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“We’re staying at a safe house,” I whisper, hesitant to say any more.

Her eyes widen. “Those still exist?”

“Quell, the truck,” Octos shouts, his voice coming from somewhere in the distance. “I’ll try to stall them.”

“I have to go.” An idea nudges me but I immediately slouch in disappointment. If I had my key chain, I could give it to her. But Grandmom turned it to dust.

Abby throws her arms around me and I hug her close. “I’m done training. But he’s right, I should probably keep my distance. I’m going to stick to the shadows and look around, too.” I squeeze her once more. “Next time, we won’t meet like this. I miss you.”

“I miss you!”

“Remember, stay away from my grandmother’s territory. As best as you can.”

Abby nods, and I show her the way the stream curves through the forest to the south. “Follow that, it’ll get you out of here unseen.” I watch until Abby’s out of sight before shouldering my bag and grabbing Octos’s. Something beneath its leather flap flashes on and off.

My heart stutters.

I open his bag and gasp.

The pulsing glow is my mother’s key chain.

Four

Nore

The dead hovered near the doors of the ballroom.

“They’re here,” Nore said to her brother, wondering if he smelled their sour stench.

“Of course they are. You’re of age to debut. They’re waiting. And watching.” He held out his arm as they stood at the entrance to the Gala. The room burst with floods of guests wearing fine clothes, boasting every style of diadem or mask, ornate and simple ones. Marked balls made her especially queasy. She preferred the public ones where unmarked were welcome, where magic was hidden and fewer people knew who she was. Across the grand room’s entrance was a wall of windows that looked out across the snow-capped Rocky Mountains.

Her brother was dressed finely in a drab gray tuxedo that appeared threadbare, but she recognized the careful pattern of its stitching. These clothes were handmade. He jingled gold coins in his pockets before offering her one. “If you’re nervous.”

Nore wasn’t going to let the dead make her superstitious. She tugged at her gray shawl before hooking her arm onto his. She’d been the presumed heir of House of Ambrose since birth. But she’d seen the disembodied shadows of her ancestors more often since she stopped using Red’s persona than she had in her entire life before. Something was up. “They couldn’t find me as Red, I suspect.”

Her brother’s expression lit up. “Actually, I think you’re right.”

Now they didn’t want her out of their sight. But why…

“Good evening!” An usher in a teal suit and iridescent mask bowed at them before pulling the grand arched doors open. “You’re first of the great House families to arrive. It’s an honor to greet you.”

Nore gave him a nod.

“My research has taken a turn, sister.” Her brother leaned in for a whisper. “There’s a link between the ancestors and our magic.”

“What kind of link?”

“Haven’t figured that out yet.”

The usher eyed them, his foot tapping softly as a reminder to them to keep moving forward. Ellery took a step, but Nore’s feet anchored them in place.

“We have to go in, Nore.”

She couldn’t move. But it wasn’t the ancestors. She was growing accustomed to ignoring their brooding presence. It was the feel of the dress against her skin. The music sifting between the doors and the people swaying to it. The last time she was at a fancy ball, a different escort was on her arm. With Red’s face and Yagrin beside her, she was fearless. It felt good not being the only one who wanted nothing to do with the Houses.

Dread coiled in her stomach. She didn’t want to go in there and play the role of heiress. She hated the Order, and all she wanted was the one person in the entire world who understood that on her arm. She looked up, hardening every part of her that she could feel. It would be easier to pretend Yagrin was dead. It’d still hurt, but hope cut deeper. She drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. Life with the surname Ambrose had well acquainted her with doing what she didn’t want to do.

“And you’re sure Mother will be here?”