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The blood rushed to my head. “Compulsion? You mean … magic?” Enchantments. Compulsion magic. The implications were instantly clear. Woven through generations, all of us, bred and bound.

“You felt the tug lessening once you arrived here,” my mother said gently. “You may not have understood what was happening, but I saw the changes in you, though they were subtle.”

Like a weight on my shoulders lifting that I hadn’t even known I’d been carrying. And most blightborn carried that burden all their lives—the weight of control.

“I’ve been speaking to some of the other blightborn faculty. There have been … whisperings for a while now. Ever since Medra brought back Nyxaris.” She gave me a meaningful look. “Don’t you feel it, too?”

“Feel what?”

She didn’t answer. Not directly. “There is a very old saying: The axe forgets. But the tree remembers.”

I stared at her, uncomprehending—or not wishing to comprehend.

“The chains have bound us all for a very long time, Florence. Dragons break chains.”

I swallowed hard. Is that what Nyxaris was, an axe? “You’re speaking of rebellion.”

“Perhaps. All I know is that something is coming. And you, you’re going to be at the center of it, Florence. If you’re bound to a dragon, you must be.” She looked terrified but also hopeful.

It was that look of hope which got to me. “But I don’t want to be,” I blurted. “I didn’t choose this. I certainly don’t want to start any kind of rebellion.”

My mother’s face was sad but stoic. “Don’t you?”

“You think I do?”

Her hand found mine and squeezed. “Perhaps you should discuss it with Nyxaris.”

I felt numb. The pain from my last encounter with dragons had hardly worn off. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t Medra. I wasn’t brave.

And yet … far off, in the back of my mind, I felt a tug. The pull towards Nyxaris.

My dragon. Watching. Waiting. A great price, Nyxaris had said.

Just what exactly was the Veil? And what had Nyxaris paid to keep it shut?

CHAPTER 11

MEDRA

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I knew I should be studying. But instead here I was, not sleeping. Just … lying there.

Doing absolutely nothing useful. Nothing but thinking the same thoughts over and over.

The bed beside me was still empty. Florence was … well, who knew where she was? Maybe she was out flying on Nyxaris.

I felt a pang of envy as I imagined Florence on Nyxaris’s back, speaking to him as the wind blew through her hair. The loss hurt a little. Still, I hoped that was what she was doing—I really, truly did. I hoped she’d accepted the bond and let Nyxaris in. But that didn’t mean I didn’t mourn any less the absence of what I’d started to forge with Nyxaris. It could have been me—was supposed to be me—out there, riding Nyxaris, training him, learning from him. Now I was a dragonless rider. If Regan and the others knew the truth, how gleeful they would be.

I turned over on my side, wrapping my arms around myself. It was past midnight. If I wasn’t going to study, I should try to sleep.

It was at times like these that I missed Orcades the most. One touch of the dagger and we’d have been deep in conversation. If I hadn’t used that dagger to stab Molindra, would my mother still be here now, with me? But if I hadn’t stabbed Molindra, would any of us be here at all?

I groaned. Why did my brain insist on replaying the worst memories and asking questions that had no real answers? I couldn’t change the past even if I wanted to. I’d done what I’d done: It was final. There was no going back. That was just life.

There was a knock at the door, and I nearly leaped out of my skin.

“Who is it?” I called.

When no one replied, I guessed the answer. One moment, my heart was in my throat.