Away.
The motion was small, but Quill saw it.
His eyes sharpened.
“Interesting.”
“Don’t.”
“Your Mark is learning something.”
“My Mark is learning what you are.”
He didn’t like that. I knew because he let the silence last one breath too long.
Quill returned to his chair.
“The formal will proceed as scheduled. The dress will be returned to your room by supper,” he said. “The fitting record will state that the sleeves were adjusted in response to a student’s concern. Verraine will be reminded of the boundary between assistance and interference. LeJoi will be returned to her proper duties as a scholarship student with a job in the east kitchen who is lucky to be here at all.”
“And me?”
“You will attend your scheduled hours. You will eat where youare expected to eat. You will not create another public scene before the formal.”
“Or?”
“Or the Council will have less difficulty arguing that public preparation is no longer appropriate.”
Wear the dress and play our game publicly, or be handled somewhere no one had to watch.
“So that is the threat.”
He didn’t look up.
“You may go.”
I turned to leave.
“Astra.”
I stopped with my hand on the door.
“At the formal, everyone will be watching.”
“That’s the idea, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said. “Be careful what you give them to remember you by.”
I opened the door before my hand could start shaking.
Caswell was still in the corridor.
So was Caspian Ashford.
He stood beside the south window, and he whipped his face around when the door opened.
A strand of his blond hair had fallen loose at his temple. His collar sat slightly wrong, and one button of his coat had been done through the wrong hole.
The failure of his composure was the first thing I noticed.
