The Glittering Court (7 page)

I couldn't take in the compliment. A terrible thought had seized hold of me.

Had Clara been right?

Had Mira gotten here by sleeping with Cedric?

He certainly treated her with more than the indifference one might have toward an acquisition. He admired her and was concerned for her. And Clara was right that bringing her here had been a risk for him. I didn't want to believe such things about quiet, resilient Mira, who had such pride and strength in her every action.

And I definitely didn't want to believe it of Cedric.

Studying his profile now, the fine cheekbones and gently curved lips, I felt the unease spread from my stomach, tightening my chest. In my mind's eye, I had a sudden flash of those lips on my friend, of those deft fingers running through her luxurious hair. I swallowed, trying to push down the inexplicable dismay I felt.

He looked up again, his expression softening as he took in my face. “Hey, it's going to be all right. This is almost done. No one will know.”

I must have been wearing my emotions, and he'd misunderstood. I lowered my gaze, murmuring a stiff thanks, as opposed to one of the usual biting remarks we so often traded.

“There we are,” he said a few minutes later, holding up the overdress. “As good as new.”

Looking at it, I saw that he was correct. The stitches were barely visible unless you were right next to it. It would hopefully be enough to evade Mistress Masterson's notice. I took the dress, turning away from him as I pulled it over my head. I was surprised that in so short a time, it had picked up the fleeting scent of the vetiver he wore.

It took me a few minutes to get the ensemble back together, fastening all the tiny pearl buttons on the bodice and smoothing the petticoat to lie flat. Then, of course, came the tedious process of arranging the contrasting chemise so it peeked out properly. When I finally turned around, Cedric was regarding me with amusement.

“Were you watching me get dressed?” I exclaimed.

“Don't worry, I didn't see a thing,” he said. “Except how much progress you've made in putting on your own clothes. I guess this finishing school is really paying off.”

“Someone should send
you
to a finishing school,” I retorted as we moved toward the door. “You have no sense of decency.”

“Says the girl who let me come in.”

“I told you to leave! You were the one who ignored me and marched right in anyway, despite the state I was in.”

That easy, confident grin returned. “Don't worry, it's easily forgotten.”

“Well,” I said huffily, “it shouldn't be
that
easily forgotten.”

“Would you like it better if I say I'll eventually forget it but not without a great deal of struggle and torment?”

“Yes.”

“Done.”

We parted, and I made my way toward the drawing room, where Mister Bricker gave us lessons about both history and current affairs. The door was ajar, and I lingered outside, reluctant to enter. I didn't want to be called out for being late. I also didn't really want to listen to his lecture. He was explaining the Alanzan heresy and its growing concern to the Osfridian church. All good, Uros-fearing people knew that six glorious angels had served the god since the beginning of creation and that six wayward angels had fallen and become demons. The Alanzans worshipped all twelve angels, dark and light alike, putting them on nearly the same level as the great god in bloodthirsty, sordid rituals.

I knew much of this, as it was a hot topic in noble drawing rooms—one to be marveled at and then dismissed as something “other people” did. I started to push the door open but stopped when I caught sight of Mira, listening avidly, her eyes focused on Mister Bricker. Alanzans were a big faction in Sirminica.

But instead of pondering if she'd encountered them, I found myself admiring her beautiful profile. It was impossible not to. Her quiet,
fearless manner made her mysterious and alluring in a way few could match. Certainly not me. Were those striking eyes holding a dark secret? Had she been Cedric's mistress?

That ugly feeling started to rise up within me again, and I banished it as I pushed open the door and stepped inside. I took my seat, hoping the scent of vetiver would soon fade from my dress.

Chapter 6

I saw little of Cedric in the months that followed. with so many other things to keep me busy, it was easy to push him off to a place in the back of my mind. I filed other things there—like the memories of my parents, and how worried my grandmother must be—and made a point of visiting that mental place as little as possible. It was only on occasional late nights, when I'd lie restless in bed, that I'd allow myself a peek at those dark corners of my mind.

My tenure at the Glittering Court soon became the happiest time of my life to date, excepting when my parents were alive. Despite the regimented schedule, the endless drills and classes, I felt a freedom I'd never known. I moved around the manor with a lightness in my chest, heady with the feeling that I could do anything and had the world at my fingertips. Certainly, I was scrutinized, but nowhere near the levels of Osfro.

That wasn't to say I didn't still face some challenges.

“Hey, are you ready to— What have you done?”

I looked up as Tamsin and Mira entered the kitchen. Even though we'd now spent nearly eight months learning the ways of upper-class ladies, Mistress Masterson wanted us—or some of us—to remember our humble roots. That meant occasional household chores, such as the dishes I was currently washing.

They hurried over to my side, peering at the copper kettle I was attempting to wash. “Is that bleach? That
is
bleach! I can smell it.”
Without waiting for a response, Tamsin grabbed the kettle and dumped its contents into a tub of wastewater. “What were you thinking?”

“Something got burned in it, and scrubbing wasn't working. I saw you use bleach to get out that stain from your dress the other day, so I thought—”

“Stop,” said Tamsin. “I don't want to hear any more. I can't hear any more.”

Mira picked up a cloth and rubbed the inside of the pot. “It came out, and the bleach wasn't in long enough to cause damage.”

I felt triumphant. “So it did work.”

“Soaking in water, followed by a lemon scrub, would have done the same with a lot less risk.” Tamsin took one of my hands and held it up. One side was red from the bleach. “Deepest hell. Go rinse them off. You've got the best hands of all of us. Don't ruin that.”

Tamsin's own hands showed the signs of having scrubbed laundry since childhood, and it vexed her to no end. She was constantly applying moisturizers in an effort to undo—or at least minimize—the damage.

Mira took my apron and hung it up while Tamsin gave me a quick inspection. “No other harm done. The dress is intact, and I daresay that's the nicest chignon I've ever seen you do. Did someone help you?”

I patted my hair, affronted at her suspicious tone. “We share the same room. Do you think someone sneaked in and helped me?”

“It wasn't me,” said Mira, seeing Tamsin's gaze fall on her. “Adelaide's come quite a long way. I saw her fold a blanket the other day, and there were almost no creases in it.”

I pushed the kitchen door open, and the other two followed me. “Oh, stop, both of you. It's our off day. It wouldn't matter if I did have sloppy hair.”

Tamsin narrowed her eyes in thought. “No, something's going on. Mistress Masterson wouldn't have ordered us to the ballroom otherwise. This is usually the day she has it cleaned.”

My slowness on the dishes had made us the last to arrive, but we
weren't late yet. Even if we were, I didn't think Mistress Masterson would have noticed. She was busy directing one of the house servants to set up large tables on the far side of the room. In the middle of the ballroom itself, we were met with the astonishing sight of blankets spread across the floor and our housemates sitting on them.

“What's going on?” I asked Rosamunde.

She glanced up at us from her blue-flowered quilt. “No idea. Mistress Masterson just told us to sit down and wait.”

Puzzled, my friends and I made it across the room to an unoccupied blanket, an enormous fuzzy one with red and yellow stripes. Around us, the other girls' conversation buzzed as they too wondered what was happening. Tamsin groaned. “Damn it. I knew I should have worn my church dress.”

“You think we're having a service in here?” I asked.

“No. But I think this is a test. A pop quiz. Maybe how to entertain and throw a get-together on short notice.” Tamsin pointed to the entrance. “Look. Here comes food.”

Three men in plain workmen's clothes entered, hauling large platters that Mistress Masterson directed to the tables. As she uncovered them, I could tell even from this distance that they contained finger sandwiches and fruit. The workmen left and returned with a second load of food, as well as plates and linen napkins. I'd thought Tamsin was paranoid, but there was no doubt we had much more food than our coterie needed. After the tables were filled, the workmen left and didn't return. Mistress Masterson stood by the doorway, an expectant look on her face.

“Damn it,” Tamsin repeated. She took a deep breath. Her eyes grew as steely as those of a general preparing for battle. “Okay. No problem. We can do this. We can do this better than the others because none of them have realized what's happening. We've got an edge. Think back to our lessons on greeting strangers at a party. All the acceptable topics. Weather. Upcoming holidays. Animals are all right too. No religion. No politics, unless it's in support of the king and his latest policy.
Always look dignified—who knows what kind of posh guests the old lady's dug up? Keep your posture good and—”

That crafty countenance dissolved into disbelief, and Tamsin let out a very undignified shriek. In a flash, she was on her feet, sprinting across the room. And she wasn't the only girl. Others were on the move as well, and the buzz turned into an outright cacophony of chaos and excitement. Turning my gaze back to the entryway, I saw strangers entering, strangers who could hardly be called posh. My housemates lost themselves in the crowd, swept away in a flood of hugs and tears.

“Their families,” said Mira softly. She and I were the only two still sitting down. A smile spread over her face as we watched Tamsin throw herself against the chest of a big, burly man with a red beard. A thinner woman stood smiling beside him, and three red-haired children hovered nearby. Two, a girl and a boy, looked to be in their mid-teens. The third was a young girl only a few years old. Tamsin swept her into her arms as though she weighed nothing and then tried to simultaneously draw the other two into a hug, resulting in laughs and confusion. There was no guile on Tamsin's face. No cunningness or sizing up the situation. The tight control she always maintained was gone, her emotions pure and raw. There was a lightness about her that made me realize that, until that moment, I'd never truly comprehended just how much weight she carried.

“Do you have anyone coming?” I asked Mira.

She shook her head. “No. No other family came with me from Sirminica. But I do wonder what my parents would think of all this if they could see it. They'd be shocked.”

I couldn't help a laugh, even though I didn't feel very cheerful. “Mine too. Mine too.”

But surprisingly, it wasn't the thought of my parents that made my heart ache just then. It was Grandmama. She'd taken care of me these last few years, working so hard to salvage our situation. I still stood by my decision to leave, but as the initial excitement had faded, I'd had more time to consider the consequences of what I'd done—and
feel guilty. Cedric had covertly slipped me a clipping from the society papers mentioning Lionel's marriage to some minor noble, only a few weeks after my disappearance. Cedric had scrawled on it:
Such a hasty marriage. Probably the only way the poor man could console himself after such a great loss.
That had closed the door on that chapter, but still left a lot of other questions unanswered.

I spoke without thinking. “I wish I could see my grandmother.”

Mira regarded me with mild surprise. “You've never mentioned her before—I don't believe it. They're here!” She slowly got to her feet, her eyes widening as she stared across the room to a wizened Sirminican couple. “Pablo and Fernanda. They came with me on the journey from home. Excuse me.”

She walked away without looking back, and although I was glad to see her hug the little old man and woman, the ache in my heart only intensified. Most of the other girls were too overwhelmed with their own loved ones to notice much else, but a few cast curious glances my way. I'd worried about standing out in other ways, but never this one. Even those without blood relatives at least had friends visiting. I was the only one alone. The only one without any family. The only one without a past.

Or maybe not.

“Adelaide's over there, behind Sylvia's family,” I heard Mistress Masterson say. “Sitting on the striped blanket.”

A woman stepped around a crowd of people, beaming when she saw me. “There's my Adelaide!”

I stared. I'd never seen her before in my life. She looked to be twice my age and had a voluptuous figure that was enhanced—more than it should be—by a faded red dress that was one size too small. Generous kohl lined her eyes, and a straw hat with fake flowers sat atop brassy hair.

“Well?” she asked, standing over me with hands on her hips. “Aren't you going to give your aunt Sally a hug?”

Beyond her, I saw Mistress Masterson watching curiously. Not
wanting to draw extra scrutiny, I stood up and embraced the strange woman and was flooded with the cloying scent of tea roses. “Just play along,” she whispered in my ear.

We stepped apart, and I forced a smile that I hoped hid how bewildered I was. Mistress Masterson nodded approvingly and then moved on.

“Aunt Sally” relaxed but still kept her voice low as she spoke to me. “My name is Rhonda Gables, great star of some of the biggest theatrical productions in Osfro. You've probably heard of me.”

I shook my head.

“Well, a girl of your station probably doesn't make it out to the theater very much, so that's understandable.” My family owned box seats and had seen every major show in the capital, and I felt certain that if Rhonda had been in any of them, I'd remember.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

She peered around conspiratorially. “I'm here to play your aunt. I was hired by—well, I never got his name, but he paid in silver. Nice-looking young man. Brown hair. Good cheekbones. Why, if I was twenty years younger, I'd have liked to—”

“Yes,” I interrupted. “I think I know the young man in question. Do you know why you're here?”

“Just that I was supposed to come out here to Uros-knows-where in the moors with the rest of this lot. Carriages picked us up in the city and told us we'd be fed, and who am I to turn down a free meal? There's the man that organized it.” She pointed across the room as Jasper entered. “Do you know if they're serving wine here?”

Jasper clapped his hands for attention, and the din died down as we stepped closer to hear him. He was in full showman mode.

“First, let me welcome you here today to Blue Spring Manor. You are our guests, and we are all at your service. Second, I want to thank you for the sacrifice I know you must have made in the last eight months by lending us your daughters.” He paused to make eye contact with random people, nodding and smiling. “But it has been our
privilege and our honor to have them, to help them develop the potential you surely knew they had all along. Today you'll get a glimpse into the world they've entered—a world that will be dwarfed by the riches and splendor they'll get when they marry in Adoria.”

That last bit hit home. Nearly all of the visitors were in awe of the ballroom, with its crystal chandelier and gilded wallpaper. The idea that more wealth than this might be waiting was simply incomprehensible.

“Normally, we invite friends and family later in the spring, so that we can picnic in warmer conditions.” Jasper smiled conspiratorially, nodding toward a large window covered in ice crystals. “But, as you can see, that's not possible today. So, we'll have an indoor picnic. Fill your plates and cups, find a spot, and learn just how much your daughters' futures truly glitter.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. It was hard for me to take his fine words seriously, recalling how harshly he'd spoken to Cedric in private, but everyone else was quite charmed. Families clustered together and made their way over to the buffet. Rhonda had noticed there was rum punch and had already shot over to that section of tables. I hurried after her, delayed by loved ones strolling and taking their time to catch up. As I waited for Caroline's grandmother to teeter past, I overheard Jasper speaking to Mistress Masterson.

“It's always such a delicate balance, this meet and greet,” he said to her quietly. “You never know if some of them might get homesick and bolt. But once the Adoria trip is official, I find the risk of running is actually greater then. If they've been bolstered up by their dazzled loved ones beforehand, they're more likely to want to do them proud.”

I frowned at that as I caught up with Rhonda. If I hadn't known sailings to Adoria were always done in spring and summer, I'd have thought his tone suggested something more immediate.

Rhonda downed a cup of punch and went for another. I pulled her away as Clara's mother watched disapprovingly. “Now, now, Aunt Sally. Not until you've had some lunch. Remember what happened at last year's Midwinter party.”

Fortunately, Rhonda was just as happy to load up on food, and we carried plates of cucumber sandwiches, cold chicken, and sliced pears back to the striped blanket. Mira sat on its edge with Pablo, speaking rapidly in Sirminican. Tamsin, radiant with joy, was too excited to eat. Her family shared that happiness but could hardly turn down such a meal. The teenage siblings—twins, I learned—were named Jonathan and Olivia and snuggled up on each side of Tamsin, eating and talking at the same time. The littlest girl was introduced to me as Merry and sat on Tamsin's lap, happily munching on a pear. All of them had the same red hair.