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I cringe, wishing I hadn’t eaten the rolls as a wave of nausea crashes over me.
When she sees my look, she grabs me by the shoulders. “You’ll slay your classes. Just take as many notes as possible and I can help later with anything you don’t understand. Okay? See you in Combat Theory.”
Fourth period is our only class together before lunch. I watch her go and then search for my locker. After finally finding it—no thanks to Ruby, who I last saw frolicking in a tray of oatmeal—I run to my class on the second floor.
And, of course, I’m the last one to walk in. Right before class starts.
According to the name scrawled over the chalkboard, my teacher is Professor Hawthorn. She peers at me behind thick, wire-rimmed glasses. She’s tall with prominent ears longer than most Fae, bright red hair pulled into a french-braid, and jade skin. “Glad you could make it . . . ?”
“Summer,” I say as I slide into the only empty seat in the front and begin taking my books out of my backpack. Two girls snicker behind me.
Someone mutters, “Trailer Park.”
I glance back to discover Reina at a desk whispering with another girl I don’t recognize. A white bandage covers Reina’s nose, the skin around the bandage purple and swollen, and she sports two black eyes.
I’d almost forgotten a broken nose did that.
“Wow,” I say. “That looks painful. You should probably put some ice on that.”
Someone laughs, and then Mrs. Hawthorn calls out, “Enough! Any student who speaks out of turn will be glamoured into silence. Do it again and you’ll find yourself in Headmistress Lepidonis’s office. Understood?”
The girl beside Reina frowns at Mrs. Hawthorn. “I thought you were only allowed to glamour us if we try to escape or harm ourselves?”
The smugness of her tone grates on my nerves. Apparently, it does the same to Hawthorn’s because she marches toward the girl, looming over her.
“Lily Wright, this is my classroom and I can do whatever I want to you.”
“I would tell someone,” Lily insists quietly.
“Would you now?” Pushing up her glasses, Mrs. Hawthorn leans down, causing the girl to shrink low in her seat. “How would you do that when I’ve glamoured you into silence?”
The class goes completely still. Lily suddenly clutches at her throat. Her mouth opens . . . but not a word comes out.
Grinning, Mrs. Hawthorn breezes up the aisle and waves her hand, causing one word to appear over the chalkboard: power.
“The first lesson is this,” she calls out. “In Fae society, power is everything. We rise and fall with our ability to create it, wield it, and retain it. What are the three main components of power?” When no one says a word, she adds, “Anyone? Or is this entire class suddenly glamoured into silence too?”
“Magic?” someone calls out.
She nods. “Yes, magic in our society is very important to retaining power. That is why the Evermore, the highest ranking Fae in each court, do what?”
“They make rules allowing only their kind to perform a renewal ceremony,” Reina proudly answers. “Every time an Evermore renews, their power increases, while the magic of the lesser Fae has been slowly weakening over generations as it dies out with them.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Hawthorn says. “Controlled renewal is a controversial yet very effective rule that’s been in place for centuries.”
Renewal? I open my textbook and quickly search the glossary in the back until I find the word.
Renewal: When a Faerie’s soul enters a new body. The soul retains any magic from previous lives, and, over time, can generate powerful magic. The Faerie lifespan typically runs around a thousand years, so renewal ceremonies are held every millennium. was over two years ago.
My suspicions are further confirmed when I see the condition of the photo. It looks worn. Fingerprints dull the surface. The edges are curled, the lacquer from one side peeling back.
Whoever this is, he’s looked at my picture a lot. I stare at the two hands he uses to hold the photo, careful to only touch the edges. Soft white half-moons ridge his slender, neat fingernails.
Emotions slam through him as he stares at me. Darkness. Confusion. Rage. Despair. And something else. Something so powerful it eats at him. But I can’t decipher the emotion.
What the hell?
Then he calmly tilts the photo toward the fire until one of the edges erupts in flames. A surge of loss rises up inside him, followed by relief as my face burns away to nothing.
