The next afternoon, after a sleepless night stewing over what I think I know about the heir to House of Ambrose, I start my day with a trip to the Secret Wood under the dark dregs of early morning. I am too worked up to focus on anything else. After lunch the day falls into its regular rhythm, and I manage to get away to help Abby.
She slides a saucer toward me with a square of raspberry-filled cake on it as my thoughts drift back to Nore. If another Headmistress’s heir also has toushana . . . Tears well in my eyes. The idea that I may not be alone in this chasm, stuck between Grandmom’s expectations and a poison that would kill me, nudges a sore spot deep in my chest. I must know.
“Come on, one more,” Abby prods.
“You’re overthinking this,” I say, as my thoughts shift to Jordan with an unfamiliar ache. I wish I could talk to him about this.
“Fine, I’ll go with this one.” She indicates a lemon one.
We scoot out of the meeting with the caterer, and I find myself scanning the halls for a familiar brooding face.
“It’ll be your turn soon,” Abby says, looping her arm through mine. “Which did you like for your cake?”
“I don’t know. Does every table need a mini cake? Isn’t that a bit much?”
“I think it’s kind of glamourous.” Abby flips her hair. “Mynick said Ambrose doesn’t do that.”
Mynick!
“I need to drop off my dagger for polishing and rehearse the dance with my debut-mates.” She stops. “Are you all right? You seem a bit off today.”
“The heir event was a lot, and Nore was being . . . weird. I don’t know.” That’s as close to the truth as I can get with her for now. “Also, I have an idea. Mynick can be my plus-one for your Cotillion. I know you want him there, and I don’t have plans to bring anyone.” He is in Nore’s House, so maybe he knows more.
“That’s brilliant!” She hugs me. “He’ll totally go with you.”
“Should I notify Cuthers of the additional RSVP?”
“Could you? I’m meeting with Cultivator Tucker. Then the rest of my finishing class is rehearsing the group dance.”
“Shelby is one of them, right?”
“Don’t remind me.”
“She was really nice on my first day.”
“To you. But everyone’s nice to you.”
“Uh, sure, whatever. I’ll take care of it and catch you later.” Back in my room, I grab my stationery.
Nore, I sincerely apologize if I offended you with my insistence. I did not mean to. If there’s any chance I am right and . . . you’re not okay, please know that I won’t tell anyone. Thank you again for coming to my Summer Bloom Tea. I hope to see you again soon.
I add You’re not alone, then trash that one and rewrite it without it. I write thank-you notes to the other heirs, adding a fleur beneath my signature as Grandmom does, and stuff those into envelopes as well. I quickly drop everything at Cuthers’s office and RSVP for Mynick and me. When I return to my room, I find a note slipped under the door in a familiar handwriting.
Meet me at nine.
I try but fail to push away my smile. I should stand him up. He’s been back for days! A mound of dress swatches covers my bed from pillow to footboard. I’d have good reason to. I read the card again and get that weird fluttery feeling inside.
I . . . missed him.
I wonder if he might know something about Nore Ambrose . . . I scoop up a few armfuls of swatches to take with me, determined to not overthink this dress thing, and rush out the door.
Jordan’s waiting for me inside the conservatory and seeing him puts a spring in my step.
Whatever frustration I’d brought abandons me entirely when our eyes meet. I’ve more than missed him. He starts toward me, then stops, shifting his weight as if he isn’t sure what to do now that I’m here.
I sit on the stone bench, but he remains standing.
“How have your first few days as Secundus gone?”
“Good.”
“Did you get the early plans started for Cotillion? You’ll want to make sure to get a head start on invitations. Your House is slow with those.”
“Yes, we’re working on a few new leads now. But—”
“So what did you do with your time yesterday?”
His entire tone is snappy, short, very business. I search his gaze for some explanation. Why it feels like I’m talking to my mentor instead of my really good friend, but he evades my stare, pulling at the petals on a nearby flower.
“Quell? I asked a question.”
I stiffen at his sharpness. “I’ve been putting together ideas for where I’d like to intern the year after I debut.”
“You’ll want to base that on the prestige of the position, not your interest in the work. It’s all about networking at this point. Getting to know as many powerful graduates of your House as you can. Running a House requires good relationships.”
“Where did you go this past week?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
I don’t know what I expected after not seeing him for so long, but this wasn’t it. Have I lied to myself somehow? I can still feel the sand between my toes from when he transfigured this glass house into a living dream just so I could believe in myself. The way he patiently and gently showed me how to hone my blade before my toushana ruined it. How he comes alive when we talk about books. How he listens and sits with the things I say, stewing over them as if they are a treasure. The way his eyes sparkled like a crisp spring day when he saw me pass Second Rite. I look for him, that Jordan, my friend.
But lines are carved into his expression that were not there before. He’s no more than two feet away, but it may as well be an ocean.
“Quell? Are you listening? Cotillion is in twenty days. What else have you gotten done?”
“I hosted a Tea with the other heirs, actually.”
“And? How did it go?”
“It went really well, I thought.”
“Elaborate.”
I stuff my annoyance down and answer his question because while I don’t like his shortness, I am eager to tell him. “Everyone came and had a wonderful time. Nor—” A Dragun knowing her predicament would be a death sentence. “Grandmom was very impressed as well.”
Jordan listens intently.
“I’m doing well. Even with you not here.”
“So Headmistress Marionne is pleased?”
“She is.”
“Very good. That bodes well for both of us.”
I shift in my seat, irritated. “You’re—”
“And you’ll want to snag a Vestiser early,” he says. “Fortunately my mother dabbled in fabric Shifting between Audior studies, so my tails will be tailored in time.” He fidgets with nervous energy, and it’s equally unsettling and confusing.
I stand.
He steps back.
“What’s up with you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He paces, and I can’t help but think it’s just an excuse to get farther away from me. “Have you started honing the rest of your enhancers? Usually you’ll pick up a few extra as gifts here and there.”
“I haven’t started, but it’s on my list.” I pick at my skin, but I’d much prefer to pull out my hair.
“And the memory work. I realize it’s a lot, but you must know the full Order history.”
“Jordan . . .”
“I recommend oral recitations, three times a day if you can.”
“Jordan.”
“I’ll expect you to drill with me at least once—”
“Jordan!”
He stills, and a Jordan I don’t know gazes back at me, worry tugging at his brow. I close the distance between us, my feet ten steps ahead of my head. And this time he doesn’t move away.
I hold his gaze, determined to lasso that piece of him trying to run. Be here, he’d told me once when we danced. That’s what I want from him right now. That longing to be connected to me. To let me be connected to him.
He stills in my presence, his chest rising and falling faster than it should. But he still doesn’t move away.
“What is it? What’s changed?”
His expression hardens. His shoulders hang as if they’ve never known true rest. I wish he would just tell me. Instead of shutting me out. But Jordan strikes me as the helper, not the helped.
Let me in, I want to say. But instead I reach for his fingers, and to my surprise he lets me take them. His fingers play on mine and before I realize it our hands are laced between one another, locked together, braver than our words. I chew the words on the edge of my lips, trying to choke them down. Trying to convince myself these flutters aren’t real. But all I manage is to squeeze his hand again and hold on tighter. He squeezes back.
“Is it true you’ve been back three whole days?” I ask.
He sighs and breaks our touch. “Going to Hartsboro gave me a lot to think about.”
We sit together on the bench.
He draws his words as if from a deep well he’s never drunk from. His gaze is fixed on the ground instead of at me. “Being here has changed me.”
“How?”
“Quell, I’m a Dragun. Do you understand what that means?”
“I do. But—”
“There is no but.”
“But.” I scoot closer to him. “You’re also Jordan Wexton, my really good friend. It was a long eight days, and I missed him.” I want to hear him proclaim his feelings so I know I’m not alone on this island. But I hesitate to push.
After an ocean of silence: “And he missed you.”
He pulls me into a side hug, and my head finds his shoulder. We stay like that for a long while. I hesitate to break it, but now that things feel a little more right between us, there’s so much I want to say.
“I was so relieved when I heard the girls were found.”
“What do you mean?”
“The girls from your House, they’re okay, right?”
“Quell, I didn’t find them alive.”
My heart squeezes. The Perl girls are dead.
He moves the hair out of my face, and I lean into his hand, to offer him some comfort, but immediately worry I’ve been too bold. His expression warms, and his fingers trace the curve of my nose, my cheeks.
“Talk about something else,” he says.
“Did you see your parents?”
“Something else.”
“Tell me a story, a fun one from when you were little. And I’ll tell you one. How about that?” I should be able to scrounge up a few harmless memories to share.
“All right.” He settles against me and pulls a bag of candies out of his bag. He pops a few into his mouth and hands me a green one. I do a double take.
“Doth mine eyes deceive me?”
“You should take it before I change my mind.” He smirks, and I pop it into my mouth before resting my head, which fits like a puzzle piece, in the nook of his neck. His shoulders sink a bit as he tries to relax against me.
“I guess I’ll start. Once, when I was five . . .” He might not be ready to admit he has feelings for me out loud. But for now, this is everything I need. For now, this is enough.
