The Rejected True Heiress (Liora and Callum) novel Chapter 555

“CALLUM!”

The shout came from the exhibition tents, where a knot of teenagers with entry numbers pinned to their shirts stood waving him over, and none of them bowed. He lit up and went.

The house kids. His mother had been stripped of her rank, name, and pack, escorted to the border as a rogue. Callum initially considered selling the house, but then, one night, out of nowhere, he told me about a new idea. He decided to run the estate as a halfway house, funded from the royal treasury, staffed by people who cared. The kids were given beds, meals, tutors and healers and time. Six of its residents were competing today.

At two o’clock, Amy’s voice came over the PA and called the entire festival to the north end of the dormitories, where a new building stood with canvas sheeting hung over its entrance. The crowd packed in shoulder to shoulder, everyone craning to see what was hidden behind the fresh wood and stone. Zane worked his way to the front with his daughter asleep on his chest. Callum’s hand found mine, squeezing just once before letting go.

Amy and I climbed the front steps together.

I’d written a speech for this, but it never felt right. I deliberately left it at home today, sitting on the desk that used to belong to my father. I told Callum it was an accident, but we both knew the truth.

“Some of you knew her,” I said. The yard quieted as my voice rang out. “Most of you never got the chance, and I’m sorry for that, because she was the best of us. She never treated anyone like an outsider or a burden, and she accepted me when it seemed no one else would. This school was hers in a way it has never belonged to anyone else.”

I looked at Amy, who nodded and said, “Starting today, part of it always will be hers.”

The crowd murmured, exchanging glances.

“This building has one rule,” Amy went on. “It belongs to the students. Staff enter by invitation only—yes, that includes me, and yes, it’s in writing. Everything else, every wall, every rule, every color of paint, gets decided in there. By you. Together.” She paused. “Do try not to burn it down.”

Laughter rolled through the crowd. Amy nodded at the two first-years holding the cord.

The canvas came down.

MIA’S.

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