The Burning Sky by Sherry Thomas Page B

full and all but shouting girlishness.
    She saw him and smiled in relief. The smile was the worst yet: it brought out deep dimples he had not even suspected she possessed. 
    Dread engulfed him. Any moment now someone was going to shout, What is a girl doing here? And since everyone knew Fairfax as his closest friend, it would take no time for the agents stationed at Eton to put two and two together and conclude that there was far more than just cross-dressing going on. 
    â€œFairfax,” he heard himself speak—his voice almost did not quiver. “We thought you were never coming back.”
    Almost immediately Kashkari said, “My goodness, it is you, Fairfax!”
    â€œWelcome back, Fairfax!” hollered Wintervale.
    With the repetition of her name, other boys swarmed out of the woodwork and took up the chorus of “Look, Fairfax is back!”
    At the sight of so many boys, her smile disintegrated. She did not say anything, but looked from face to face, her hand tightening upon the handle of the valise. Titus could not breathe. For eight years he had lived in a state of slow-simmering panic. But he had never known real terror until this moment. He had always depended on himself; now everything depended on her.
    Come on, Fairfax, he implored under his breath. But he knew it. It was too much. She was going to drop the valise and bolt. All hell would break loose, eight years of work would circle the drain, and his mother would have died for nothing.
    She cleared her throat and beamed, a smug, lopsided grin. “It’s good to see all your ugly faces again.”
    Her voice. Lurching from one emergency to another, he had paid no mind. Now he truly heard it for the first time: rich, low-pitched, and slightly gravelly. 
    But it was her grin, rather than her voice, that steadied his heartbeat. There was no mistaking the cockiness of that grin, absolutely the expression of a sixteen-year-old boy who had never known the taste of defeat. 
    Wintervale bounced down the rest of the steps and shook her hand. “You haven’t changed a bit, Fairfax, as charming as His Highness here. No wonder you two were always thick as thieves.”
    Her brow lifted at the way Wintervale addressed Titus. Wintervale knew who Titus was, but to the rest of the school, Titus was a minor Continental prince.
    â€œDo not encourage him, Wintervale,” said Titus. “Fairfax is insufferable enough as it is.” 
    She looked askance at him. “Takes one to know one.”
    Wintervale whistled and slapped her on the arm. “How’s the leg, Fairfax?”
    One of Wintervale’s thwacks could snap a young tree. She managed not to topple over. “Good as new.”
    â€œAnd is your Latin still as terrible as your bowling?”
    The boys snickered good-naturedly. 
    â€œMy Latin is fine. It’s my Greek that’s as ghastly as your love-making,” she retorted. The boys howled, including Titus, who laughed out of sheer shock—and relief. 
    She was good. 
    Brilliant, in fact.

CHAPTER 7
    AFTER RUNNING THE GAUNTLET OF handshakes, backslaps, and general greet-and-insults, Iolanthe hoped for a moment to breathe. But it was not to be.
    â€œBenton!” Wintervale called. “Take Fairfax’s bag to his room. And make sure you light a good fire there. Fairfax, come with us for tea.”
    A smallish boy, wearing not a tailed coat but one that stopped at the waist, whisked the valise away.
    â€œWork him hard.” Wintervale smiled at her. He was as tall as the prince, blond and strapping, almost spinning in place with nervous energy. “Benton hasn’t done much in your absence.”
    She didn’t ask why she had to work Benton hard—the prince would explain everything later. She only grinned at Wintervale. “I’ll make him regret that I ever came back.”
    Before Little Grind, Master Haywood had taught at a school for boys. Each evening,