had been burned. Least she hadn’t worn herself out too much. Her body could fix that.
“Understood?”
I nodded. “You’ll have to send my family what I bought today. So long as they get everything back, they won’t look too hard for me.”
“Of course.” Her nose twitched, and not even the red paint on her lips could pretty her scowl. “I can complete whatever tasks are necessary.” Her expression shifted back to a wide smile. Mistress, this girl was fickle as fire. “Meet me near the cherry trees. If they don’t let you in, tell them you saw a girl drop this and wish to give it to Mademoiselle Gardinier yourself because there’s magic in it, and you don’t want it to hurt anyone.”
She pressed the silver cuff into my hand and darted away before I could speak. I tucked it into my purse.
Only a noble would throw away being a noble, but this was everything I’d ever wanted. Even if I were only there for a day, I’d come out knowing more than I did today.
And Estrel Charron was there.
She was as common as me and a genius. I could learn to be like her.
I could see the world and make it see me.
Three
Emilie
Mother awoke a mere thirty seconds after I settled back into the carriage. I had leaned my head as if resting—it was so hot and our journey so long that the idea we had nodded off wasn’t terribly unbelievable—and she jerked up. She would think it had only been a second or two if I had done it right.
“Emilie?” She blinked, the white cosmetics lining her eyelids sparkling, and touched her head. “Did I fall asleep?”
I yawned. “I think we both did. The crowd is clearer now, though.”
“It has been a long few days,” she said.
I stepped out of the carriage for the second time, and she took my arm immediately. She led me through the streets—bypassing water stalls tended to by pretty girls with bright smiles and sweet-smelling wares and slipping down an alley of vendors selling charms, all fake, to bolster the midnight arts and protect against the ravages of magical power—and we emerged on the other side of the market. The streets of Bosquet ended, and the path leading to the school began. Lord, this town was small.
The horizon cleared, and my mother pulled me close. She pointed to the mountains overlooking Bosquet.
The glass-domed spires of Mademoiselle Vivienne Gardinier’s school glittered over the town. The towers were moon white and sharp against the southern sky, and my mother’s relentless descriptions of her childhood home for years had not done the estate justice. The buildings were carved into the cliffs overlooking the Verglas River beneath, the rolling spokes of a waterwheel barely visible over the impeccably groomed garden blocking the ground floors and horizon from view, and a single observatory tower domed in silver marked the highest point for leagues and leagues. On the darkest of nights, it served as a light for the ships navigating the Verglas.
“It’s pretty.” I swallowed, the bitter tastes of sulfur and daisies heavy on the wind.
The half smile on her face was something I had never teased out of her. “I still miss it sometimes.”
A dirt path laid with gray stones led to a silver gate twisted to resemble crawling ivy twined about saplings. The garden beyond, fruit trees and flowers so perfectly organized they resembled a rainbow of soldiers in marching lines more than a garden, blocked my view of the school. My mother approached the closed gate, and I followed.
At eye height, someone had knotted a cheap poster to one of the silver saplings. My mother ripped it down and handed it to me. Beneath the jagged sketch of a laurel crown read:
A KING CANNOT REST ON HIS LAURELS.
HENRY XII SAVED US ONCE AS A PRINCE BUT HAS FAILED US REPEATEDLY AS A KING.
HE HAS FAILED TO SECURE PEACE AND HAS INSTEAD SPENT OUR MONEY ON FIELDS OF GOLD & GILDED PEACE TREATIES WITH NO GUARANTEES.
HE HAS FAILED TO FEED HIS CITIZENS IN TIMES OF NEED,
SAVING THE STORES FOR HIMSELF & THE COURT.
HE HAS FAILED TO PROTECT US FROM THE CORRUPT USAGE OF HACKS BY NOBLE NOONDAY ARTISTS.
HE HAS BROKEN HIS PROMISES TO RAISE WAGES,
PROTECT OUR LABOR WHICH HE DEPENDS ON,
& ALLOW OUR TOWN LEADERS SEATS AT COURT,
BUT HE DOESN’T HAVE TO REMAIN OUR KING.
WE ARE OUR OWN.
LET NOT YOUR NOBILITY NOR WEALTH STAND IN THE WAY OF DEMEINE.