“Did you say things like that to my mother?”
Quill’s expression darkened.
The question had landed.
“Your mother was given many opportunities to accept the Council’s help.”
“Is that what you called it?”
“That is what it was.”
“She escaped you.”
“For a time.”
The words were quiet.
Almost gentle.
The room narrowed.
I felt my hand close around the brooch again before I knew I had moved.
The wing bit into my palm.
Quill watched the movement.
“Careful,” he said.
“I have learned to hate that word.”
“People usually do when they need it most.”
Cosima had warned me to be wary of anything they offered in my mother’s name.
Aldric had shown me what happened when my mother refused.
Neither of them had told me what to do when my mother’sbrooch was biting into my palm and Quill was watching me lose my composure.
So I did the worst thing I could possibly do.
“Did you kill her?” I asked.
He came around the desk.
Every step was quiet on the carpet.
He stopped two feet from me.
Close enough that I could see the silver at his temples, the fine lines beside his mouth, the Headmaster arranged so perfectly over the man that the man had nearly disappeared.
Nearly.
“Astra,” he said, almost wearily. “You think anger makes you harder to manage, but anger makes young people predictable.”
My Mark moved beneath my sleeve.
Not toward him.
