The Glittering Court (The Glittering Court, #1)(24)

“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.”