I set the cracked stave on the rack.
It would need replacing.
So would the story I had been telling myself.
I had spent sixteen years making sure no one noticed me.
Astra Verita had reached through stone, water, and every rule the Council had ever written for my bloodline.
And my Mark had answered her immediately.
15
By the time I closed the door of Room 114, my wrist had stopped burning and had gone numb.
My fingers would not quite stop shaking.
I tucked them into my sleeves before the walls I kept imagining were watching me could get any ideas.
The room was cold in the dull, thorough way it had been cold since I arrived. The wool blanket sat at the foot of the bed. The basin waited in the corner.
I had one hand on my sleeve and one breath halfway in my chest when the basin lit.
So much for privacy.
Silver-white light moved under the water, bright enough to throw the rim’s shadow against the wall.
Words formed across the surface.
Verita.
Headmaster’s office.
Now.
No please.
No explanation.
No room for pretending I had been invited instead of ordered.
Quill, then. The next trial in an already trying day.
I sighed as the words dissolved into the water, then left Room 114 and took the south stair.
Halfway down, the Pull hit.
A struck match under rain.
Heat trapped close to the body.
The sharp, clean edge of effort held too long.
My hand closed on the stair rail before the rest of me had decided whether to stop.
Hale stood at the bottom of the south stair.
He looked as if he had come quickly and hated every visible sign of it. His shirt was tucked badly at one side. His sleeves were still down, but the fabric over his right forearm held a faint darkness where his Mark pressed against it from beneath.
