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They seek to pierce the Veil, the voice whispered tremulously. So much pain in that voice. So much agony.

No. Nyxaris’s voice was sharp.

I felt my body nearly sag in relief. If Nyxaris said it, it must be true. Therefore, whatever horrible thing this other voice was saying was false. Impossible.

No, he repeated, and I froze. That’s impossible. You will not allow it. Tell me you will not allow it, Molindra.

I trembled, sensing the fear in his voice—the terrible horror.

Molindra’s voice was gone. I could only hear Nyxaris now.

Nyxaris, I called, pushing weakly against his mind. What is it? What’s happening?

A pause. Something beyond your comprehension. Go back to your life of blissful ignorance, fledgling. And then he was gone.

The words were contemptuous but no less than what I deserved. I felt weak and dizzy, but the pain was dissipating. My mother’s arm was around my waist. Gently, she helped me to a sitting position. She touched my cheek, looked at me with the heartbreaking expression only a mother could have, and bit her lip.

“Florence …”

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” I managed to get out, my voice raw. “I had … a headache.”

“A headache?” She looked doubtful, then slowly shook her head. “Florence, please. Won’t you tell me what’s really happening?”

I stared at her, weighing the choice: Clearly it was mine to make. Medra and Rodriguez hadn’t told her what saving me really meant.

“When Medra and Professor Rodriguez saved my life,” I said carefully, “it came with … a catch.”

Her eyes widened. “What kind of a catch?”

I studied her face. Did all children love their mothers this much? She had always been the very best of parents. Ever since my father died, it had always been the two of us. We were lucky. Our temperaments were very similar. We enjoyed the same things. Did I love those things because she taught me to, because I had seen her loving them? Or would I have loved them simply because I was me, and thus part of her?

Knowledge. Books. Wisdom. I weighed them, one by one. All worthy pursuits. Now I had access to a very special archive—for what greater treasure trove of knowledge could there be than a dragon? Nyxaris was a flying remnant of a vanished world. He must have been witness to countless historical events.

I stared into my mother’s dark eyes, rimmed by wired spectacles so very like my own. If she could speak to Nyxaris, she would have asked him a thousand questions by now. She wouldn’t have shied away from him as I had done. She wouldn’t have hidden from her fate.

“A catch,” I said slowly, “a catch to do with dragons.”

When I was finished speaking, my mother’s face was thoughtful.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m terrified for you, of course,” she said without beating around the bush. “You’re my daughter. And you’re bound to the most powerful creature in existence.”

I shivered. Yet part of me swelled with pride at hearing Nyxaris described in such a way.

“The world is changing, Florence,” she went on. “The power balance is shifting.”

“Shifting?” I repeated. “Shifting how?”

My mother looked around the room nervously—even though we were the only people in the little apartment. When she spoke, her voice was low. “All of us live to serve the highbloods.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “It’s what we’ve always been taught.”

“Only the most devout are accepted at Bloodwing, you know this. The most obedient. Those with the highest respect for Sangrathan tradition. I hoped you would rise within the constraints of being blightborn. I wanted you to succeed.” She touched my cheek. “You’ve always had such a competitive spirit, Florence. I knew you’d need a place where you could shine. So I taught you as best I could. I wanted you to be accepted here, to follow in my footsteps.” She bit her lip. “But sometimes I’ve worried that was a grave mistake.”

I stared at her, shocked. But then, who could teach a child anything other than obedience? To do so would be heresy. Treason. Worse. My mother had done the right thing, the only thing she could have.

“Outside of the school, compliance with the highblood way is less of a choice,” she continued. “Very few people even realize the systems of control that keep the balance, Florence. Blightborn compliance isn’t instinctive. It’s compulsion.”