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“I dinnae ken. They’ve been plannin’ it for a while noo.” Finlay’s mouth tightens, as though that’s all he’s going to say on the matter. “But wi’ El Cunto doon there…”
We watch Rory’s dad as he turns on his heel and enters the dining hall, his long thick winter coat brushing against his leather boots.
Rory’s blackmail is at the forefront of my mind. Maybe Finlay’s part of it, trying to stop me from getting on stage so that his friend wins by default.
But these days, I’m not sure FinlayisRory’s friend. Rory’s friend would be someone like Luke, someone who’s constantly by his side.
Ever since I mentioned Rory having the most authority, it seems like Finlay has moved further and further away from him… and closer to me.
“Are you saying I shouldn’t perform?”
Finlay sighs, his shoulders sagging. “I’m no’ sayin’ anything. Ye didnae hear this from me.” His gaze hasn’t left the entrance door, and with every passing second he looks more and more miserable.
“I’m sorry your mom isn’t here,” I say quietly, but this only makes Finlay scowl harder.
“Whit would you know about it? Ye cannae even say the wordmum,” he snaps, and then runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the dark wave that keeps shielding his eyes. “Fuck it.”
Finlay ignores me from then on, though I ask him as many questions as I can get away with — what are Luke and Rory planning, why do you hate his dad, why are you warning me that something’s going to happen, why do you look so good with the cold winter light shining on the back of your head…
Okay, the last one I keep to myself.
“Lizzy Meldrew,” a young woman chirps, shaking Baxter’s hand eagerly. “Reporter forTattle. Would it be possible to interview some of your performers beforehand? Maybe even your new girls? Our readers would love to catch up with our regulars—”
As she drones on, I grimace, wondering if Rory’s going to be on the front page of that stupid magazine again.
Most eligible bachelor.
Dream on.
The whole thing seems to blur right over Finlay’s head. Like a puppy that’s been abandoned, all Finlay does is watch the door. And then he leaves without saying a word, as though deciding this is too much even for him.
Fine. I tried to get information from him, but if he’s just going to mope about his mother not arriving, then I have more important things to do.
I have to get ready.
* * *
An hour before the performance, I descend the Lochkelvin stairs in a dark robe that shields my dance costume from any wandering eyes. It’s weirdly thrilling, walking around the packed school in nothing but a silken robe when everyone else is in thick winter coats and boots. Adrenaline for tonight is fluttering through me, keeping me warmer than wool ever could.
The silk flows across my body, over the curves of my hips. I’ve never worn a silk robe before, but it was yet another of Freya’s expensive cast-offs. I genuinely think it might be actual luxury silk — I’ve never felt anything so soft or sosensualin all my life. I swallow. I feel flushed and warm in a way that defies the elements, every whisper of silk against my skin heating me in places I never knew.
I’m carrying the headdress tightly underneath my arm, half-expecting some little gremlin to yank it from me and smash it apart. But the other half of me feels like no one can harm me, that I’m untouchable, just for dressing in something so different.
It’s funny. I’ve never felt invincible before.
People are still pouring through the entrance doors, so many that Dr. Moncrieff has joined in greeting them to assist Baxter. He cheerfully welcomes everyone, shaking their hands and engaging in polite small talk.
I peek into the dining hall and see that the long tables and benches have been replaced by what looks like thousands of individual chairs. At least half of the seats have already been filled, with people taking photos of the architecture in the hall.
Even in the bustle of the entrance hall, Baxter manages to march across to me. “What are youwearing?” she hisses, grabbing my arm and dragging me into the silence of her office. She stares at me, at the black silk robe that’s covering my half-naked body. “I swear to you, Miss Weir, you are on your last warning. If you doanythinguntoward tonight, then that’ll be it. That’ll be the end of your time in Lochkelvin. It was a mistake to even allow you to perform.”
“So why did you?”
“Because we need all the diversity we can get,” she snaps. Strands of hair fall from her tight bun, and she looks more harassed than I’ve seen her all year. I watch as she storms over to the door. “Now get out there and do the girls proud.”
I blink at her. “Wha—?”
“You heard me.” And before I can say another word, she swans across to the entrance hall once more, a polite smile fixed on her face.
