person who could explain it all to me. I had to find Jesse again, had to find him right now—
Downstairs a door slammed, followed by startled laughter. The exodus to breakfast was well under way.
Damn. It killed me, but Jesse would have to wait. If I didn’t show up for breakfast, Mrs. Westcliffe would send Gladys or Almeda looking for me. I’d heard that the only excuse for missing chapel or meals was illness, and if you were ill, you could expect a sizable dose of cod-liver oil and bloody little else.
I tugged on my clothes and hurried down the tower stairs, only just managing to join the final stragglers darting past the dining hall doors. I made my way to the tenth-year table, hardly registering the customary tittering that churned in my wake.
“Lovely coiffure,” commented someone beside me. “Was the price of a few hairpins really too dear?”
I glanced to my right, where Chloe stood with a hand atop the back of her chair. The runny-nosed girl slouched beside her. Both of them were smiling small, malevolent smiles.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Your hair.” Chloe pulled out her chair, turning away. Her ladyship was already bored. “Quite the rat’s nest, isn’t it? Either you can’t afford even cheap pins or else you simply don’t care how you look. Either way, it’s an obvious indication of inferior blood.”
“Obvious,” echoed Runny-Nose, pulling out her chair, too.
I had forgotten. I’d gotten dressed and even ensured I’d picked the skirt without the rip, but I had forgotten all about my hair. It hung loose and tangled down my back, and in my haste I hadn’t noticed it at all.
Chloe was shaking out her napkin, her back to me. Snug against the laden table, snug amid her bootlicking friends, she had all the power and she knew it. “Run along, guttersnipe. Your stench is truly overwhelming. I swear, you’re already curdling the milk.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks. I came closer. I placed my hand on her arm.
“Listen—” I began.
I don’t know what I might have done just then. What I might have said. I was angry and mortified and angry that I was mortified, and the darkness in me—magic or dragon or whatever it was—was rising in my throat like a black vicious bubble. It was my power and I was going to use it. But then two separate things happened, and I never got the chance to finish my sentence.
Mrs. Westcliffe walked by, so near her skirts brushed mine.
And Chloe spotted my cuff.
“Why, what a cunning bangle!” she said, in a far louder voice than any of the nastiness before. “Didn’t you think so, Mrs. Westcliffe?”
The headmistress dutifully stopped and turned around.
I made myself still. I made myself swallow the black bubble and keep my hand at my side instead of jerking it behind my back, as I wished to do. It wouldn’t matter that it wasn’t technically a bangle; it was precious and I was poor, and that would be reason enough to raise suspicion.
Yesterday’s brooch might well have been borrowed. Yesterday I had been Cinderella, and the roses pinned to Lady Sophia’s dress hadn’t raised an eyebrow.
Today I was plain cinders again.
“A bangle?” Mrs. Westcliffe moved her hawk-sharp gaze to me.
“I only just noticed it myself,” Chloe said, all innocence. “Rather interesting piece, so modern, especially for an Iverson girl. Of course, since you approved it, Headmistress, I’m sure it’s fine.”
I didn’t wait to be asked. I lifted my hand and allowed the flowers to show against my wrist, gleaming their delicate gold. Mrs. Westcliffe bent down for a better look.
“I was going to bring it to you after chapel,” I improvised. “I didn’t want to bother you before breakfast.”
“Ah,” was all she replied. And then, “Where did you get it?”
“It was a gift.” I turned my gaze to Chloe. “From Lord Armand.”
The effect of this little burst of brilliance was truly gratifying. Her eyes bulged. Her mouth fell open. No sound emerged.
“Oh?” said Mrs. Westcliffe, in a very different tone.
“Yes.”
“Liar!” exclaimed Chloe, apparently unable to stop herself.
“Lady Chloe,” said Mrs. Westcliffe at once, “I’ll thank you to remember who and where you are and maintain a civil discourse.”
“But—he …” She trailed off, biting her lip, her face growing brighter and brighter.
“Ask him,” I said to both of them, to everyone listening—which by now was everyone within earshot. I wasn’t thinking about the consequences of pulling Armand into it or of a single moment to come beyond this one. I was brimming with