“She did it herself,” the whisper follows me down the marble corridor like a hunting hound. “Had to be. Who else would benefit from burning down that pathetic little room?”
I whirl around, my eyes blazing. “Say it to my face, coward!”
The cluster of second-years scatters like startled birds, their giggles echoing off the vaulted ceiling. But the damage is done. The poison has been released into the Academy’s bloodstream.
“Miss Ashbourne.” Professor Whitmore appears at my elbow, her smile sharp as winter frost. “Perhaps we should discuss your… accommodation arrangements.”
The new room is a golden cage. Silk wallpaper, crystal chandeliers, a four-poster bed that could house a small army. It’s three times larger than my burned-out hovel, and it sits directly across from Prince Henry’s royal suite.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” I mutter to the empty air. “The charity case gets the princess treatment right after her life goes up in flames.”
A sharp knock interrupts my bitter soliloquy. The door swings open without invitation, revealing Mirelle in her regulation black uniform, her expression unreadable as marble.
“You didn’t wait for permission,” I observe, not rising from my perch on the silk-covered window seat.
“I came to see how you were managing,” she says, but her eyes scan the room like a general surveying a battlefield. “This is quite the upgrade.”
“Is it?” I stand, my hands clenched at my sides. “Or is it a better cage to keep the suspect in?”
Mirelle’s laugh is cold as winter rain. “Suspect? Helena, if I wanted you gone, you’d already be gone.”
The casual cruelty in her voice hits me like a slap. “There it is. The truth finally comes out.”
“What truth?”
“That you think I’m disposable. That my life is worth so little you can threaten it like ordering breakfast.”
Mirelle steps deeper into the room, her boots clicking against the polished floor. “I think you’re making enemies you can’t afford to make.”
“What enemies?” I advance on her, my voice rising. “Calla? Is that who you’re so terrified of?”
“Lower your voice,” Mirelle hisses, glancing toward the door.
“No!” I shout, past caring who hears. “I’m done with whispers! I’m done with hints and warnings and people treating me like I’m made of glass!”
“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with—”
“Then explain it to me!” I grab her shoulders, shaking her. “Tell me what makes everyone in this godforsaken place so afraid of one blonde girl with a pretty smile!”
Mirelle wrenches away from my grip, her composure finally cracking. “You want the truth? Fine. Calla Vale destroyed three girls last year. Completely. Utterly. One tried to overdose on laudanum. Another was shipped off to a convent in disgrace. The third simply… disappeared.”
The words hit me like physical blows. “Disappeared?”
“Gone. Vanished. No longer enrolled, no forwarding address, no trace she ever existed.” Mirelle’s voice drops to a whisper. “That’s what happens when you cross her.”
“And you let her do it?” I stare at my former friend in horror. “You stood by and watched while she destroyed innocent girls?”
“They weren’t innocent!” Mirelle explodes. “They were stupid! They thought they could play in her league without understanding the rules!”
“What rules? What game is everyone playing that I don’t know about?”
Mirelle’s face goes pale. “The game where keeping your head down keeps you alive.”
“Then why didn’t you warn me?”
“I tried!” she cries. “I told you to be careful, to avoid attention, to—”
“To what? To disappear? To make myself so small that no one would notice me?”
“Yes!” The word explodes from her lips like a confession. “Because that’s how you survive here! By being invisible!”
“Well, it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” I gesture around the opulent room. “Hard to be invisible when you’re living in a palace.”
Mirelle’s expression turns desperate. “Helena, please. Pack light. Leave quietly. Transfer to another academy before—”
“Before what? Before Calla decides I’m too much trouble to keep alive?”
“Before you force her hand!” Mirelle grabs my arms, her nails digging into my flesh. “She’s been playing with you, but if you keep pushing, she’ll stop playing and start acting.”
I stare into her eyes, seeing the raw terror there. “Are you afraid of her, Mirelle?”
The question hangs between us like a sword. Mirelle’s grip tightens, her knuckles white with strain.
“I don’t just fear her,” she whispers. “I’m terrified of her. We all are.”