Midnight Jewel (The Glittering Court #2)(83)

“No. You’ve held true to your family. You have family. You bettered your education. You’ll move into high society.” He stared off but wore the same pained expression he’d had while I’d spoken about my father. “The Balanquans would praise you for raising your status.”

“Like . . . prestige?”

“More complex. Status defines your place in society. Your worth.” He walked across the room, stopping a few feet in front of me. “Do you know what my Balanquan name is? Not what Aiana calls me—the one I was born with. Agamichi. It means ‘without a shadow.’”

“Without a shadow,” I repeated. It was ironic since McGraw agents were called shadowmen, but I didn’t say so.

“It’s one sound off from akamichi. That means ‘without status.’ That similarity’s intentional. My uncle named me and thought he was being clever. Among the Balanquans, all social order, all relationships . . . they’re all built around status. Not having any is the worst thing that can happen to a person. And a half-breed bastard has very little.”

“But we aren’t among the Balanquans.” A wave of emotion swelled up in my chest, much as it had in the moment I’d discovered his scar. I fought the impulse to reach out to him.

“It doesn’t matter. For all intents and purposes, I’m still a ghost. No people, no home, no great deeds. But I’ve accepted it,” he added. “If I don’t have anything, then I can’t lose it.”

“But you have a lot,” I exclaimed. Compassion still burned in me, but I couldn’t help my shock. “You do have a home. You do have people. Silas and Aiana love you, and you love them—I’ve seen it. Creating a family like that is a great deed. So is the work you do. Look how determined you are in breaking up the conspiracy! It seems to me like you’re rich in status.”

“Because you don’t understand status,” he said, voice weary.

I moved forward and took his hands. “I understand that you don’t see what’s right in front of you. And you haven’t ‘accepted’ being a ghost. You’ve chosen it! Wandering without attachment doesn’t free you. It traps you. You need to find your own wayfarers’ star and fix your life on something, something with meaning.”

He was attempting to keep his temper down. “I’m trying, Mirabel. There are things I’m fighting for, whether you believe it or not.”

“I do believe it. But I also believe you’re throwing away what you already have. And maybe you’re throwing that away on purpose. Is that what you’ve fixed yourself on? Being unhappy? Is that why you pushed me away? Because some part of you didn’t really think you deserved a night where you might actually get something you wanted?”

My anger had flared up again. So had his. Another day, another fight with Grant.

“I wanted something simple.” He released my hands and moved away. “And instead I got you.”

I stared. Something inside me shattered. Angry tears sprang to my eyes. I shot to the door and was nearly hit by it as Silas returned. “Calhoun and the others are on their way to—” He stopped when he saw me. “Didn’t expect you to still be here.”

“I was just leaving.” I retrieved my things and pointed at the letter. “Please make sure that gets to your agent. It means a lot to me.”





CHAPTER 22


THE FLOWER FESTIVAL WAS AN ORDINARY NAME FOR AN extraordinary event. Back in Osfrid, it was a huge, decadent celebration to mark the arrival of spring. The festivities hadn’t been quite as extravagant when the holiday first carried over to Adoria, but over time, the New World began to catch up with the Old World. This year, Cape Triumph was embracing a tradition that was wildly popular in Osfro: evening masquerade balls. Mistress Culpepper hadn’t liked the unexpected development, but most of the girls in the house were delighted. Not me.

I was tired of masks.

Mine was beautiful, of course. Everything I wore in the Glittering Court was beautiful. It was a half-mask that covered the upper part of my face, much like the one I wore on my nighttime trips. But this one was covered in deep red silk that sparkled with crushed red crystal. It was hardly inconspicuous, though Tom might have approved of that flashiness simply for the sake of his “image is everything” stance.

I was also just tired, period. I was burning the candle at both ends, and sometimes, I wondered how much I had left. I usually made it back to Wisteria Hollow about four hours before our wakeup call. Adrenaline could keep me fueled during those late hours, but in the day, I dragged. I often fell asleep in the coaches when we traveled. Mistress Culpepper began insisting I wear face cream at night because of the dark circles under my eyes. And whatever energy I had left at social events went to searching for intelligence. I avoided dancing as much as possible. Even if I’d wanted to aggressively pursue some man at a party, my exhaustion put a serious damper on my charisma and conversational skills. My suitors fell away—all except one.

“Are you ready to make it official?”

I’d expected Cornelius to find me at the Flower Fest gala, just not so quickly. I accepted his hand for a waltz and put on a bland smile. “I will . . . but not until the end of my season.”

Behind his blue velvet mask, Cornelius blinked in surprise. “If you’re going to do it, why not take care of it now?”