To Best the Boys

by Mary Weber

  25

  The exam takes place in the privacy of a back room at the local constable’s home located in the Upper district—while all the boys from the Upper district take it at the university itself.

  Seleni has scoffed about it half the walk there. “Let me get this straight. So you can take the university exam. You just can’t take it at the university like an actual applicant.”

  “In all likelihood, they’re probably just trying to keep the Uppers from filing lawsuits,” Da says.

  Seleni shakes her head. “Either way it’s wrong. Beryll said some of the men requested Rhen be tested separately, out of sensitivity to the boys taking the exam. They feared she’d be a distraction.” She snorts. “Apparently your feminine wiles are capable of making them idiots, Rhen.”

  “They don’t need my bloody help,” I say to keep my nerves from showing. I squeeze both their hands before I take a deep breath, walk onto the porch, and with my head held high stride through the front door.

  The constable offers me his arm and wishes me a soft, “Good luck, Miss Tellur,” before he ushers me into a room where three university professors and two board members all take their seats at a makeshift setup of a table and seven chairs. The door closes behind me, and without any introduction one of the professors slides over a stack of papers and an ink quill. “Miss Tellur, let’s begin.”

  And so we do.

  Only it doesn’t feel like a beginning. Rather, it feels like a continuation of something I’ve been waiting for my whole life and just didn’t know it. Like a part of me that’s been buried beneath the ground is suddenly peeking its head up to bloom.

  Which is exactly what it feels like—blooming.

  I take a sip of water and answer another question.

  Then another. And another—until the combined oral and written exams have gone on for almost six hours, aside from three ten-minute breaks, and a bite of bread and cheese Aunt Sara and Seleni packed. A quarter of the test questions I know without batting a lash, but the rest I struggle through. At one point toward the end of the afternoon, the words and numbers begin shifting order, and my taxed brain breaks into a panic.

  Slow down, Rhen. Take a breath.

  I shut my eyes and run through the rhythmic species cycles until I can focus again. And then in a matter of minutes we are done, and I’m shaking their hands as a board member informs me, “On behalf of this group that is sanctioned to oversee your testing, we congratulate you on being allowed to do so. You’ll know the results along with our decision in a couple of weeks.”

  The door opens and the constable appears. I follow him out into the parlor, which is wafting with cologne, and when I look up, Vincent and his father are standing there, as is my uncle.

  Mr. King is speaking with Uncle Nicholae. “Just came to see how Miss Tellur is doing. Vincent took his exams a few days ago thanks to a private contact, and since he’s made a decision to pursue Miss Tellur’s hand in courtship, he felt it imperative to lend his support today.”

  I bite down the bile in my throat.

  “Your son tried to kill me and was behind a boy’s murder,” I want to say aloud. And I would, too, if it’d do a lick of good. Germaine and Rubin already named him as having paid them to help him win, but since nothing could be directly tied to Vincent, they’re currently on house arrest while he walks free.

  I sniff. He’ll make an excellent politician.

  And yet . . . even politicians’ sins will eventually find them out. Once they realize those sins become a cage.

  I stare at him and stroll over. His blond hair’s mussed. He looks desperate. Uncomfortable. “What do you really want, Vincent?” I hiss.

  His mouth flattens in a tight smile. “To let bygones be bygones.”

  I raise a brow.

  He glances at his father, then lowers his voice. “I’m willing to overlook your little fling with Mr. Wilkes if you’re willing to overlook my misdeeds. We can go back to normal and my father won’t need to know.”

  I blink. Is he jesting?

  “I can appreciate your mind better than most,” he continues. “We used to be friends once, Rhen, and I daresay I never once judged you or the risks you took. Even being in the maze. What I’m saying is, you’ve made your point. You can let it go now. I’ll appreciate what your mind can lend me. You’ll appreciate my money. Clear as that.”

  I actually laugh. And it’s louder and fuller than I intend, which brings a bright red flush to his handsome face.

  How very progressive of him.

  “Mr. King, I think I’d prefer to put my mind toward my own future rather than be your—how did you describe us in the Labyrinth—rats in a cage?”

  A burst of fear erupts across his perfectly chiseled features. It’s pure. Unadulterated. The same fear I saw on him in the hedge maze when facing his visions of the diseased people rising from their graves to come after him.

  I slow and tilt my head and study his reaction. Until this moment it hadn’t occurred to me how something so ridiculous could be his deepest fear. Or why. I feel the scratching in my mind pick up, as if edging me closer to some discovery.

  My skin ripples with the memory I’d had in the Labyrinth. Of Vincent suggesting he borrow my lung-fluid vaccine to test on his cow-disease cells.

  Of Vincent working beside me the day one of the rats showed the first symptoms of the crippling disease. Of Vincent tipping over a drink he wasn’t supposed to have in our lab—and knocking over two of the cages, causing that rat to escape. And of his disappearance the next three days and his change of personality and career choice two months later.

  I lift my gaze to him.

  And I know.

  I know what he’s done.

  I open my mouth. Shut it. Just as Vincent’s father says, “Nicholae, I commend you for encouraging the ideals young minds seem to push for. They rarely come to fruition, but I believe allowing them to realize that on their own is important. Good for you for letting Miss Tellur’s passions run their course until she comes ’round.”

  I bestow Vincent with a smile that quickly twists to outrage. It wasn’t Da or me who created the disease accidentally.

  It was him.

  And if I could, I’d kill him for it.

  Instead, I clench my fists and quietly say, “Just like your son’s passions ran their course, Mr. King?”

  Vincent’s eyes flare as his father turns my way. “Pardon, Miss Tellur?”

  I lick my lips. “Is that why you suddenly switched career goals, Vince? Because of what you created with your passion in the lab? Being responsible for the crippling disease is quite a feat.”

  “Miss Tellur, I don’t see how my son’s—”

  As someone who has spent a solid bit of the past few months running, the one thing I never expected to see was Vincent King run. Especially from a girl.

  But in the span of the ten-second space between when I finish talking and Uncle Nicholae says, “Is this true, Mr. King?” Vincent has flushed the color of a burnt sunset and launched for the door.

  The constable is there to stop him. “Hold on just a minute, friend.”

  Vincent looks around at us, wild-eyed, like a trapped animal, and I know it shouldn’t give me the smallest bit of pleasure, but it does. The disease he accidentally developed is killing my mum, and I can prove it. I’d bet my scholarship on it.

  “Miss Tellur . . . Rhen,” Vincent says. “You have to understand. I was just messing around with some tests. I thought if we could see what they did on the rats . . . I didn’t mean for one to get loose.”

  “Rhen, go get ready for your and Seleni’s celebration party,” Uncle Nicholae says. “I think the Kings and I need to have a chat.”

  I nod. And without giving Vincent another ounce of acknowledgment, I turn my back on him and walk out the door.

  26

  To Rhen for winning!” Uncle Nicholae says. “And to Seleni!”

  “To Rhen and Seleni!” the guests respond.

  Their
cheers are accompanied by the clinking of glasses and the trill of a musical serenade, followed by corks popping from a tower of golden bottles as the servers push expensive drinks on every adult in the place.

  “To keep everyone docile.” Seleni giggles. “At least according to Mum. But I think it’s more to keep her and Father calm, because the way they’ve been acting, you’d think King Francis himself was set to make an appearance.” Her voice drops conspiratorially as she plays with the sleeve of her frilly blue dress. “I even heard her say she might have to dip into Father’s snuff later just to survive this—and Father didn’t argue. He just looked nervous and put extra hired guards on all the upstairs doors and around the house perimeter in case a ‘riot breaks out.’ ”

  I laugh and take in the loud room and outer gardens, all of which are frothing to overflowing with politicians and children and Uppers and Lowers—all of whom seem less interested in rioting than in partying, ever since the Lowers put the Uppers on notice at the equinox festival. The hint at reevaluating the way the fishing restrictions are handled came swiftly after, and since then the interest has mainly been taken up by Seleni and me—the “girls who behaved like boys,” an elderly woman says behind us in a whisper.

  I glance back at the woman and offer up a wink. “We even kissed boys in the Labyrinth,” I say. To which she turns two shades of red and utters something about wondering what young ladies are coming to these days.

  Except according to the number of women in the room shyly eyeing Seleni and me, I’m not sure what we’re all “coming to” is a bad thing.

  “Rhen Tellur, you are terrible.” Seleni chuckles, but she dips and plays to the attention all the more. Then emits a sharp gasp. “Beryll’s just arrived with his parents. Oh, Rhen.” She swerves to me. “How do I look? What do I do? I have to go meet them. Here—wait two minutes, then come over and talk with us. And make me sound good.” She plants a quick peck on my cheek, smooths her dress, and trots off to where Beryll is standing in a leg cast and leaning against a cane beside a fashionably dressed couple and an old woman wearing a hat.

  I look past them to the open door to see who else came in—and hide my disappointment. It’s only them. Da and Mum still haven’t arrived. Neither has Lute.

  I bite my lip. Perhaps they’re having a hard time.

  Or perhaps . . .

  Perhaps Lute’s emotions have calmed and the reality of things has set in.

  I lift my chin and turn to go find Sam and Will—only to be met by a woman accompanying two young girls strolling up in ill-fitting, worn cotton dresses and braids tied up above flushed pink faces.

  “Excuse me,” the older one says. “Will you write something on our kerchiefs?” They both hold out their soiled hand linens and look up with expectant gazes and hands that are shaking a little.

  I offer them an embarrassed smile, then take my own kerchief from my sleeve. “Only if you’ll sign mine.” And then they are grinning as awkwardly as I am, and somehow it doesn’t feel so strange.

  As soon as I’ve finished, Seleni is calling my name, and when I turn she’s beckoning me. She and Beryll are standing with his parents, looking my way. I put my kerchief away and stride over as someone whispers, “Gordon’s son must be getting serious about Miss Lake if both parents are here.”

  When I reach them, Beryll’s parents greet me with muted smiles and reserved nods, and I don’t know what I expected, but it’s not this. Whereas Beryll is brown haired, his father is a ginger with freckles and a good-humored smile, and his mother is petite. And where I’d believed they’d appear sour in spirit toward Seleni, they both seem to be quite pleasant with her. They smell of cinnamon.

  “We were just speaking of Vincent,” Seleni says. “Father said he’s being held at the constable’s until he can be transported to the courts.”

  “We’re sorry to hear about it.” Beryll’s father looks kindly at me. “What a tragedy for you all.”

  I nod and reach a hand out to him and his wife. “Thanks. I’m Rhen, by the way. Seleni’s cousin.”

  Beryll blushes. “Pardon. Father and Mum, this is Miss Tellur. Miss Tellur, these are my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jaymes, and one of their acquaintances—Ms. Danford.”

  Ms. Danford has turned away to speak with someone, but Beryll’s mum smiles at me, then looks around. “Are your parents here, Miss Tellur?”

  I return her smile with my own and refuse to let my fears flicker bigger than they already are. “They’re hoping to come.”

  “Oh, they’ll be here.” Seleni slips her hand into mine and squeezes. “And they’ll be glad to know Beryll was just saying he’s made a decision.” She peers proudly at him. “He’s decided to pursue a career in parliament.” Beryll’s father clears his throat. “My son seems to have taken a concern with social issues as of late.”

  He eyes Seleni who promptly blushes. “I believe it has something to do with the friends he’s made, no?” He sets a hand on his son’s shoulder and pats it. “Now, I think my wife and I are due to meet your parents, Miss Lake. Miss Tellur. If you’ll both excuse us.”

  I watch them depart when Ms. Danford finishes her conversation and turns our way. She’s wearing a bright-green hat over a rather wrinkled face that looks curiously full of mirth. But it’s her eyes that catch me. They’re lavender.

  She lifts her hand to mine. “Miss Tellur, did I hear? How very nice to meet you.” Her fingers enfold mine and the oddest sensation nudges me. There’s something familiar about her. “I hope you enjoyed your time in the Labyrinth. You certainly proved yourself in there, didn’t you?”

  I freeze. And blink. Then go to respond, except I’m not sure what to say because all I can think is it couldn’t be. I shake my head and move in to peer closer at her, but she abruptly turns and says in a tinkling voice, “Now if you’ll pardon me, I believe there’s a Labyrinth cake with my name on it somewhere.” And she strolls off toward the side hallway.

  “There you three are.” I jump as Sam’s voice rings out. “We’ve been scouring everywhere for you.” He hobbles up to us on crutches with Will by his side—his hair as peacock-ish as ever.

  Will grins. “Had to down four desserts on our own since we didn’t have anyone to share ’em with. Then we had to start in on this sweet pigeon pie.”

  “You didn’t spike the juice, did you?” I eye them and their full plates, keeping Ms. Danford in my sights as she steps into the hall, which is the exact opposite direction of the food.

  “Maybe.” Will bows slightly and winks at Seleni. “You’re welcome for any entertainment that ensues. Just don’t tell your mum.”

  Beryll chuckles, before his expression turns serious. “By the way, I approached my father about revisiting the fishing initiative at the House of Lords. He’s going to request a fuller impact study be done, to see if anything was overlooked.”

  “Tell them what else,” Seleni quietly squeals and grabs his arm.

  She’s bouncing on her heels as he blushes. “I have officially informed them I will be courting Miss Lake.”

  My grin is huge and accompanied by a hug that promises to scream with her later when it won’t embarrass Beryll even more. So that’s why she’s been glowing like a firebug since he walked in.

  “Good goin’, chap.” Will slaps him on the back. Then wrinkles his brow. “So the old man’s not against it, eh?”

  Seleni slides her arm through Beryll’s. “He’d apparently been too shy to stand firm on it.”

  “Well, in my defense—”

  They keep talking but I’m staring at the corner that Ms. Danford disappeared around. I excuse myself and follow her.

  She’s slipped down the hall toward the partially open parlor door. She stands there a full minute with her back to me as several male voices trickle out from within the room, and I can’t tell if she’s listening or trying to decide to enter. If Ms. Danford is aware I’m there, she doesn’t give any indication.

  A second later she stiffens. “Miss Tellur, you’re not w
ith the other guests.”

  I stare.

  My mouth goes dry as she turns and peers at me with those lavender eyes above wrinkled cheeks and a pretty blue suit with larger-than-normal buttons. And a voice that sounds very much like the chiming of a clock.

  “Did you need something, dear? Or are you just here to spy?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t understand. You’re . . .”

  Her grin grows wider and she takes a step closer to study me from head to foot before her gaze flashes back to mine. “I’d expect you of all people who’ve entered my contest to know things aren’t always as they appear, Rhen Tellur from the Port.” She scrunches her lips and leans back to continue assessing me, then discreetly pulls an empty wooden pipe from her pocket. She lifts it and glances at it, then in one swift movement waves it across the front of herself.

  As she does so, her appearance changes into that of the elderly, silver-tuft-haired Mr. Kellen, with a purple waistcoat and an empty wooden pipe.

  Before I’ve had time to blink, she waves the pipe again, like a magician’s wand, and shifts back into the female version of whatever she is.

  I shut my eyes. Open them. She’s still there. I squint. “Who are you?”

  She chuckles, and it’s the same pleasant sound I heard the other night in the hall outside my uncle’s study. “A woman must find her own way, yes? As the only living heir in a long line of Holm men, I couldn’t just let the name die with my father. So—” She shrugs. “While I wasn’t afforded the education one traditionally needs for running business affairs, he ensured I was trained in . . .” She gives a slight smile and taps her pipe against her hand. “Other things. And now?” Her mouth eases into a sad smile. “If I couldn’t attend a school, at least I can influence those who do.”

  The next moment she gives a delighted clap and bestows me with a smile. “Good evening, Rhen. And congratulations again on your win. I expect you’ll do good things for the world of men.” She starts back to the parlor.