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He breathes harder, watching me. Silent.

“You know me better than anyone.”

His chin slides over his shoulder, looking away from me. After several moments, he says, “I do see you, Quell. But have you considered what possessing something so powerful could do to you, especially with your affliction? And for someone still facing a death sentence, it feels a bit reckless to be—”

“Forget I said anything.” I get out of bed. I can’t listen to what sounds like rejection from him. Not now, not after last night. “If you’ll excuse me, I have revenge to accomplish.”

He gestures for me to go.

Outside I pace. He is entirely frustrating. He won’t stop my plans. I’m going to get that pendant from his neck. Beaulah will be tormented to know the power she loves so much is in my hands. The sun glares at me, and I use the last of the Dust in the vial around my neck. I suspend it in the air and once the haze settles, magic surges through me, up from the place where it sleeps, freezing my chest before pushing its way behind my eyes. I shift my line of sight to look through the Dust at the sun and blink. Colorful spots bleed through the dusty haze. I count. There are so many, I lose count at one hundred.

“Jordan!”

“What is it?”

“Get Yagrin now.”

Fifty-Two

Nore

Nore’s heart thundered as she snuck through Dlaminaugh. The crowds from the ball had cleared the estate, but it wasn’t until the moon hung high in the sky that she dared venture out to find the journal’s circled coordinates in one of their graveyards. She walked along the balustrade of the staircase down to the first floor, watching for the occasional shift of a shadow that didn’t quite make sense with the light. She knew her ancestors were there. And after seeing her mother’s fear when she asked about the heart, Nore wanted more than ever to avoid them.

She dashed down the hall, past the labs, and through the Hall of Discovery, bridged between the buildings. The corridor looked untouched. But shrouded around its base, against the wall they had gone through just hours earlier, was a pile of black rose petals. Nore pressed one to her nose, but all she smelled was the lotion on her hands. The only person she knew with a garden of the strange flower was Darragh Marionne. She furrowed her brow and backed away, the journal tight in her grip. Was her mother still in there? If she wasn’t, where had she gone? I don’t care.

Nore hurried off but didn’t get far before she heard a pair of hushed voices coming toward her. She smoothed her clothes and tidied her hair as Maezre Tutom and her mother’s maid came around the corner, arm in arm. Her mother’s maid was pink from crying. The maezre’s expression was riddled with lines as well, but she looked more agitated than worried. She threw a glance over her shoulder before meeting Nore’s eyes.

“Maezre. Mrs. Shoom.” She curtsied, then noticed what had her maezre’s attention. A pair of Draguns with talons at their throat and sapphire rings on their knuckles were coming up the hallway behind them.

“Have you seen your mother, Nore?” one Dragun asked. He appeared to be the leader of the two. She’d seen him patrolling the grounds. Head of security, she guessed.

“I haven’t seen her since the ball,” she lied, avoiding Maezre Tutom’s insistent stare.

“No one can find her. She was last seen exiting this hall. She did not notify Mrs. Shoom her bedtime would be delayed. Also, the lock on her personal safe in her bedroom was found broken. The Dragunhead’s been notified.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Who would do that?

Mrs. Shoom tightened her grip on Maezre Tutom’s arm, who petted her hands.

“That is concerning,” Nore managed.

The Dragun’s glare narrowed as he stepped closer to her. “It is not a secret that you have no love for your mother. But by morning, if there is trouble lurking, you should at least behave as if you do.”

Nore’s jaw worked. “You are overreacting. She’s probably in her lab.” No, that didn’t make sense. She spent afternoons in lab. She bit her lip. Her improv garnered her a few quizzical glances. She took a deep breath.

“It’s our job to prepare in case she doesn’t reappear.”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“Sovereign forbid, upon Isla Ambrose’s final breath, the heirship passes automatically to her next of kin in the line of succession. You.”

This prison was determined to keep her in.

“The House becomes yours; as Headmistress it would be your seat on the Council and your life tethered to the Sphere.” The lead Dragun eyed her warily but signaled for the others to depart.

Maezre Tutom pulled Nore closer and whispered, “The ancestors are angry. Everything hangs on your mother being found. Everything.” Nore glanced at the trick wall, where she knew the vault was. She didn’t know if her mother was still in there or had run off somewhere else. She had been so distraught over Nore learning about the glass box. She bit her lip. How bad would it be to mention that her heart was being held in a glass box? Could that help their searching? The last secret her mother had kept—about Nore being Unmarked—hadn’t seemed very serious, but Nore was dead wrong about that. “I’m sorry, I wish I was more help.”

Nore hurried off to Maezre Tutom, who whispered comfort to Mother’s wailing maid. The lead Dragun followed. She cut a left, then a right. But he stayed on her heels. Her brother intersected with them in the next hall.