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That hit me hard. I already knew she hadn’t had any updates from her family. And I knew she wouldn’t want me to ask again. “Blake told me you were seeing someone,” I blurted. “I hope they’re a comfort.”

“Oh, you mean fucking Rodriguez?” I wasn’t sure if she was describing the man himself or their activities. Visha wrinkled her nose. “A comfort? I’m not sure that’s how I’d have described it.” She snorted. “Bloodmaiden, Medra! Is that how you choose who you’re going to fuck?”

I choked. “Well, no.”

She tilted her head. “Maybe you’re not so far off. It was basically hate-sex. He was a grief-fuck, you know? Mutual bad decisions. Maybe just a little therapeutic.”

“Therapeutic,” I repeated.

She punched my arm lightly. “Don’t tell me you can’t relate at least a little.”

I cleared my throat. “All right, maybe just a little. But I don’t hate Blake. Not anymore.” Compared to how it had first begun, my relationship with Blake was becoming.… well, maybe not exactly healthy. But we’d been heading in a good direction. Until …

She grinned. “Yeah, I think we can tell. Anyhow, things with Rodriguez are over.” She shrugged. “At least he wasn’t a dick about it. I don’t think I broke his heart, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“And now?”

She looked straight ahead. “Now I think it’s time to be single for a while. Maybe forever.”

I raised a brow. “Forever?” That didn’t sound like Visha. But she had lost someone she’d cared about. I knew she’d fallen for Lace Ironstride hard and fast. “That’s an awfully long time. Let’s just take it one step at a time.”

She nodded. “Here we are.”

Warm light spilled from beneath a classroom door. An old window frame that looked like it had been salvaged from the green-house hung over the doorframe, painted in glittery gold. Vasanti’s Vale was written in crooked purple letters across the center. Springs of dried flowers and herbs were tied all over the edges of the frame with pieces of colorful twine.

Visha pushed the door open. Instantly, noise spilled out. Inside, the air smelled like kava and spiced stew, with the lingering scent of old alcohol already curdling beneath it. The furniture was a patchwork of Bloodwing leftovers. Old classroom tables and desks had been set with mismatched chairs. A long alchemy table had been repurposed as bar seating. Potted plants crowded every available surface and hung from the ceiling. Old botanical sketches and alchemical recipes had been put in pretty frames and hung all over the walls. A large chalkboard hung behind the counter, listing all of the daily specials in a messy hand. Someone had drawn little pictures of leaves and flowers in each corner in colored chalk. Nothing matched, and yet somehow it worked. It was cozy and comfortable.

I thought of Professor Allenvale, then I thought of Florence. I wish she’d come along to see the place.

Beside me Visha was quiet. I knew she must be thinking about Allenvale, too. She’d been there when the professor was killed.

Considering the late hour, the place was packed. Students filled every table, talking loudly. I spotted a few faculty members seated at the bar. Thankfully Rodriguez wasn’t among them, but then, he seemed to prefer to drink alone. I could only hope his new appointment would be a deterrent to that, going forward.

The faint sound of music drifted toward us. Up on a small stage, a blightborn girl in House Orphos colors sat strumming a guitar. Apparently the Vale was already trying out live music. Unfortunately, we could hardly hear the girl’s song because of the loud, raucous laughter coming from one corner of the room.

Visha’s hand clamped down on my arm. “What the fuck,” she hissed. I followed her gaze.

Theo Drakharrow was over in the corner, standing on a chair. He was wobbling and gesturing wildly, one arm thrown out for balance, the other clutching a drink that sloshed precariously. His voice cut across the room, and I flinched. He was reciting a filthy limerick with impressive disregard for appropriateness. A ring of highblood students surrounded him, all laughing too loudly. None of them were people he usually spent time with. A few faces I recognized from Mortis. Theo’s eyes were even more bloodshot than they’d been back in the boardroom.

“He’s wasted,” Visha said in disgust. “What a fucking idiot.”

The blightborn staff behind the counter shot Theo dark looks, clearly trying to decide whether or not to intervene. But Visha was already moving. I followed her as she cut through the crowd.

“Hey, Theo!” she shouted as she reached where he swayed on the chair.

He barely had time to register her. “Oh, hello, Vish—”

She yanked him off the chair before he could finish saying her name, and it fell with a clatter. Theo staggered, nearly falling, and she caught him by the front of his shirt, giving him a little shake like a mother cat might do with a kitten. “Don’t you dare puke on me,” she warned.

“What’s the problem?” he slurred, annoyance crossing his face. “We’re just having some fun.”

Visha ignored him, turning to fix the other highbloods with a cold look. “What the fuck are you all looking at? The party’s over. Get the fuck out,” she ordered.

One by one they started to back away. I picked up the chair and held it out as Visha dropped Theo.

“What the hell, Visha!” Theo protested, his voice still slurred but now tinged with irritation.

But she’d already stomped off. She came back a minute later, holding two mugs of kava. “Here. Drink up, party boy.”