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I bite down on my smile.

Quin huffs. “Stop looking at my pants.”

“I can’t help it. I’m imagining what’s under them.”

Quin’s hand comes up and smacks the back of my head.

My laughter ceases the moment the third scroll on stage drops.

When wyverns go wild, they should be hunted.

I hiss.

An eager scholar jumps on stage, spouting, “Wyverns are the symbol of the kingdom. Royal blood can control the dragonettes. If they go wild, the king has a responsibility to contain them. Hunting them to protect the people is his duty.”

I flatten my lips. “I’m not sure he knows what he’s saying. This topic has hidden layers.”

I look from where the words stand, seemingly harmless, to Quin’s earnest expression.

“When wyverns go wild, they should be hunted.” I feel the words in my mouth, along with some bile. “The topic pretends to be about literal wyverns but actually refers to the ‘wild’ or out-of-control—vespertines, or crusaders—those who are pushing back against the ruling class. The topic suggests they ought to be sought out and killed.” I suck in a tight breath. “It also has a none-too-subtle implication that the king is not doing his duty to control his ‘wyverns,’ the subjects under his rule. You have to be brave to stand on the stage today. You have to pray your words don’t reach the wrong ears.”

Quin drums his fingers on the balustrade. “How would you answer—what are you doing?”

I’m hiding. I’ve whipped up Quin’s cloak to shield myself and peek over the edge at him, giving a wan chuckle before I sneak behind him and drop the cloak. “That luminist,” I whisper at his neck, where I’m hopefully well hidden, “next to the one in the peacock-feathered hat.”

“You know him?”

“From our local luminary. If he sees me here, I’ll get into all kinds of trouble.”

“And clinging to me won’t get you in trouble?”

“I’ll take your punishment over his any day.”

“You have no clue what you’re saying,” Quin mutters. “Tell me how you’d answer this topic.”

I sneak a peek over his shoulder and hurriedly tuck my face against his nape. “Find the cause.”

“Cause?”

I tap his head. “If you have chronic headaches, I can give you spells to relieve the pain, but the headaches will keep coming back unless you address the source—like lack of sleep, overwork, unhealthy diet. When wyverns go wild, you can keep hunting them, but their wildness will never go away unless you understand the reason for it.”

“He’s gone. Quit breathing down my neck.” He hauls me out from behind him. “Why do you think wyverns go wild?”

“Why does a cornered animal fight back?”

Quin is quiet.

Is he unaware of the realities?

I glance toward his probable gold-thread undergarments and sigh. “Most folk lack access to vitalians,” I explain, “and par-linea, who might help them, are guillotined for trying. Vespertines and crusaders fight against this unfairness. Vespertines often steal to relieve poverty. Crusaders use violence to destroy magic veins to get rid of the hierarchies that come with magic.”

Quin snaps his head towards me; the fierceness in his eyes is cold. “You think their violence is justified?”

“I’m a healer; I don’t like any violence. But...”

“But what?” he barks.

“But I feel the frustration. Par-linea are seen as scars, weaknesses. We’re seen as watering down our kingdom’s limited pool of magic. But wehavemagic. Wecoulduse it. Only we’re not allowed. Why? For the sake of discouraging linea from diluting their blood. When my great-grandfather did, when he fell for someone who wasn’t also linea, he was shunned by his entire family. Why? What is there to be afraid of?”