“Caroline was talking about it,” Sylvia said cautiously. “About you and . . . uh, him.”

   “And Clara was saying it too?” I exclaimed.

   Rosamunde frowned. “No . . . Clara didn’t really say anything. She just listened and nodded.”

   “And smiled,” added Sylvia. “A lot.”

   I spun around, searching for Clara, and found her watching me from across the foyer. When we made eye contact, she smirked.

   My heart stopped. The stooped man had been right. Clara was calling my bluff. Sort of. Maybe she’d stopped repeating the story herself, but it was still going to spread if she did nothing to curb it. She was tacitly confirming it with silence and smiles. It was enough to make me seriously reconsider carving up her face.

   Calm down, Mira, I told myself. She’s not a fanatic trying to kill an Alanzan. She’s not some alley thug trying to steal coins. She’s just a silly girl. Ignore her. You have bigger things to worry about in your life.

   Yes, I did. Things like making it to Adoria and helping Lonzo. Things that could be seriously affected if Clara’s lies ran rampant.

   Information is real power.

   I pondered those words as I continued upstairs. Had the shadowy man been right about that too? Was learning about Clara’s past the way to stop her and maintain my goals? Snooping and sneaking had never been my style. I wanted to face problems head-on.

   She’s got something in her past. Everyone does.

   Tamsin was finishing up in our room, bending over to buckle her shoes. I fetched my gloves and then stared at the robe I’d left draped over a chair to dry last night. I’d forgotten about the picks concealed in a pocket. I stared at the robe for several moments, and then, with Tamsin’s back to me, I snatched the kit and put it into my skirt’s pocket. It was time to see just how powerful information was.

   Tamsin smoothed out her dress and then gave an unexpected laugh when she glanced over at me. “Well, well, you sure are serious this morning. You look like you’re on a mission.”

   I managed a strained smile as I walked out the door with her. “I just might be.”

CHAPTER 3

   THE RUMORS LINGERED IN THE HOUSE FOR A WHILE, but without Clara fueling them, they eventually fizzled away. She still never outright denied them, and I know a few girls continued to believe the worst of me. Others, familiar with Clara’s style, figured out that it was all another ploy of hers and let the matter go. The stories never reached Jasper—or my roommates. Tamsin and Adelaide would’ve confronted Clara, and I didn’t want them involved.

   But Clara wasn’t done with me. Instead of slander, she unleashed a renewed flood of actions to make my life miserable. Stealing my assignments. Tripping me in dance class. Always making little gibes here and there. They were annoying, but I could tolerate them.

   And I wasn’t done with her either. I began experimenting with the lock picks in secret around the house. Sometimes I did it just to learn the tools and see what I could do. Other times, I actively searched for blackmail material. My boldest act involved breaking into Clara’s room and going through her possessions. I didn’t uncover any secrets, but I did manage to open a jewelry box with a complicated lock. I felt like I’d passed an exam.

   “We have a few changes to our schedule today,” Mistress Masterson told us one morning over breakfast. We all stopped eating and stared up at the imposing figure she always made, sharp featured with her gray hair pulled severely back. “Your regular classes are canceled. You’ll each have a private meeting with Professor Brewer to determine the most essential language skills you need to improve on and will just focus on them during your language lessons now, in order to speed up their progress. Ah, well, everyone except Adelaide, of course. You won’t be meeting with him and can spend the morning studying.”

   Adelaide brightened, probably because she had no intention of actually studying. Professor Brewer tutored us in speech. I might be the only one here born outside of Osfrid, but many girls had come with local dialects far worse than anything of mine. If the Thorns wanted to prove to our suitors that we could hold our own with the upper class, then we needed to sound like the upper class. After first meeting Professor Brewer, Adelaide had been excused from further lessons. Her refined Osfridian was the only thing she’d perfectly picked up from her time as a fine lady’s maid.

   “After the assessments,” continued Mistress Masterson, “we’ll have a special guest over lunch.”

   We left breakfast in a buzz. Mistress Masterson maintained a strict regimen in our manor. Deviations rarely occurred. Most girls were excited to have a break from classes, but Tamsin was suspicious.

   “Something’s going on,” she told Adelaide and me. “This isn’t normal. This is a break from the Glittering Court’s routine.”

   “We have assessments all the time,” I reminded her.

   Tamsin shook her head. “We already have private sessions with Professor Brewer. What’s so special about this one that they’d cancel classes for it? And why suddenly try to speed up linguistics? We have five months left. Plenty of time to fix our core language issues and then work on embellishments that’ll really impress those Adorian gentlemen. I’m telling you, something weird is happening.”

   “You aren’t actually worried about how you’ll do, are you?” asked Adelaide. She put on her mischievous grin. She had a thousand different smiles. “Both of you sound incredible. Just try not to use ‘bloody’ so much, Tamsin.”

   Tamsin didn’t smile back. She remained thoughtful all morning, barely saying a word to me as we sat outside the office where Professor Brewer conducted the meetings. But even while introspective, Tamsin never missed anything around her—like when Clara attempted a shot at me.

   “You must be nervous, Mira. Anyone who looks at you might think you’re Osfridian. But once you open your mouth? There’s no question where you’re from. I wonder if the Thorns have ever had a girl without any offers.”