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Finally, Mrs. Wildenberg called the last name. A strong, burly-looking girl swaggered to the stage and accepted the sizzling poker with her chin held high.

Instantly, clouds burst open above us, rain pelting down in angry torrents.

“Element Wielder!” Mr. Gleekle called through the roar of the downfall, and he flicked a hand upward. Instantly, the clouds evaporated, leaving behind nothing but a clear sky brimming with stars.

But we were still drenched. My curls clung to my cheeks in dripping tendrils, and I blinked away beads of water as Coen’s alarm spiked through me and the truth slammed into my chest all at once.

Whispers rose again. Mr. Gleekle adjusted the collar of his shirt with a nervous laugh, and Gregor Bilderas turned to peer at our sector with a curling lip. I exchanged gapes with Emelle and Wren, while Rodhi muttered, “Shit” to his spiders.

Nobody had joined our sector this year.

Nobody had become a Wild Whisperer.

CHAPTER

9

RAYNA

“There has to be some kind of mistake.”

“Maybe the magic’s finally running out.”

“Or maybe it’s a test.”

“But who’s testing us? The Good Council? Or the magic itself?”

We were in the foyer of the Wild Whispering mansion, every woman in our sector huddled together on the various sofas, arms crossed, the mood somber. Squished up against Emelle in an armchair, I felt the vibrations of laughter and chanting as the other sectors celebrated their new members up and down Bascite Boulevard. The only mansion as quiet as ours was the one directly across the street.

What did Rodhi think of this? Or Gileon? I hadn’t had time to ask them. As soon as that last first-year had joined her new sector in the stands, Mr. Gleekle had dismissed us, and we’d had no choice but to follow the tide back home as if anything about the situation was normal—the attending Good Council members watching us go with indiscernible expressions that spiked panic in my chest.

“Has this ever happened before?” a second-year named Leyla Grail asked from across the room now, staring at the carpet.

Two sofas down, Mitzi Hodges shook her head. “Never. Our old History instructor, Mr. Fenway, used to say the magic’s always been perfectly balanced, right?” She looked sideways at Cilia, who nodded fervently, and several others muttered agreement.

I caught Emelle’s glance out of the corner of my eye. I’d told her everything over the last dry season, including what Coen had told me about the Branding: it wasn’t the magic that balanced itself or chose what shape to take in our blood, as our instructors taught, but the Good Council who determined our powers. The Good Council who kept five ancient faeries locked away on top of Bascite Mountain and stole their magic year after year, infusing the different types of bascite into individual brands and doling them out according to Dyonisia’s choosing. Which meant…

The original Wild Whispering faerie they usually get the magic from, Coen answered in my mind, his tone chilled enough to make me shiver. She must be dead.

I nearly cranked my head over my shoulder, as if I might be able to stop him from lurking in the shadows of the foyer. But of course, he was probably somewhere on the edge of the jungle, only close enough to be within mind-reading range. Not close enough to touch. Never close enough to touch anymore.

Are you sure? I thought back, swallowing the lump of my emotions.

No, he admitted. I scoured Mr. Gleekle’s mind and couldn’t find any information about it. Whatever the reason for the lack of Wild Whispering power this year, he’s not privy to it, but it’s the only thing that makes sense, isn’t it?

Yes, it really was the only thing that made sense. It was hard to imagine what the ancient faerie—the source of all our sector’s magic—might have looked like, and now I’d never get to meet her to find out. But she’d had a name. A life. Maybe even a family. And Dyonisia had captured her, kept her contained, and stolen from her just to try to raise an army against her sister.

The Wild Whispering power crawling through my veins had never felt so wrong. My fingers curled in my lap, my fingernails biting into my palm.

“Alright, listen.” The new princess of our house, a fifth-year with buzzed hair and large hooped earrings that glittered in the moonlight streaming through the window, finally stood up. “I’m going to find a Wild Whispering instructor and see if they know anything about this. The rest of you… stay put.”

I sure as hell didn’t want to stay put. That vague idea from last night kept tickling my brain, images of brands swirling in the back of my mind. If I could just confirm the notion with the right passage in the right book…

As soon as our house princess swept past everyone and banged the front door shut behind her, Mitzi and Cilia broke into a rapid volley of theories with everyone else around us while I shot a thought into Emelle’s head.

Hey. Coen said he brought more books today. Want to get word to Lander and have him meet us in ten?

She gave the slightest nod without looking at me. I’ll send Pedwill his way. But we’ll have to be subtle.