Fifty-Four

Nore

Nore stood over the hole in the earth beside the ancient fir tree, her heart ramming in her chest. This graveyard was where the eldest Headmistresses were buried. There was much commotion in the distance, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the matter at hand.

“I don’t understand,” she said, looking at the page Ellery saved. It was a diagram of a heart, surrounded by shaded figures with streams of magic, connected to it. She dropped the book and stared at the empty glass box beside Caera Ambrose’s remains in the grave.

“In exchange for the Headmistress’s heart,” he went on, “the ancestors gave parts of their own dead magic to us. When a member of this House uses magic, we channel not only our own, but the magic of our House’s dead. This Pact we have with them is unbreakable, sister.”

Nore braced herself and stepped inside the hole to retrieve the glass box. Beneath it was a piece of dry parchment. She pulled, and out of the ground came a rolled scroll.

Her brother’s eyes glittered.

“Give it to me.”

But before she could refuse, she unrolled it and realized the paper was ripped at its edge. Her heart rended. Immortality was in gold letters across the top.

The price of a life that never ends
is one that should have never begun.

When the half-moon’s passed and the full moon awaits,
you’ll find a hunchbacked orb that wanes.

Beneath it bring blood, bone, and

The rest of the scroll had been ripped off. She looked back in the grave and dug around, but there were no other scraps of paper.

“It’s not all here.”

Ellery snatched for the Scroll.

“No!” She skirted his reach.

“Who is the most magically superior Ambrose?”

“The Headmistress. Otherwise they wouldn’t be fit to lead the most cutting-edge House in the Order.” The recitation was out of Nore’s mouth like an instinct, before she realized what she was saying.

“And that’s the heart the Pact promises the ancestors. Don’t you get it? If you become Headmistress, your heart won’t have the magic they require.” The blue in his eyes became a storm-tossed sea. “They’ll devour you. Give me that Scroll!” He pulled out a blade, and Nore’s bones shook in her skin. “It’ll be quick and painless, like falling asleep. I’ll bring you back immediately, I swear.”

It all made sense now, but it shook her bones in horror. “You’re asking me to let you kill me.”

“I will follow the instructions on the Scroll. Mother will die.”

The words bounced around in her skull. Mother will die. Had she been found? Was she hurt? Did he have her somewhere? Was he going to— The blood on his gloves. Her heart raced.

“The heirship will pass to me because there are no other girls in the near line. And I’ll bring you right back. You know I honor my word. This gets the House out of your hair.”

She put more distance between them, struggling to form words.

“This is everything you could possibly want.”

“Stop. Stop talking!” She couldn’t breathe: the last several hours blew through her memory like a snowstorm. She couldn’t quite put into words how she knew this wasn’t the answer. But she was sure. If she died and came back with toushana, then what? And being the sister of the heir to House of Ambrose did not sound much better than being heir. She trusted her brother.

But she trusted herself more.

She whistled for Daring and he emerged from the brush. She’d fooled herself into thinking there was a way she could detach herself from this world and her family, but there was no escape. Every option only buried her deeper in her fate. She was tied to this world, whether she had magic or not. The only choice she had was what she would do with that existence. She was smarter than all of them. If she played their game, she’d win. She would find a way to outsmart this Pact.

“No, Ellery. My answer is no!”

Shadows rose from the grave and surrounded her.

“I love you, dear sister. But I’m not asking.” Her brother swung into his saddle. She held tight to the Scroll in one hand and grabbed Daring’s reins with the other.

“You think you’re so clever, Nore.” Her brother rode up to her; his hands moved like lightning, unlatching his dagger. She yanked hard on Daring’s reins, pulling his nose down sharply, the way he hated. He reared up on his back legs, knocking Ellery’s stallion in the face, and it gave her the seconds she needed. She swung into her saddle and squeezed her knees tight. But her brother’s steed dashed in the way. Daring spurred into motion. She tightened her grip on the Scroll. Ellery rode up beside her. He leaned sideways in the saddle, raised his blade, and drove it downward right into her fist.

“Ah!” The scream tore from her throat. Blinding pain ripped through her limbs. But she tightened her hold on the Scroll. He’d have to cut off her hand to force her to let go. He grabbed the Scroll, pulling it away from her. She held on. He tugged.

It ripped.

She kicked in her heels. Daring rode like the wind as Nore stuffed her bloody piece of the scroll into her dress. She rode hard through the graveyard, meandering. Daring tired, but she didn’t let up. Ell’s horse was faster, but she knew trails her brother didn’t. Rivers of blood ran down her arms, but she dared not look too closely. She had to get far, far away.

A sharp light cut through the sky.

Daring reared up. He whinnied, backing away as the world warmed pink, then purple, the colors fluttering like a midmorning sunset.

Then a black moon appeared.

And the whole world darkened beneath its shadow. Violent matter sloshed under its glossy surface. The face of it was riddled with spider-webbed cracks.

The Sphere.

Before she could move, bursts of shadows appeared in snappy succession. Armies of people. She saw sigils and House colors, and her heart froze in her chest.

Everyone had their eye on the Sphere.