Page 136 of House of Marionne

Yagrin’s breath should come easier knowing he didn’t have to face Beaulah Perl and his father today, but his heart stammered as he ripped open the letter.

Duty is the honor of the willing.

She knew. She must. He shoved the note in his jacket pocket, his pulse thundering. Air, he needed air. He flagged one of the maids. “Get me a pilot to the front lawn to ready the chopper.”

“Sir, you are welcome to stay for—”

“Do what I said, now.”

She hurried off and guilt twisted in him like a corkscrew. He shouldn’t have yelled at her like that. He rushed out to the grass and looked for an aircraft light. Frustration tangled in him like a nest of barbed wire. He was glad he didn’t have to see Mother today. Whatever she knew he wasn’t prepared to face. He needed to make a decision, for once in his life. To stand for something or to not. Because the next time she summoned him, he’d have to answer to her and his father.

The tip of the sun disappeared below the horizon and it reminded him of golden red hair. He could finish his job, apprehend the freckle-faced girl before she debuted, obey, like a good Dragun. Or . . . an idea struck him.

The bird’s lights clicked on and he rushed toward it, checking his phone again, tapping Red’s name and ramming the End button when he heard her voicemail.

If he could find the Sphere’s location before Felix, he could barter it with Headmistress when they next met. He could come clean to her about what he really wanted—out of the Order. And she would have to grant it to him. He slid into the bird and clicked his safety belt in place. Tracking the Sphere was the only thing Yagrin had outscored everyone on in Dragun training. Even his own family.

He weighed his choices, checking his phone again. He fired off a text to no response. He bit down. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. They knew about Red now. It would only be a matter of time before they knew what she meant to him. And found a reason she should die.

The pilot’s voice buzzed in his ear, “So where to?”

“To the Tavern.” He needed to meet with a Trader. He’d made his decision.

FORTY-ONE

I wake to Grandmom’s hand on my back.

“What are you doing here?” I sit up. “I—I mean, good morning, Grandmom.”

“You came in quite late last night. Past curfew.”

I swallow.

“The consequence for that is usually three lashes.”

I wince.

“Not to worry, that practice has been done away with, in our House at least. But I want you to know curfews exist for a reason and I won’t take my heir setting a poor example. People are looking to you as the standard. You are to be . . .” She gestures for me to finish her sentence.

“A cut above the rest.”

She sits beside me on my bed, her posture heavy. “There is one more thing, and I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

Her shoulders sag with a weight that unsettles me. I scrub the crust from my eyes.

“Nore Ambrose has gone missing.”

My blood curdles. My mouth falls open, a gasp stuck in my throat.

“I have to know, Quell, when she left in a rush at the Tea, did you notice anything out of the ordinary?” Grandmom’s pointed stare pierces my insecurity.

“She’d torn her gloves and had to throw them away. But that’s all I really noticed.”

“And what about the letters you’ve exchanged? Did she mention anything that gave you pause?” Grandmom’s sulk has stiffened and I look for some hint of why she’s asking me this, but all I find in her eyes is unyielding insistence.

“She wanted to meet up again. It didn’t strike me as odd.” I look somewhere else other than Grandmom’s stone expression.

“It would be unfortunate if Nore was in trouble and she told someone and that someone didn’t say anything. It might look like that someone wanted her to be hurt.”

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