like . . . there is no tomorrow or yesterday. Everything about you pins me in the present.” He smiles hesitantly. “You’re powerful but it doesn’t possess you. You fit in this world as if it was made for you. But somehow on your own terms.” His gaze moves to the city beyond us. “I . . . envy it.” He stares as if I’m a puzzle he needs a few more pieces to suss out.

Heat rushes to my face.

“You will run a quarter of the Order someday. It makes me hopeful that it could be . . .” A gust of wind steals whatever he was going to say. He shakes his head.

“Continue. Please.”

“Our world is made of glass, Quell.” Something hides in the cracks of his words, as if it could shatter the very glass he speaks of.

Our fingers find each other, crossing themselves.

“I have kept you at a distance, on purpose. I’m sorry for that. Ask me anything, I’m an open book.”

He fidgets, his hand slick in mine, with a nervousness that suggests he’s never trusted someone like this before. I could exploit this moment, dig into him to find out all the things I’ve been dying to know about toushana. No. He will know that his worth to me isn’t in any information he gives me or what he’s able to do for me. But in who he is. And no more.

“Just talk.”

“About anything?”

“Anything.”

His brow slashes in thought. “You were right the other day about my father.” He stares down at the piano. “I guess I just thought by now it wouldn’t matter so much.”

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