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“Shh.” She gazed around. “The ancestors.”

“What does this mean? Are you…dead?” She couldn’t believe her ears.

“I’m very much alive. But as long as I’m Headmistress, the ancestors require it.” She picked up the glass box and held it tightly to her body.

“The Immortality Scroll,” Darragh said.

Her mother looked at Darragh, bewildered, then at her.

“I’m looking for the Scroll, Mother.”

“There are records of people trying, for generations, to find where Caera Ambrose hid it.” Her mother’s voice cracked and it unsettled Nore. She’d never seen her this way. “You’ll never find it. “

“She’s lying,” Darragh said.

“I am not. Do you think if I had that Scroll, my heart would be in this box?”

Nore wasn’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t sound good at all. Darragh stared daggers at Nore and she thought her heart would beat out of her chest.

“Nore, we had a deal,” Darragh said.

“What are you even doing here?” Isla asked. “The Dragunhead intends to have your head.”

“He can intend all he likes,” Darragh retorted. “When I found Nore hiding in the middle of nowhere, she was bruised and bloody. Draguns had ravaged wherever she was staying and were trying to find her. She saw me and all she could manage was a feeble ‘Please help.’ ” Darragh straightened her collar. “Had you seen the value of protecting your family first, at any cost, as I advised, your daughter wouldn’t have run to me for help.”

Her mother snarled. “Help? What help could you possibly give her? You’re a dead woman.”

“And yet the glory of this House is going to preserve my legacy.”

“Enough of this!” Isla raised her arm in the air, and only then did Nore realize she was wearing a purple Cultivator ring. Her mother twisted her wrist and balled her fist, then opened her palm. The air in her hand rippled, magic streaming from it. Her mother reached to touch the nearest wall. The room rumbled, the wall fracturing beneath her Shifter magic. Debris rained from overhead. Nore shoved Darragh aside before dashing out of the vault. When they spilled into the Hall of Discovery, the walls of the vault closed up with her mother still inside, holding the glass box and sobbing. She still had so many questions. But they had to wait until she found that Scroll.

Celebratory cheers rang in the distance; her brother’s party was still underway. Nore almost headed in that direction but a sour smell stilled her in her tracks. She peered down the hall and glimpsed dark shadows rising. The ancestors were inside the house. Her heart knocked into her ribs. She and Darragh ran, away from the ballroom. The shadows followed closely behind them. But when they reached the grass, then the expanse of lawn, and finally Nore’s porch, the ancestors fell back.

“Those spirits want you, child,” Darragh said. But Nore wasn’t listening. She was flipping furiously through the journal she had pocketed. Its pages were filled with crossed-out latitude and longitude coordinates, inked in various colors and various handwritings, all on paper that—if its yellowing was any indication—was very old. Beside each scratched-out coordinate were notes.

43.6971° N, 114.3517° W Ear ringing. Lots of blood. Didn’t make it far. (aud)

43.6807° N, 114.3637° W Got close. Skin started peeling away from bones. (anat)

Air changed quick. Got harder to breathe. Couldn’t shift it back. (shif)

From what Nore recalled of her House history and estate geography sessions, these coordinates all appeared to be within Ambrose territory. One coordinate was circled many times, in every color of ink. She pointed it out to Darragh, whose jaw clenched. Nore couldn’t read the woman’s expression, as she was too steeped in her own shock. But she could feel Darragh’s anger. The circled location had dozens of notes about the magical injuries people had suffered.

Nore flipped through the pages again, paying close attention to the annotations on the side. Aud for Audior. Anat for Anatomer. Each was a different type of magic, followed by symptoms or reactions. There are records of people trying to find where Caera Ambrose hid it for generations, her mother had said.

“Every single person who tried this had some kind of magic,” she told Darragh. Magic which seemed to backfire. Audiors transfigured sound, but their ears started ringing. A few Anatomers, who could transfigure bodily anatomy, had their skin start to peel away. Nore’s mind raced. She could do this. Because she didn’t have magic.

“I can figure this out. I can find the Scroll. The Dragunhead comes for you in five days. Give me three.”

“You’re the presumed heir. Getting away from here is that important to you?” Darragh asked.

“More than anything.” A thought struck Nore. “Are the rumors about your granddaughter true?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t already know.”

“Why not offer her the freedom you’re offering me?”

Darragh’s jaw ticked. “I offered her freedom of another kind. Our agreement comes with a steep price.”