That pulled me in. “Art? What kind of art?”

“Any kind. There are no galleries over there, no great masters. And few people here go to the trouble of shipping their rare paintings or sculptures over the ocean to sell there. Too complicated. Too risky. But—if they did, there’s a huge profit to be made. Damn it—I can hear your teeth. We need to go.”

He started to lead me in the direction I’d come, but I pushed obstinately back, keeping us where we stood. “Then . . . if you could sell a painting, that’d go a long way in helping earn your fee.”

He shook his head. “If I could sell the right kind of painting to the right buyer, I could more than cover my stake in Westhaven.”

“Then you need to get a painting.”

“Valuable ones aren’t exactly lying around. I mean, they are in my uncle’s manors, but I won’t steal from my own family.”

“You don’t have to steal one if you can make your own,” I said excitedly.

“I can’t make any—”

“Not you. Me. Don’t you remember that day in Osfro? The poppy painting?”

He fell silent. His eyes were dark in the dim lighting, surveying me thoughtfully. “I thought that was some kind of game.”

“It wasn’t. Well, I mean it was . . . it’s hard to explain. But I can do it. I can replicate all sort of famous paintings. Or if you don’t want an exact duplicate, I can imitate an artist’s style and claim we found some lost work. That Florencio hanging by the drawing room? I could do that easily, given enough time.”

“You want to sell a counterfeit painting in Adoria?” he asked in disbelief.

“Do you think they’d honestly know the difference?” I challenged.

“If we were caught—”

“Add it to the list of the other things we could get in trouble for.”

“It’s becoming kind of a long list.” But that initial worry was giving way to a warmth and enthusiasm I knew. The Cedric I knew—the schemer and salesman. He looked down at me for long moments as the wind whistled around us. “Do you know what you’re getting into by doing this?”

“No more than what you did when you protected me that night at the Osfro city gates. I told you I’d owe you a favor.”

I could feel the decision settle around him. “Okay then. We’ll do this. But first—we need to get inside.”

We left the meager safety of the lean-to, both of us shivering. He doused the lanterns while I picked up my holly. Watching him, I felt that previous unease begin to stir within me as all the warnings from dour priests played through my mind. Then Cedric returned to me, his face alight and eager with a plan before us, and those warnings faded to background noise. He draped the greatcoat around me as best he could as we walked back toward the manor, huddled together.

“How in the world,” he remarked, already planning ahead, “are we going to even find a way for you to secretly paint this masterpiece?”

“You’ll have to figure out those logistics,” I said. “And I’ll concentrate on finding a husband so you can get that mediocre commission.”

“Right. Wouldn’t want to distract you from that. I’ll figure something out.”

The lights of the manor glowed before us in the night, and despite my earlier confidence, I couldn’t help a bit of uncertainty. Not about the painting. I was still confident I could do that. But the logistics would be difficult. Getting the materials, let alone a place for me to do it, wouldn’t be easy. Between that and the potential problems of even selling it in Adoria, Cedric’s chances of getting the money he needed were not certain by any means.

Just before we reached the back door, he stopped and met my eyes. “I meant what I said about the stories you’ve heard not being true. Alanzans are ordinary people. Normal people with vocations and morals. We just have a different view on how the world works.”

“Cedric, I don’t think less of you. I’ve always felt . . .” I couldn’t finish and had a feeling I should have never begun. I turned away, but he caught my arm and pulled me toward him.

“Adelaide . . .” Words escaped him as well, and he released his hold on me. “Okay. Let’s go.”

We made it inside, earning surprised looks from Mistress Masterson, our other instructors, and the rest of the girls who’d been assembling for dinner. I knew my face was flushed and my hair windswept, but Cedric was quick to cover for me, like always. “Adelaide couldn’t rest unless she got her holly, so I offered to go out with her.” His smile was as easy as ever, in no way indicating he practiced a controversial religion that could get him executed.

Mistress Masterson tsked at me. “I admire your dedication, dear, but these aren’t fit conditions to be out in. Thank you for looking after her, Master Cedric.”

But who was going to look after him? The question plagued me throughout the rest of the evening. I went through the motions of dinner, games, and conversation, but always, my eyes strayed to Cedric. He too was being sociable, but I could see he didn’t go out of his way to engage others. Now that I understood what was happening, I could easily spot the worry weighing on him. Again, I wondered if my forged painting—if we could pull it off—would even be enough to save him.

“Where’s your head tonight?” Tamsin strolled over to me from across the drawing room. She wore a blue dress that looked striking with her reddish hair, though she was still quick to tell us green was her best color.

“I’m worried about my exams,” I lied.

“Are you?” she asked in surprise. “You always seem to go through classes and studying as though it didn’t make any difference to you.”

“I guess the reality of it is catching up with me now.”

She studied my face closely. “I suppose so. Well, go sneak an extra glass of wine when Mistress Masterson’s not looking. Or, if you’re really worried, retake them after you get your score.”

“Retake them?” I’d suggested it to Mira but had never even considered it for myself.

“Sure,” Tamsin said. “I’m going to. I mean, I think I did pretty good, but why not make sure? I can’t leave anything up to chance.”

Her words hit me like a slap in the face. I stared at her for several long moments and then turned my gaze back to the crowded drawing room. Cedric stood near the fire, talking to a wildly gesticulating Mister Bricker, whom I suspected had had multiple glasses of wine. As though sensing me, Cedric glanced up and gave me a small smile before returning to the conversation.

“Adelaide? Are you okay?” Tamsin asked.

I glanced back at her. “Yeah . . . yeah. It’s just, something hit me I hadn’t thought of before.”

“What?” she asked.

“It’s not important.” I mustered a cheerful expression. “Tell me how you think everyone here will rank.”

It was a topic she was more than happy to expound on, seeing as she’d spent a lot of time analyzing our housemates. As she launched into an explanation, I nodded and smiled appropriately, all the while making plans for what I had to do next.

Cedric needed money to get to Westhaven and stay alive. Could my forged painting do it? Yes—if everything fell into place. And if everything didn’t fall into place? Then he needed a backup plan. I’d pondered this all evening, feeling useless. I had no power to give him money. But I realized now that I did have that power. Could I guarantee he’d be able to pay the entire fee for his stake in Westhaven? No, but I could guarantee he’d have a good start.