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She meets my eyes, and there is a patience there I haven’t seen before. As if she sees me and not the monster everyone’s convinced I am becoming. So I tell her about my mother. How expertly good she is at hiding and covering her tracks. And how much I miss her, how I need to see her, especially after so much has changed these last few months. Once I start, the words won’t stop. And it feels good to just talk and be myself.

By the time I’m done, Adola’s hands are braided on the table. “I don’t remember my mother.” She tucks her chin down.

“You know,” I go on, “when I was at Chateau Soleil, I was terrified people would find out I couldn’t do magic like them. I lived every day worried someone would find out and kill me. But someone helped me.” I leave out her cousin’s name. “He ended up being awful, but without his help, I wouldn’t have survived.”

She swallows. “I lie in bed at night thinking about what it will feel like when the dirt hits my face. Sometimes I wake up gasping for air.” Her voice cracks. “I’ve tried everything. And all this time spent, I’m behind on Second Rite. My aunt is breathing down my neck to debut at the start of next Season.”

“I know what that’s like.”

We share a beat of silence, and it’s nice. I hadn’t realized just how much we have in common.

“The next time you pull on toushana, use your feelings from deeper inside. Channel that scary feeling you have when you lie awake. It’ll strengthen your ability to pull on the darkness. And when it touches you, hold on to the cold; let it spool itself up, allow it to get close, pretend it’s a part of you, let it linger—”

She stands. “I should go.” But before she turns to leave, she stops. “Thanks, Quell.”

“Sure.” This time I don’t follow her. Instead I check the clock and realize it’s time to meet Beaulah.

Seventeen

Quell

Beaulah is waiting for me in the main corridor of the Instruction Wing, holding a box of rings. I fill with dread.

“This way.” She leads me into a windowless room with scorched walls and no tables or chairs. In a dim corner is a tall, narrow shelf stacked with bins. Beaulah slides a ring onto her finger, and its stone glows purple. Beside her are manacles welded to the wall. She smooths her palms over them. They flatten, lengthening before Shifting into leather straps.

“These are a bit gentler, I think.”

I swallow. “What exactly are we doing?”

She holds up my hands, showing me fading bruises. “You’re hurting yourself when you use toushana.”

“Oh, those are nothing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She presses on an injury, and it feels like the bones in my fingers are breaking.

“You were going to study me,” I say, wincing.

“We’ll get there. But this should be dealt with.”

I had started to better control the toushana so that it didn’t hurt me, but when I used it on Yagrin, these bruises happened. I bite my lip and hold my hands out to her again. She inspects them closely.

“So wary of trusting people. I can’t say I blame you.” Beaulah lights a few long-tapered candles, fitting them into sconces. “Have you ever seen your kor, Quell?”

I recall the flickering red flame, the source that lives inside me, that energizes my own magic. The flame that Jordan pulled from his chest, unlike mine, was silver. “I have.”

“When toushana binds to a person, it alters their magical body chemistry. Your flame may be stronger, but it can be unwieldy, taking on a sickly shape or color. I’d like to examine your kor. Just to be sure it’s thriving.”

“You can, but you’re not strapping me down.”

“Very well. Come closer, back flat against the wall.”

I do as she says. She selects the golden ring without a stone from the box and slips it onto a free finger. “Deep breath in.” She lays a palm flat on my chest. “This will hurt.”

I hope trusting this woman isn’t a mistake. When I inhale, my chest feels like an iron hook is fastened to my ribs. Beaulah draws her hand away from me slowly, and it feels like a million threads of barbed wire are being pulled out of my chest. I writhe, pain quaking through my body.

“Still, now.”

I grab a fistful of my clothes, and Beaulah stretches the space between her hand and my chest. Air is being sucked from my lungs. I wheeze, trying to hold still as a flame grows in her hand, shiny like metal, with a dark black center. The silver fire flickers. She tsks.