Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Iris
A n annoying shadow falls over me as a small hand rips my book away.
I glare up at Rue from my blanket in the shade, under the oak tree.
She smiles down at me, her dark hair with the sun-kissed highlights waterfalling down around her face.
“I-rus, pay me attention!”
“Give me my book.” I reach for it. “I was reading that.”
“Ugh,” she says, tossing it to the grass, “it’s boring.”
“It’s politics.” Rue’s sort of right, the subject matter’s dry and on the boring side if you don’t peek between the words.
“That’s what I said. Boring. Since you’re not doing anything, what do you think of this?” She pushes her phone in my face as the Queen Bee Icon thunders over the screen like she’s some kind of army of one.
No wonder my sister likes her.
The screen is black and white, the shadows stark. Whoever the Bee is, is as dramatic as fuck.
“It’s weird.” Rue crouches down, the phone still there. In my face. “Some people are posting Stitches saying she’s been kidnapped by the Monarch and Sophine’s behind it, but that makes nooo sense. Like, WTF?”
“Rue.” I look up at the blue sky peeking between the leaves overhead. “No one’s been kidnapped. There are no villains.” At least not how she means. I think Sophine’s a villain, but a low-key type, one hellbent on keeping the status totally quo.
Which means Omegas—Omega females—repressed into baby making roles.
“There are. The QB’s saying that. If you know how to speak QB, which I totally do.”
Piano tinkles pretty melodies on the air from the house. “She’s just Stitch-baiting. QB hasn’t got any gossip so she’s stirring pots to get people reading and keeping her the top of the Stitch pile.”
“Says you.” My little sister looks at me with big, serious eyes. “The QB is saying there’s a war coming.” She frowns, pulls her phone in to read something that flashes up, then looks back at me. “Should we get guns?”
“No, we should not.” I shove her with a toe. “Stitch. Bait. Now I know you’ve got chores so you should do them.”
“We have servants now.”
“Mom says chores are still our responsibility.”
“Mom isn’t out here. She’s in the front with that new head gardener and Heath’s out. I’ll do it later.”
“She won’t like you lazing.”
“You’re lazing.”
“I’m resting since I’m in this stupid Season. So go.”
“Nah. We’re safe.” She moves, pulling her legs under her so her ass is on her heels, and she shakes the phone at me. “I’m telling you, something’s up. It’s all secret revolution stuff and she hasn’t told us if you’re the Luxe yet!”
“Exactly.”
Rue flounces off to lean against the tree dramatically that I’m lying under.
I sit up. I’m not going to get anymore reading done and waiting three days for the phone to buzz with a message from Killian is driving me crazy.
“It’s unfair,” Rue says.
Keeping up with my sister is sometimes a full-time job. “What is?”
“That she’s keeping it from us to focus on the other gossip.”
“Or maybe she doesn’t know? Nothing’s been announced.” And I’m sort of hoping the delay will go on.
Rue’s right, though, it is weird. The announcement for the Luxe comes a few days after the face-to-face with the Monarch. But it’s been six days. And three of those are silence from Killian.
Then there’s Xavier. I keep hoping I’ll see him. What I haven’t done is go back to the bar, because I don’t think it’s smart.
Sure, the announcement from the Councilwoman might say I’m out of the Season, especially since she told me to get out.
If that happens, there’s going to be hell in this house. But maybe because I’m Violet’s sister she won’t take that step.
Or maybe she will.
“Give me your phone.” I read over the post and it’s like Rue says, lots of dire words that don’t say much.
Except… If there is a meeting, it’s got to do with this change the QB talks about. But there’s no real substance. If I hadn’t met Killian and Xavier, I’d think she’d heard a grumble or even made it up, just to poke at the Monarch and make her mad.
Because the rest is whipping up the fever and need for gossip.
I glance at Rue, who’s pacing and muttering to herself.
She’s got my little sister all tied in knots and panting for information and gossip, more than she usually does this early in the Season, so I put it down to building up her base.
“Rue, she doesn’t have the list yet, so she’s stringing us…you…along. Unless you’re the Queen Bee?—”
“I wish I was.” Her phone in my hand suddenly lets out a fanfare on a trumpet to some kind of dance beat, and Rue swoops in and takes her phone. “Oooh, a new Stitch. Laters!”
She races off and I sigh, picking up the book on the political history of the Council.
It’s all propaganda, and as Rue said, boring, but it’s easy to see the lobotomized future they want for the people of Sabine and beyond.
Lots of Omegas. An attempt to rid the world of Deltas and Gammas. Okay, it doesn’t say that, but the meaning is clear. Deltas are quirks and they don’t produce Omegas. Ever. And Gammas? I’m not sure if I know any, but they seem to be lumped in with Deltas.
Betas are caused by weak genes, so they want to have strong genes mating.
It sounds horrible. Nightmarish and unfair.
Another reason to hate these damn seasons.
Of course, the fact the Council allows leeway in a lot of the world outside of Sabine is meant to show they’re nice and modern now, but they aren’t. Not if you really look.
From the back garden I can hear the slam of the front door, and I know it’s Heath storming in.
Dahlia stops playing abruptly for a long time, then it starts again, something dramatic.
Ooh, boy.
He’s got a bee in his pretty little bonnet. Though because it’s my brother, who knows the cause. Could be anything. And if I take a moment to be fair, he’s got a lot on his plate in trying to fix the scandal and keep us above water.
I close my eyes.
Why he wants me mated off.
I hate that’s the only option.
I hate that this place looks at us like we’re now tainted with scandal because of my father.
“…No,” Mari says to someone that isn’t me. “I just don’t think you should let him get to you.”
“You’ve no idea what he’s like, Mar. None. To your mother, your family, he’s courteous, but he’s a cruel guy?—”
I open my eyes, and I don’t really want to. I know the voice, one of the servants that Penrith gave us, the handsome nerdy one, Reese.
He’s got to be talking about his brother: dark, brooding who I thought would be Mari’s type because it would be so her to fall for the wrong type, her antithesis.
Instead, she’s made friends with his brother, who is usually shy or soft spoken, someone who stays in the out of the way and?—
What am I thinking? A relationship with a servant isn’t a thing that would ever be allowed.
“Hi, Mari, Reece.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Gardener,” he says, bowing—actually bowing—at me, “I didn’t realize you were there.”
Mari, who’s always agreeable, shoots me a dark look. “His brother’s giving him a hard time.”
“Siblings.” I shrug, but inside things tighten, crush down. Am I causing her to not be herself?
I don’t care if she’s friends with a servant or not.
I don’t care if she’s buddies with the poor or a king.
Scratch the last one. No one would care about that.
“I’ll leave you both to it. Do you still want me to bring your easel, Miss Gardener?”
“No,” Marigold says stiffly, “I’ll talk with my sister a while.”
He turns to go and I know I’ve dropped the ball with her, that I didn’t notice, really notice, their budding friendship. Reece looks at Mari with longing because what dude wouldn’t?
She’s more buxom than me. Dahlia’s built, but she hides it. Mari…Mari’s Mari, she has a figure that she’ll show off if she feels like it, all on the side of taste of course.
But guys notice. They notice the blue eyes and full mouth, the dark-gold touched hair, the way she has a sensuality about her that’s more than sexual, but comes from the lack of filters, that comes from her utter enjoyment of everything.
Reece has it bad for her.
But that isn’t a crime.
Mari…does she…?
I can’t tell, she likes him, but I can’t tell if she likes likes him…
“Reece,” I say, “I’m cool with you two being friends, and just…just keep it on the backburner with my brother.”
His face flames.
“Mr. Gardener has my utmost respect, as does your sister. I’m a loyal servant.”
With that, he turns and starts to walk away.
“Mom keeps extra sleeping potion in the highest shelf in the pantry. A few drops will make your brother loopy. If you want revenge.”
He doesn’t turn back, but his step is much lighter as he crosses the grounds.
My sister smacks my arm. “Iris! Did you have to basically tell him you think we’re dating?”
“I did not!”
“You embarrassed him. And there’s nothing wrong with being friends.” She flops down on the blanket I’m on and kicks off her sandals. “It’s not nice. And I didn’t think it would bother you.”
“It doesn’t,” I say. “But you’re at home, on first name basis with a servant. He’s on first name, as in nickname first name basis with you. I warned him about Heath because he’s going to be careful around Mom, but I want him to keep his job, and Heath’s…”
“Freaked out over the money scandal,” she says.
I frown. “Do…do you like him, Marigold?”
“Heath? He’s my brother. Mostly.” She picks up a stick and draws patterns in the soft dirt at the edge of the blanket.
“Not Heath.” I stand up and dust my ass. “Reece, the gardener’s assistant and general dogsbody.”
Her eyes flash. “You know better than to use that term. He’s here to help.” She then pulls her knees up under chin. “He’s a nice guy, and he’s smart. Creative.”
And it all makes sense. She likes him because he’s creative. Mari never comes across as friendless and she’s not, there are tons of girls and guys who like being in her aura. When she did summer stock and school plays. When she took all the creative dance classes the others loved her.
She paints and draws with real talent, far beyond anything the rest of us were trained to do—we can all do landscapes.
But Mari captures something that the eye doesn’t see, captures something that brings mood and atmosphere and sometimes like she sees more than others.
And when I try and think of her friends, the good friends, a Quinn in her life—I can’t.
Violet’s the real dancer in the family. She could have had a career in it. But she makes people gasp and yearn for that grace and ease in which she does it, and that doesn’t make a person friends outside the world of dance.
Marigold just captures imagination and makes everyone joyously think they can do the same.
Even if you can’t dance or sing or act or paint, Mari makes you think you can.
And Reece spoke to her like an equal, like he got her. Like he didn’t have to bask or didn’t need to and maybe that’s why they’re friends.
I let out the shaky breath.
If she fell in love with him, I’d want it to be in a world where it would be fine. Our world wouldn’t allow it and that path is heartache, because while Mari’s a wild creature, she’s also someone who doesn’t care about change or politics or anything like that.
She just wants a good life.
And how he spoke…no, they’re friends.
“It’s good you’re friends,” I say. “And you’re right, I shouldn’t use the word ‘dogsbody.’ But others will. And you know Mom or Heath will get rid of them. So keep the friendship quiet. Okay?”
She flickers me a look and a jolt of cold hits me. “Fine.”
The back door bursts open and Rue runs out, bellowing, “Iris! Get in here, Heath wants to see you!”
Oh shit.
Behind her appears Dahlia, running down the steps but not coming across the garden. And I know she’s keeping an eye out for our brother.
Damn, Violet would hate missing this.
“He’s on the warpath. Something about blah, blah, Quinn, blah, you.” Rue shrugs. “I wasn’t listening.”
“I don’t want to see him.”
Mari suddenly grins. “Don’t you need to get new shoes?”
“No, I—” I stop. “Yes, yes, I do.” My heart starts to beat fast.
“Tell him you just missed us.” Mari points to the house.
Rue’s eyes get big. “You can’t go out on your own.”
“We have an escort,” I say.
“Scandal,” Rue breathes. “I love it.”
Dahlia hurries down. “You need to get in there. He’s in a mood and Mom’s trying to calm him.”
“I need to get the fuck out of here,” I correct. Then I look down at my bare feet. “But I need shoes.” I smile at my youngest sister. “How do you feel about creating a diversion?
“Born a diversion.” She strikes a pose.
I somehow stop myself rolling my eyes. Penrith’s got accounts and I heard her talking to Mom the other night on a vidcall, telling her to use them for me. It’s all the greenlight I need, plus, I’m not going to get anything expensive. Shoes are shoes when it comes to boring, Season-type shit.
“We need to get you shoes, and then we can have Rue say you’re getting fab shoes for the next ball.” Mari gets to her feet and smooths her dress, turning to me.
“If I tell him you’re being escorted, getting new shoes, what’s in it for me?” Rue asks. “After I create the diversion?”
I think about it. “Fifty bucks.”
“One hundred. That’s two jobs.”
I frown. “Rue, I don’t have a hundred.”
“You don’t have fifty.” She sniffs.
“I have that.” I was going to buy some books with it, but… “Cut me some slack here. It’s yours if you help.”
She holds up her pinkie. “Swear?”
“Pinkie swear,” I say.
Dahlia whips around and takes off again, followed by Rue.
Mari glances at me once more as we fold the blanket. “You have to get past him to get out of here.”
“I know. But Rue’s a great diversion.”
When we reach the house, we leave the blanket in the large laundry room and tiptoe through the kitchen and up to the first floor. I deliberately tune the raised voices out.
“I’ll get our escort, you get you shoes,” Mari says, disappearing down the hall and out the front door.
Shoes sit in a small room that houses coats, umbrellas and various shoes. I slip on my nearest pair, black trainers, and turn.
Smack bang into Heath.
“You’re going to tell me why Quinn’s running around with Killian Black.”