The dazzling romantic fantasy world of House of Marionne continues in this dark and deadly sequel full of forbidden magic, devastating lies, and broken hearts. A must read for fans of Stephanie Garber, Leigh Bardugo, and Alex Aster.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from J. Elle’s Shadows of Perl, which is out September 3rd 2024.
Unleash the darkness. Claim your power.
Quell Marionne’s explosive final Rite of Induction to House Marionne sent shockwaves through the magical world, unearthing long buried secrets and her own deadly power. But she paid a steep price: her family and her love. Fleeing Chateau Soleil for House of Perl, for once Quell is celebrated instead of shunned. She has finally found somewhere to belong. But secrets lurk in every House, and Quell’s quest to find her mom threatens to lead her deeper into the shadows.
Assassin Jordan Wexton, second-in command of the Dragun brotherhood, must protect the source of all magic, the Sphere. Yet the biggest threat to the Sphere is Quell Marionne—the girl he loved, until she claimed the deadly, outlawed toushana. As the Sphere cracks and war brews among the Houses, can the only way to save the world be to kill his own heart?
Now, these two lovers-turned enemies must confront their competing ambitions and conflicting loyalties. Or die. The future of magic hangs on their decision.
THE UNMARKED GIRL
The only thing colder than the crisp fall air thumped an easy cadence against the girl’s ribs. She closed her eyes a moment before she strode across the snowy mountainside. A warm curl of memories tried to unfurl in her chest, but they froze against her cold, dead heart. Once, it had fluttered, raging with an appetite for things she had never thought possible for someone with her position and in her condition.
But the boy she’d loved was gone.
And whatever they’d had had faded like the names etched into the headstones littered around her. She had to forget him. Her fist tightened on the black rose bouquet as she ventured deeper into Ambrose territory. Where other Houses were like crown jewels on lush, manicured lawns, Dlaminaugh Estate was a fortress built into a steep mountainside and shrouded in acres upon acres of graveyards.
Something shifted. She stopped, bumps skittering up her arms. The fog around her moved like a flag billowing in the wind. She inhaled for a rancid scent, but the altitude robbed her of the confirmation she was after. They were here, too. She could feel their presence like needles on her skin. The dead of House Ambrose lingered on the estate grounds to protect it from intruders. And that evening they were rightly suspicious of her.
With her free hand, she slipped an ornate vial from her pocket and held it tight in her fist, urging herself to move, to keep her blood warm and her courage hot, but fear locked her knees. The old crone who sold her the vial said that Sun Dust in the eyes obscures the vision permanently. She seemed certain. She also seemed desperate for money.
The girl pushed forward with an urgent stride. Her hands were stiff and icy despite her gloves. She sighed. Perhaps she should have taken the horse the groundskeeper had offered her. But she wasn’t going to sign in or do anything asinine like give him her name. Besides, she was there for only one reason—to force her mother to heal her affliction.
Her head swiveled, but there was no sign of the severe woman who’d birthed her, not just yet. Her thighs burned as she shoved one boot forward, then the next. The cold had seeped through her leather shoes hours ago. The climb was steep, and this late in the year it snowed at least once a week, so nothing had time to melt. The higher she climbed, the more violently her coattails flailed in the clutches of the wind. As if the Ambrose ancestors had every intention to pull her off that mountainside.
She cleared her throat and yelled at them, “Get back to the estate!” The hovering shadows didn’t move. “I can see you.” The ancestors tended to hide from human eyes.
But the pull at her clothes only grew more insistent. The girl kept going, remembering her mother’s disdain. She had leverage now. Headmistress Isla Ambrose would do what she wanted for a change, or else. Shadows whipped around her as if they could hear the secret whispers of her heart. She leaned into the wind, grabbing at any strong roots she could find to pull herself along. When she reached a plateau, she surveyed the new stretch of graves. “Thirtieth row, second from right when facing west,” she said to herself. The gravestones were so odd. The land was up and down, with stretches of flat areas dotted sporadically with cement plaques, like a puzzle someone started but never finished. Some plaques were stuck to the side of the hill like bricks hastily laid, scattered and crooked. One was completely upside down. She dusted away a chunk of snow.
She wasn’t even close. She tightened her woolen coat and kept going. When she finally rounded on the Ws, her foot clipped the edge of a tombstone and her gaze snapped to its epitaph.
here lies red willow
of no name, of no one’s blood
she died free, she died loved
She set the black roses beside the tombstone and lingered. Her heart began to sink as she traced its carved letters, going back and forth over the same few. Depthless slivers of shade lingered between the branches of the trees—the ancestors, still watching her. But when the sound of hooves pounding earth broke through the forest, the dead vanished. She blew out a sharp breath and removed her hood, revealing her simple raised headband of brushed silver. She scanned for the ancestors once more before pressing the headband into her scalp until it hurt to ensure it didn’t move; to make sure it looked like an actual diadem. To ensure she looked like a Marked person—someone born with magic.
In the distance she made out a white-socked shire with a gleaming black coat, not unlike Daring: her seventh birthday present, the one thing her mother ever did right. Her mother never ventured into the woods. She loathed graveyards, which was odd considering her obsessive fascination with the dead.
The girl’s mouth bowed in anticipation as she squinted. She recognized her horse’s leaning gait, his agile canter as he navigated the uneven ground with ease. Riding him here today was a bit desperate, but definitely clever. This was really happening. Her mother was really here. The girl’s hand holding the vial trembled as she replayed her plan in her head. Daring came to a stop with a huff, and she clenched her fists. Mother was fully hooded in House robes, but a tripointed sun threaded into her outer coat could still be seen from far away. One tip for each of the gods. They were the only House who knew Sola Sfenti was the Sovereign, but not the only deity. Their ancestors had worshiped the Sovereign, the Wielder, and the Sage for as long as her bloodline existed, before her House ever existed, in their darkest days. But she couldn’t care less about any of the gods. What had they done for her?
Draped across Daring’s back was another cloak, this one in royal blue.
The girl’s lip twitched. Her mother swung around and hopped off, and the thud of her boots hitting the ground ricocheted like a bullet in the girl’s chest. But something was all together odd. Her mother moved stiffly and was too tall . . .
Wait—
Her heart leapt as her brother’s long brown hair spilled out of his hood across his shoulders. His amber robe shone like copper against the depthless forest as his brushed silver mask seeped back into his skin. Her fists tightened. Her shoulders tried to sink, but her brother’s arms opened wide, and she was twelve again, hopping onto his back to be snuck out of their estate.
“Ellery!” She dashed to him and he caught her in a hug. It had been so many months since he’d helped her run away from Dlaminaugh to the farm he’d discreetly bought for her. She hadn’t seen him since she narrowly escaped being killed by Draguns. Ellery squeezed her tight, and his warmth stilled her like an anchor.
“Little sister.” He planted a kiss on her head. His strong Ambrose jaw; his turned-up nose, which they both had in common; and those deep-set, gentle eyes, a mirror to her own. His, blue. Hers, stormy gray—the same as all the women in her family. She ran her thumb across a jagged scar etched across his jaw just below his earlobe. Scars were the one thing even House of Ambrose Anatomers couldn’t change. She studied his every feature. It was really him.
“It’s me, in the flesh.”
She held her brother tighter. If the boy she’d loved for the last several months had taught her anything, it was that family had less to do with blood and more to do with loyalty. Now that he was gone, Ell was the only family she had left. She felt tears well in her eyes but blinked them away and rotated the vial in her hand. “You’re alone?”
“Not alone.” He patted her horse on his thick neck. “He missed you.” She tickled Daring’s velvety nose and he nuzzled her hand. “Where is Mother?”
The mirth drained from Ellery’s expression like the horizon drinking in a sunset. He grabbed her wrist. “Open up.”
She tugged away, but her brother’s grip, though gentle, was firm. He was built like an Ambrose fellow, stocky with meaty arms and devilishly strong. He pulled at her fingers to pry her fist open, but she held tight. Until he wiggled a knuckle into her ribs. Her grip slacked and a begrudging laugh burst from her lips.
“Ellery! Give that back,” she said, centering her faux diadem in her nest of auburn curls. He would not take her only weapon against their mother. He had to see reason.
He unscrewed the vial’s top, and she couldn’t miss the tally marks on the back of his hands. Her gaze lingered.
“A vial of Sun Dust? Could you be any more predictable? And what were you going to do with it? Force it down her throat?”
“Threaten to throw it in her eyes,” she shoved out through gritted teeth. “Make her undo this poison she put in me.” Now that she said the idea aloud, it sounded so dumb. Her cheeks flushed.
“You really don’t know anything about magic, do you?” He threw an arm around her shoulders and mussed up her hair.
“I’m clever, I don’t need magic.” She searched for words to prove to him her plan was a good one. To make him help her or get out of the way. But she came up empty.
“You are clever. My favorite little sister.” “I’m your only sister.”
He was the one grinning this time. “Why are you here, Ellery? Out with it.”
“To convince you to see clearly.” He rolled the vial between his fingers. “Mother would have never fallen for this anyway.”
She growled. “It’s mine. Give it back.”
“Technically it’s property of House Ambrose.” He showed her the sigil engraved on its sleek, polished side. “Three yew leaves, intertwined, one for each god.” Then he tossed the vial in the air. She snatched at it, but he was quicker, opening his robes so it slid right into a hidden pocket.
She pulled at his arm in a last-ditch effort at getting it back, and his sleeve rose. Her jaw dropped at the endless rows of tally marks up and down his forearms. The last time she saw him, they’d only covered one arm. She pushed his sleeve higher: nearly every inch of skin up to his elbow was covered in marks. He tugged down on his collar, and more were all over his chest.
“I’m sure Mother’s proud,” she said, eyeing his marks—one for each new magical discovery. When she was little, when her hope had not yet been crushed, she’d dreamed to debut at Cotillion with a few dozen tally marks. That was an admirable number, most Ambrose débutants managed only a fraction of that. But not a single tally mark was ever etched into her skin.
She was Unmarked. Not magical. Powerless. And now, thanks to their mother—poisoned.
She glared at Red’s grave. “And destined to be alone,” she muttered. “I don’t do any of this for her,” he said. “You know that.” Ellery re-adjusted his clothes, and she sighed. Her brother loved her, but he was just as stubborn as she was. He wasn’t giving that vial back. He wasn’t there to help her coerce Mother. Silence blew between them. She twisted her boot in the snow, eyeing the forgotten royal-blue robe draped across Daring. Ell wasn’t just there to stop her. It was far worse: he wanted her to come home. A scream bounced around in her head. Heat built in her chest. Him here, refusing to help, wanting to take her back to that place . . . Just the thought was infuriating.
“You steal that vial of Dust before you left?” Ellery asked.
“That’s none of your business.” She’d have to find another way to threaten her mother. And keep her brother out of her way.
“Oh, so we keep secrets from each other now?”
She rolled her eyes. “Remember when Mother lost her transport compact.”
Ell’s brows bounced. “That was you!”
“It was set out to be refilled when the estate was being cleaned. But Mother was pulled away for an urgent matter. I took it and tucked it away for safekeeping.”
Ellery’s gaze fell to the headstone beside them, and his warmth returned with the comfort of a summer breeze. His blue eyes gleamed with apology. She shook her head. That was the thing she loved most about her brother: how they could communicate without a word. He knew her. He’d lived through what she’d lived through at Dlaminaugh. But he came out of it with high marks—the perfect, prodigious son. She was thankful she’d come out of it alive. Her breath came shorter; the urge to sob scraped against her ribs.
“It’s not your fault,” she said before he could get a word out.
His jaw clenched. “I’m your brother. I should have protected you from her.”
“You did well with the plaque and wording and such. It all looks nice.” It was his idea to put a burial plaque here for Red. She folded her arms.
“I thought you’d like that.”
Pressure built in her chest. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand there beside Red’s headstone before the memories took over and broke her, before the happy life she’d buried beneath a mask rose to the surface and choked her. She turned away, and they walked through a clearing in the trees where a river rushed between two mountains. The sky’s dull gray had lifted. Now a pale blue stretched over them and the sun winked from the clouds.
“She is going to fix this poison she put in me,” she said, moved by the good omen.
“Don’t count on that.”
She balled her fists. “Then I will go to Debs Daily and out all this House’s illicit secrets. The twisted things she allows in the name of discovery!”
Her brother squeezed her shoulders, towering over her in that way he did. She felt small and even more powerless. She clenched her fists tighter. He stroked her cheek. “You will not do anything that could get you killed.”
She stormed off.
“I’ve been looking into some things. You have to come home. There’s so much we need to talk about.” The urgency in her brother’s voice sent her heart thudding. Her ears perked, though she kept her back to him. “Mother never saw your letter. When I intercepted your note, I decided to come myself. And—” His voice cracked.
“You’ve come to convince me to return home, but you can save yourself the trouble,” she said to his face.
“I am still looking into it, but I have come to believe there are”—he gazed around—“many reasons you need to be at Dlaminaugh.”
She folded her arms. “And what are these reasons?” “Not here.”
“Ellery, don’t try to stop me. Help me.”
“Mother would never admit it, but I don’t think she actually knows how to undo what she gave you.” “Toushana. Call it what it is.”
He closed the distance between them. “Keep it down.”
“I did not come all the way here to keep it down.” She held his tattooed arm to his face. “Somewhere in the centuries of our House’s legacy and all their heralded discoveries, someone must know how to get this stuff out of me. I won’t hear excuses. Intellectus secat acutissimum. Intellect cuts the sharpest. Our maezres always said there is no puzzle magic cannot solve. Is it true or not? Is Ambrose superior in intellect or are we not?”
Her brother held his chin in deep consternation.
“She was trying to anoint me with the Dust, Ell, hoping for the millionth time it would wake something in me. Me—her Unmarked daughter, the heir to her House, with no magic. But all her desperation did was poison me!”
Tears welled again in her eyes. She hated her mother for countless reasons. But the top of the list was infecting her with toushana. Before that, she’d just been the Unmarked daughter of a House Headmistress. But as the lies to cover her lack of performance grew stale, more became suspicious. A private tutor on the grounds, a private cottage. Eventually, people began to question why they hadn’t seen the heir do magic. But instead of admitting that her daughter had none, Isla Ambrose listened to her old, dusty books.
“She can hate me forever for not being what she wanted, but she will not control my life.” Her mind wandered to Yagrin: how she showed him her wildest, most ridiculous non-magical ambitions and he didn’t mock a single one. How he reveled in the fact that she wasn’t part of the Order— or so he thought. How he loved that most about her! How, with him, she was free and loved in that unbridled existence. How he never asked her to change a single thing, not her hair, not the way she dressed, not the things she thought were funny, or the weird way she ate her eggs—with ketchup and lettuce. How he loved every piece of the person she was on the inside. The person she’d dared show no one else. Her heart raged in her chest. She could still picture the way he looked at her—imperfect, Unmarked her—like she was the sun itself. She felt the tiny bump in her pocket where she kept a gift he gave her.
“I swear to the Wielder, the Sage, and Sola Sfenti himself, I will have a life, Ellery. A regular life away from Mother’s ridiculous expectations.” “Is the”—he lowered his voice—“toushana causing problems?”
“No. It’s such a small amount inside me. It’s only flared up once or twice. But I’ve done my research; one day it will get worse.”
“So we have time.”
“It appears so.” She folded her arms. “If she would have just left me alone, I was happy ”
“Your happiness is not Mother’s concern. Your fitness to usher the House forward is.”
“And you agree with that?”
“You know I don’t agree with that,” he chastised in a loud whisper. “But you are her firstborn daughter. The seat passes to you, whether you want it or not!” Fear flickered in her brother’s eyes. “The Order is fracturing. Have you had your head so deep in those cornfields you haven’t noticed? The Sphere has cracked.” He pulled a copy of Debs Daily from his robes and tossed it at her. A sketch of the orb that encompassed the balance of all magic took up most of the front page. The headline took away her next breath.
THE FUTURE OF MAGIC UNCERTAIN
She swallowed. “It’s bleeding out?” “Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”
If the Sphere bled out, magic would be lost for half a century at least. It was written. Could that be a good thing? But what would that mean for her family? She wanted nothing to do with the Order or its problems. She just wanted toushana out of her so she could move on with her life as if the Order didn’t exist.
“Members are angry,” he went on. “And rumors are that House of Marionne is an entire disaster.” He raked a hand through his hair, and they walked back to Daring in silence. He grabbed the brilliant blue robe and laid it carefully across his arm before kneeling at her feet.
“Please, come home.”
For several moments she said nothing. “I do care about my life. That’s why I want anything tying me to the Order gone.”
“Off-Season balls have started.” “I don’t care.”
He stood, draping the House color worn exclusively by the heir across her back. “Not even a little? I have to attend and I’d much prefer to take you than one of the Hargrove daughters.”
“Mother’s still trying to force that family down your throat? I mean, they do have seven unmarried Marked daughters, can you really blame them for being desperate?”
He grimaced. “Come on. Name anyone in the entire House who can dance a waltz better than you.”
She smirked.
“The annual Fall Harvest Gala is in a few weeks.” Ellery’s hand hovered before her face. She braced for the familiar feeling she knew was coming. He worked his Anatomer magic, and she felt nostalgic at the shift of her eyes widening, the prickle of her lashes lengthening. It always felt like a sneeze was scratching her nose when he changed her face. Only House of Ambrose had stretched the bounds of appearance-changing magic to be able to change others’ appearances, not just oneself. Her House had stretched the bounds of most strands of magic. Her jaw softened as her lips filled to pout in the way Red’s did. Her hair crawled down her back in darker red ringlets, shifting from her natural auburn to burgundy. She closed her eyes and inhaled, wishing this appearance could still be real. Wishing her Red persona didn’t have to go away, too.
“You know we can’t use her anymore,” she said. It all went south after
the Draguns followed her home from the Tidwell Ball, determined to make the boy she loved suffer. They intended to kill Red with the farm, but they never found her. She hid beneath the barn as they searched. When they set the whole place ablaze, she escaped through a tunnel beneath the house that led to her cornfields. She had the secret passage put in for that very reason. She was technically Unmarked: not born with magic. And an Unmarked cannot look on magic and live. In the field is where the other Headmistress found her several days later, persona wiped away, shaking with terror.
Darragh Marionne offered her a real way to disappear: by erasing her name from the Book of Names. She could have a life that didn’t require a persona. “Nore Ambrose would be—on paper—dead,” she promised. Nore shook on it immediately.
But she’d since botched their agreement.
She was trapped in the Order. Nore had duties and expectations. Nore had a horrid mother. Nore wasn’t who she wanted to be anymore, but Red wasn’t safe either. Draguns could still be hunting for Red. For Yagrin’s safety, too, the persona Red was dead and it had to stay that way.
“I know, but I also know how much you loved being her,” her brother said.
“And how Mother hated it.” She’d hoped to taunt their mother today with Red’s headstone. Reminding her that even though she didn’t have magic, she would always outsmart her and find a way to live freely. But she’d have to wait a bit longer to satiate that desire.
She pulled away from her brother’s magic and it dissolved. “No use dwelling on the impossible. That game is over,” she said. “Red is dead.” She shrugged off the Ambrose heir robes and tossed them at her brother before petting Daring once more. “I’ll go to the Harvest Gala with you if you can ensure Mother will be there.” She turned to walk away.
Ellery groaned.
“Those are my terms,” she shouted over her shoulder.
“Nore! ” he yelled at her back. “Threatening to hurt Mother won’t work.” “Then it won’t be a threat.”
