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I blinked several times but knew enough to keep my mouth shut. Lord Anton might have politically opposed Governor Adelaide, but I for one hadn’t known he was so against the Emperor himself.

“This land should be free and independent,” Lord Anton continued, turning to Master Ostrum. “Don’t let the movement die with me.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

The clock chimed noon, the sound reverberating throughout the hospital. In between the bells, I thought of what Lord Anton’s words meant, of how large the movement must be, and how hidden. I thought of Governor Adelaide, kind and good—but loyal to the Emperor.

•••

Master Ostrum disappeared soon after Lord Anton died, returning to his lab. I was bone weary by the time Grey and I got off the ferry at Blackdocks. The temperature had unexpectedly dropped. Before, I’d chased the shadows going down the hill to the docks; now the sun sank at our ankles, oil lamps sputtering on in our wake.

The gates were already closed, but the gatekeeper stood in front of the iron bars. His eyes looked anxiously behind us. “You’re the last of the lot,” he said, opening the gate. “Hurry, hurry.” As soon as we stepped through, the gate locked, despite the fact that curfew wasn’t for another hour.

“What’s going on?” I tried to ask, but he was already walking away from us.

“Come on,” Grey said. “Master Ostrum will know what’s happening.”

We rushed toward the administration building. In the center of the quad, a group of students huddled near the statue of Bennum Wellebourne. They held nails and files, and they made no attempt to hide what they were doing—scratching tiny arrows pointing to the sky into the iron that covered the statue.

“We will rise up!” they called out after us, their empty revolutionary chant echoing ominously across campus as the darkness grew.

THIRTY-SIX

Grey

Master Ostrum looked,for lack of a better word, frazzled. It didn’t suit him. He was typically grave, his hair smooth and tied at his neck, his suit immaculate. But now his skin was haggard and his clothes were wrinkled and limp. Despite the fact that we’d seen him just this morning, it appeared as if a sleepless week had passed for him.

“The school is closing,” he said. “Temporarily.”

“What?” Nedra’s voice raised. “Why?”

“Parents want their children home,” Master Ostrum said. “They’re concerned about the plague. With the governor ill and the Emperor hiding, the administration thinks it best—”

“Let the others go,” Nedra insisted. “We have work to do!”

“Nedra.” Master Ostrum steepled his fingers. “The entire campus is closing. You’ll have nowhere to stay. You have to go home. The school will send for you—Iwill send for you—when Yugen reopens.”

I leaned in closer to her, gently rubbing my thumb on her hand. “Besides,” I added, “you could see your family.”

“Just because you leave campus doesn’t mean you stop working.” Master Ostrum gave her a single book, slender and worn. Then he pulled out a parchment envelope and handed it to me. “You’re dismissed,” he said as I took the paper.

I frowned but left anyway. “I’ll be waiting outside,” I told Nedra.

In the corridor, I opened the envelope. My parents informed me that I was to meet the family carriage at the school gates by eight chimes. Word traveled fast.

Nedra opened Master Ostrum’s office door a moment later, her head down, her bag slung over her shoulder, the book in her hand.

“What did he want?” I asked.

“He gave me some money,” she said, as if still surprised by it.

“What for?” I led the way up the stairs to the door of the administration building.

“So I could pay a skipper to take me to my village.”

I was ashamed that I’d not thought of it myself. I had plenty of coin to pay for her travels. It would mean nothing to me and everything to her. But I’d not even considered it. “Nedra, I—”

“I’m going to stop at the quarantine hospital on the way,” Nedra said. “Then take another ferry up to the north shore.”