Page 94 of House of Marionne

She pats my hands. “So Cultivator it is? You have to formally sign off on it. It goes in the Book of Names.”

I wish I had time to think about a decision this big. She wouldn’t understand that, so for now I say what she wants to hear instead.

“Cultivator, it is.”

“That’s my girl. Make sure Jordan gets the paperwork turned in. Everything you need to prepare for Third Rite will be in your room by evening. Stay on top of your mail as well; all rejected invitations should be refused with a prompt, tasteful note and convincing excuse.” She hands me a fresh pack of newly minted stationery. My name glitters in gold at the top, between two fleurs. “We wouldn’t want to snub anyone. Maintaining relationships is paramount.”

“Thank you.”

“And remember, Quell, it’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You weren’t raised in this House or around the heirs of the other Houses, so of course you have no idea what’s expected of someone in your station. I’m hard on you sometimes because I forget that. But I don’t blame you. That’s on your mother’s shoulders.”

I flinch at the second dig at Mom. I hadn’t thought about the other House’s heirs, what they must be like. What it would have been like being raised around them. How helpful knowing that could be as I try to hide myself in this world. I wouldn’t be such an obvious disaster if I knew what being a Headmistress’s heir looked like. Grandmom is more right than she knows.

“How about we invite the heirs here for an evening of fun? I can host it and consult with Dexler and Plume on all the details so it’s done just perfectly.”

Grandmom sits taller. “Now you sound like my granddaughter.”

PART FOUR

TWENTY-NINE

YAGRIN

Red hopped off the porch of her parents’ farmhouse and started toward Yagrin. Her wide brim hat shielded most of her face, but he couldn’t mistake those worn overalls and that bright smile even so far away. Her fingertips skimmed the tops of billowing tall grass as she twirled through the field, making her way to him. The low sun glinted in her auburn hair, and he dug a nail into his palm to be sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Her toes were dusty and unpainted. She was barefoot. He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. He started toward her, but the phone in his pocket vibrated, tugging at him like a leash.

He halted.

His pulse picked up at the name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Did you see the announcement in Page Six?”

Sweat broke out on his neck. He had. “Mother, how are—”

“What updates do you have on Quell?”

“You said find her, bring her to—”

“I know what I said! What have you accomplished?”

He tensed at her raised tone. “I found her at the Tavern. But it was too crowded to make a move.”

“You wouldn’t hide anything from me, would you, Yagrin?”

The phone slipped in his slick hands. “No, ma’am.” The lie was bitter, an acquired taste.

“And dare I ask, what’s the status of your first target? It’s been weeks.”

Pink beanie. “Done.”

“Not from where I’m standing. I haven’t seen proof.”

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