She sighs. “So if he still has access to Mending Magic, that means he must have been using it regularly. This whole time.”
All the breath leaves my lungs as the implications slam into me. Jensen won’t be judged by his humanity in this one moment. He’ll be tried based on the fact that the moment was possible at all.
“We don’t know that,” I say, my voice small. “Not for sure.”
Tessa leans over and rests her hand lightly on my elbow. “Maybe there’s something we’re missing. Let’s use the next few days to study the law. There must be some exceptions in extreme cases.”
“I agree,” Jacey says. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions before we have all the information.”
But certainty spills over me like a pot of spilled ink, blotting out my optimism. In the eyes of the Grand Council, Jensen and I are the same.
And eventually, we’ll both face the same fate.
Chapter Ten
The next morning we sit in the library, poring over every book we can find on the laws governing unbound magic in preparation for the upcoming trial. But no matter how many times I read the text of the law, I can’t find a loophole that will save Jensen.
I dig my fingers through my hair. I wish I’d paid attention to all the conversations between my mother and Gran about council business. Often, over the evening meal, my mother would ask Gran’s advice on some case she was deciding. Gran would always offer a nugget of wisdom—usually in the form of a story from her own days on the town council.
As a child, I found these discussions unbearably dull, but oh, how I could use their combined wisdom now. A stab of longing goes through me. I miss them both so much. And my father, too. I’m an orphan with nowhere to turn for advice.
I wish I could rely on my team for support, but I feel separate from everyone else—like I’m observing them from a distance. As we’ve worked together over the last few days, I’ve started to learn each of their rhythms. How both Tessa and Niklas are worriers, but they have completely opposite ways of coping: Tessa chatters when she’s nervous, but Niklas gets even more quiet than normal. I’ve noticed Bram’s silent leadership, Jacey’s take-no-prisoners approach to life, and the way Talon jokes around to ease the tension.
But I have no idea how they see me.
Maybe it’s because I don’t fit in with everyone else. Or maybe I just can’t see myself clearly. Maybe none of us can.
Gran used to make a dessert she called caramel-core cake. The first time I ate it, I thought it was a misnomer. The cake was white and fluffy, and there was no caramel in sight. Keep going, Gran said when I told her I thought she’d given me the wrong dessert. One taste doesn’t make a meal. And then my fork hit a pocket of caramel, and sweet gooey sauce spilled over my plate, soaking the cake and transforming it from ordinary to divine. It made me wonder if people are like that too—if we have to dig a little to find whatever is at their core.
But my core is full of secrets, and I can’t let anyone get close enough to see who I really am.
My thoughts are interrupted by the librarian, who makes a small sound at the back of her throat. Once she has our attention, she gives us a thin smile. “I need to step out for a bit, and my assistant stayed home ill today, so it’s just me. Is there anything you need before I go?”
My pulse spikes, but I force my expression into a calm mask and avoid meeting her gaze.
Luckily, Tessa is quick with both an answer and appropriate eye contact. “I think we’re fine for now, thank you.”
“Excellent,” the librarian says. “I’ll return shortly.”
Her boots click on the bone floors as she walks away, and I feel the sound in my chest, like a beating heart. I wait for her footsteps to recede down the corridor and out of earshot before I stand.
“Is something wrong?” Bram asks.
“No. I’ll be right back.”
I rush up the steps as fast as my legs will carry me. I’ve been waiting for a chance like this for weeks. The librarian’s words echo in my head: Old student records are on the sixth floor. My legs burn as I climb. This was probably a terrible idea. Who knows how much time I have? She could return at any moment.
When I reach the top of the staircase, my stomach sinks like a stone. This level is massive, with shelves fanning out in every direction. I’ll never find Avalina’s records in time. But I have to try. I hurry along the shelves, skimming labels and book titles for anything that might give me a hint where to start. I pass stacks of kenning results going back decades, financial records, books of maps, histories of prominent Kastelian families.
And then I see something that stops me in my tracks. A section of shelves marked APPRENTICES. It’s filled with dozens of leather-bound volumes. I pick up one at random and thumb through the pages. The book is filled with information about former apprentices—their names, bone magic specialties, towns of record. And there are multiple entries for each student, written in different penmanship, with updates added year after year as circumstances changed.
I glance over handwritten notes that document major life events—moves to a new town, joining ceremonies, the birth of children, illnesses, but I don’t recognize a single name. And most of the records include a death date. Too long ago then. I pick up volume after volume until finally I find something that makes my lungs constrict. My mother’s name and vital details written in neat, delicate script: Della Holte, Third Sight Bone Charmer, Midwood. Other facts are here as well. Her appointment to the town council, her bone match to my father (and the date of their joining ceremony), my birth.
At the bottom, in block print, is the word “deceased.” The ink is a smidge darker than all the other entries, as if this could have been written yesterday, and I can’t help but imagine the librarian pulling this book from the shelf and unceremoniously scribbling the date my mother died, her mind occupied with other things. My eyes sting.
I force myself to breathe, to blink. And then I reach for a different emotion instead. I let fury blaze through me and evaporate my unshed tears.
Now that I’ve found the correct book, I don’t need to worry about Avalina. I’ll find Latham’s record instead. Discover where he lives, who he knows. How to hurt him.
Frantically, I turn the pages, but find nothing. I flip back to the beginning and start again, going more slowly this time, careful to read every name before moving to the next. Halfway through, my eye catches an irregularity. A jagged edge of paper juts up from deep in the seam. I stop and move the book closer to my face. Tiny scraps poke out from the middle of the book. Someone has torn out a series of pages. Certainty falls over me like a cloak. Latham’s entries. They must be.
I search the rest of the book for Avalina’s name, but she’s not here either.
I have the sudden urge to slam a fist into the entire row of books and send them soaring. I pace up and down the aisle, taking deep breaths and trying to rein in the rage that bubbles up my throat like poison. How is it that Latham manages to rip the heart from everything that matters?
I drag the toe of my boot along the smooth bone floors, wishing I were outdoors, where there are rocks to kick.
On the bottom shelf, another label jumps out at me. INCOMPLETE. Above the word is only a single, slender volume. I pick it up and leaf through the pages. It’s identical to the apprentice records, except these entries are shorter.
And they include a date of expulsion.
These must be from students who didn’t finish their training. My breath quickens as I think of my mother explaining that Avalina left Ivory Hall abruptly. I search through the book, hardly daring to hope. And then, like a sudden burst of sunlight through clouds, her name appears. Avalina Berg. A rush of energy vibrates through me.
Footsteps thunder up the staircase and I go rigid. Panic closes a fist around my vertebrae. I glance around for somewhere to stash the book, but I left my satchel and my cloak on the first level. I don’t have any choice, except to slide the book back on the shelf where I found it an
d allow it keep its secrets. But I won’t get another chance like this again.
The footsteps grow louder. Closer.
I can’t let Latham win. Carefully, I rip the page from the book, fold it, and shove it into my pocket. Then I race down the aisle, onto the wide landing, start down the staircase.
And run headlong into the librarian.
“What are you doing up here?” Her face is red, and a vein bulges near her temple.
“Looking for a book,” I say, trying to infuse my voice with a weightless quality.
Her eyes narrow. “What book?”
I twist a lock of hair around my finger and widen my eyes slightly—an expression cultivated during my childhood whenever I needed to convince my father of my innocence. What are you doing, bluebird? he would ask after catching me tiptoeing from the kitchen in the middle of the night with chocolate-smeared lips. Didn’t I tell you only one dessert?
I forgot, Papa.
“I wanted to find a better explanation of Kastelia’s laws regarding unbound magic.” I purse my lips. Lift one shoulder. “But I’m not having any luck.”
Her expression relaxes just a fraction. “That’s because you’re looking in the wrong place. You should have asked me for help. Apprentices aren’t allowed on this level.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I would have, but you stepped out.”
She sighs—a sound that is equal parts frustration and disbelief. She studies me for a moment, and I resist the urge to touch my pocket to reassure myself the paper is still there. After a beat, she presses her lips together and motions for me to follow her down the stairs.
We arrive back on the main level to find my team arguing about how to approach the trial. “We need some kind of strategy,” Bram says. “Otherwise, we’re going to look like bumbling fools in front of the Grand Council.”
“Our strategy should be figuring out what’s fair,” Jacey says. She’s pacing back and forth in front of the table, her dark curls bouncing with each step. “If he did it, he’s guilty. It’s as simple as that.”
“I don’t agree,” Bram says. His gaze finds mine as I approach the group. He’s the only one who knows I’m guilty of using unbound magic too. Although he isn’t aware that I can use all three Sights, he does know that my mother trained me, that I used charming magic before my binding ceremony. A wave of gratitude goes through me. “I think there’s a lot of gray area.”
“What kind of gray area?” Talon asks. He taps his fingers on the tabletop. I notice his knuckles are sprinkled with freckles as I slide into one of the chairs beside him. The parchment in my pocket feels as if it’s on fire.
Bram rakes a hand through his hair. “Maybe Jensen wasn’t aware the magic was illegal? Or maybe he thought he was justified in using it?”
Jacey blows a puff of air through pursed lips. “That’s what were supposed to decide. Was he justified or not?”
Tessa gets quiet. “Even if he was, it still doesn’t explain how he was able to use the magic so many years later.”
“Maybe he’s an anomaly,” I say. “Maybe his ability never faded, and he was able to access Mending Magic in an emergency.”
“Even if that’s true,” Jacey says, “he still used unbound magic.”
“But it goes to intent,” Bram counters.
We go back and forth until nightfall. Finally Niklas groans. “We’re getting nowhere. I think we’re just going to have to wait until we’ve questioned the witnesses at trial to form an opinion.” He’s hardly said a word all evening, which somehow makes his opinion more forceful.
“You’re right,” Tessa says. “I’m willing to listen to what the witnesses say before I make up my mind.”
And so, we all agree. We’ll wait until the trial to decide.
Tessa is particularly chatty that night as we prepare for bed. She gives a long commentary on everything from the bone games to her Healing training—Master Dina has been particularly demanding lately—to wondering if Niklas is so quiet because he’s homesick or if he simply has a more reserved personality.
“Or maybe he’s just slow to warm up,” she says, pulling the tie from her hair and using her fingers to untangle her curls. “Do you think he might talk more once he knows us better?”
“Probably?”
“You seem faraway tonight. Is something on your mind?”
The question catches me off guard. My mind keeps jumping back and forth between worrying about Jensen and obsessing over the folded parchment in my pocket. All I can think about is Tessa falling asleep so I can read it.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m being a terrible listener and a worse friend.”
Tessa flops down on her bed. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“You noticed that, did you?” I keep my voice light, teasing, but inside, my nerves clatter together like a pair of cymbals. Should I tell her? Can I trust her with the truth?
Her face goes serious. “Is it about Bram?”
“No!” Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Why would you say that?”
“It just seems like there’s something unfinished between the two of you.”
“I stole something from the library,” I say, as much to change the subject as anything. But when Tessa’s eyes go wide with alarm, it makes me wish I could snatch the words back. “I’m planning on putting it back,” I amend, though I really can’t return a ripped page.
Tessa’s expression softens, and she reaches for my fingers. “Tell me what happened.”
My mouth goes dry as I sit beside her and retrieve the page from my pocket. Some irrational part of me is worried that it will disintegrate the moment I try to open it. Or burst into flame. A nagging fear that Latham will have found a way to keep me in the dark again. But the parchment stays solid as I unfold it across my lap.
“Oh,” Tessa says when she sees Avalina’s name. “This is why you risked the wrath of the librarian by going to the sixth floor. Not for a law book.”
I nod absently as I study the entries. “She was a Mixer,” I say aloud. “From Leiden.”
“The City of Glass? My childhood tutor moved to Leiden a few years ago,” Tessa says. “I could write a letter to him and ask if he knows anything about her.”
I lay a palm on her forearm. “Yes, that would be helpful.”
“How strange,” Tessa says. “It doesn’t say why she was expelled.”
But my gaze has drifted to the bottom of the page, and a spasm of relief goes through me. The most important information in the entry is what isn’t here. A death date.
Avalina is alive.
Chapter Eleven
The Grand Council Chamber takes up the entire top floor of Ivory Hall.
It’s a section of the building usually off-limits to apprentices, so Norah meets us at the guest entrance on the main level and guides us up the curving staircase. The only sound is the click of our boots against the bone floors as we climb. We pass the tension around the group like a musical ensemble sharing a melody—Bram tugs at the back of his neck, leaving a bright red handprint against his skin; Niklas incessantly spins the silver ring around his finger; Tessa chews her lip; Jacey’s hands curl into fists; and Talon’s pale fingers tap against his leg as if his thoughts are searching for a rhythm. My secrets have burned a hole in my center, and I feel hollowed out and empty.
When we reach the top floor, Norah turns and gives us a gentle smile. “Try to relax. You’ll do fine.”
But I’m not convinced any of this will turn out fine. I lay awake deep into the night, haunted by the resigned despair of Jensen’s expression when we left him, as if he’d already glimpsed the future and knew nothing good awaited him there.
But when Norah pulls open the doors to the council chamber, every thought flies out of my head. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. Sunlight spills through the banks of floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows on both our left and our right. Beneath our feet, a giant map of the Shard is inlaid into the bone floor with brilliant blue sapphire,
the branches of the river spilling out richly in all directions. Straight ahead is a tall dais with ten thrones intricately carved from bone. Each features a mosaic design fashioned from gems—a different color for each of the bone magics. The Charmer’s throne features a blooming rose of rubies, the Watcher’s has an emerald eagle, the Mason’s a set of tools in vivid spessartite. Beside me, Bram gives a low whistle, and I follow his gaze to the Breaker’s throne, which has two crossed swords made from silver-lined obsidian. And next to it, the Healer’s seat features two open hands fashioned from sapphire, while the Mixer’s chair has a mortar and pestle made from amethyst. The four chairs for the non-magical members of the council are resplendent as well, each of them inlaid with intricate designs in mahogany.
“Well, that’s not intimidating at all,” Talon says. “My gramps decorated his dining room in this same style.”
We all laugh, and I feel the knot in my chest loosen just a little.
“I’ll tell them you’re ready,” Norah says. She makes her way to the front of the room and raps her knuckles on the plain wooden door behind the dais.
A moment later the door swings open, and the members of the Grand Council file into the chamber dressed in silken robes that match their thrones. Embroidered on each of their sleeves is a golden knot designating them a member of the council. I’m expecting them to take their respective seats, but instead they descend the small staircase and sit on the bench in the front row.
I turn toward Norah, looking for some clue of what we do next.
“Take your seats, apprentices,” she says softly.
“Here?” Jacey asks, indicating the bench directly behind the council.
“No,” Norah says with a shake of her head. “Up there.” She nods toward the dais, and my stomach plunges. We have to sit on their thrones while they evaluate if we can do their jobs as well as they can?
My mouth couldn’t be any drier than if I’d swallowed a handful of dirt.
“It feels like we’re the ones on trial,” Talon whispers behind me.
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