The Burning Sky by Sherry Thomas Page A

necessity—Titus took pride in rarely speaking a true word before those two. But lying to his second cousin, equally necessary, had always bothered him. He wished Wintervale were not so trusting.
    â€œWhy do you think I’m trying to get into Sandhurst?” said Wintervale. “The British fight lots of wars. Maybe there is something to be learned from them.”
    Titus also wished Lady Wintervale had not adamantly adhered to the tradition of having a child from one of the Domain’s grandest families study alongside the heir of the House of Elberon. Lady Callista had been his mother’s companion—look how well that had turned out.
    â€œTry not to get yourself killed in one of Britain’s colonial wars,” he told Wintervale. “It would be the ultimate irony.”
    â€œDo I hear mentions of colonial wars?” said Kashkari, joining them, dapper in his impeccably turned-out uniform and sleek black hair. “Is your stomachache gone, Wintervale? You look better.”
    â€œI’m fine now,” said Wintervale.
    Lady Wintervale’s unpredictable mental state and penchant for relying on her only child meant that Wintervale often had to invent sudden pains to go back to his room—or clear his room—to use the wardrobe portal.
    â€œDo the two of you want some tea?” Wintervale issued his usual invitation.
    â€œWhy not?” said Kashkari.
    â€œI will join you in a minute. I think I saw Fairfax from my window. Let me go down to make sure it is really him.”
    â€œFairfax!” exclaimed Wintervale. “Are you sure?”
    â€œBut your window doesn’t face the street. How did you see him?” asked Kashkari.
    â€œHe was walking across the grass. Who knows? Maybe he wants to refamiliarize himself with everything.”
    â€œAbout time,” said Wintervale. “We need him to play.”
    â€œHe still does not feel the strength in his leg,” said Titus, moving toward the stairs. The otherwise charm he had created before he first stepped into the school was fairly watertight: no one doubted that Fairfax existed. 11 All the same, he had better reach the ground floor soon. The boys would not recognize her as Fairfax unless someone said the name aloud; and only Titus could do that. “Who knows whether he will still be any good at sports after an injury like that?”
    Wintervale’s other passion, besides returning the barony of Wintervale to its former glory, was cricket. He had convinced himself—and a fair number of other boys—that Archer Fairfax was the veriest cricket prodigy whose return would propel the house team to the school cup.
    â€œStrange. He’s been gone only three months, and already I can’t remember what he looks like,” said Wintervale.
    â€œLucky you,” said Titus. “Fairfax is one of the most ferociously ugly blokes I have ever met.”
    Kashkari chuckled, catching up with Titus on the steps down. “I’ll tell him you said that.”
    â€œPlease do.”
    Mrs. Dawlish’s house, despite its overwhelming majority of male occupants, had been decorated to suit Mrs. Dawlish’s tastes. The wallpaper in the stairwell was rose-and-ivy. Frames of embroidered daisies and hyacinths hung everywhere.
    The stairs led down to the entry hall, with poppy-chintz-covered chairs and green muslin curtains. A vase of orange tulips nodded on the console table beneath an antique mirror—a boy was required to examine himself in the mirror before he left the house, lest his appearance disgrace Mrs. Dawlish.
    Titus was two steps above the newel post when Fairfax came into the entry hall, a slim, tall-enough figure in the distinctive tailed jacket of an Eton senior boy. Immediately he was appalled by his abysmal judgment. She did not look like a boy at all. She was much, much too pretty: her eyes, wide-set and long-lashed; her skin, needlessly smooth; her lips, red and