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Zaira snorted. “You’ve reorganized that basket four times in the last five minutes. That is terror.”

Magda grunted. “All right now, enough whining. We all know what we need to do here. Lord Sharma will be back at any minute. Let’s prepare to move out.”

I glanced around. Dinesh Sharma got a slightly earlier start than Blake and Sankara; I think they were all just antsy and couldn’t wait to get going, which I quite understood. I took a deep breath and looked over at the opening in the stones where they’d descended. I could feel our bond like a restless pull in my chest, heat and hunger and ferocious loyalty. My archon was our secret weapon—a dragon. And me? I was his rider, the anchor that kept our dragon steady.

Blake? I sent to him. Everyone is restless. Are you heading back now?

There was silence for a moment. Then came the response. We’re nearly there. We have a problem.

My heart sped up. What do you mean? What kind of a problem?

But before I could ask more questions, Blake and Sankara appeared, rising up out of the passage at the far end of the courtyard. Blake was decked out in Drakharrow armor. The fitted black-and-red leather molded to every hard line of his torso. He’d let his hair grow out these last few weeks; it hit just below his jaw now, but this morning he’d pulled it back. My breath caught—with his face unobstructed, he looked different. His crooked aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, and strong jaw looked even sharper and more brutal in the predawn light.

He was beautiful and deadly. He was mine.

Behind him, Sankara cut an imposing figure, as always. His dark skin was set off against practical travel leathers in shades of dark browns and golds, all worn beneath a heavy, long wool coat of dark amethyst. A thick silver beard framed his strong jaw. As Sankara turned his head to look at us, the single gold ring in his ear flashed. I glimpsed the worry lining the highblood professor’s face, and my stomach sank. Whatever they had to tell us wasn’t going to be good news.

Zaira was already watching them. She took a step forward. “What’s wrong?” she demanded, her voice echoing across the stones.

Blake stopped in the center of the court, his gaze going straight to me. “Sankara and I followed Lord Sharma and his guards. We traced his path down to the entrance of the dwarven ruins.”

“They are not all ruins,” Zaira muttered. “I have told you, it is an illusion. A highly crafted one. Dwarves are expert at these—”

“Zaira.” Blake’s voice cut her off. “Stop. We weren’t going through the city anyhow, correct?” She nodded. He kept his eyes on the Stone Keeper. “We took a right, passed through the ruins until we found the gate you told us would be there.”

“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently. “And Lord Sharma must be there now, waiting for us.”

“No. He’s not waiting,” Blake snapped. “He’s fucking gone.”

My breath caught. Lord Sharma and Zaira had told us the gate would only open with dwarven blood. Specifically, the blood of a high-council member or the First Stone Keeper.

“Someone beat us to the gate,” Sankara said, his deep voice flat.

Zaira’s face was stunned. “Impossible. No one even knew—”

“Someone knew, Zaira,” Blake interrupted. “And they were waiting. They slayed the guards, and they must have taken Dinesh.”

Kazmyn swore softly. But Zaira just shook her head stubbornly. “The gate would not open without willing blood.” She straightened up, lifting her chin. “No one could get through that gate unless Dinesh opened it willingly—which he would never do.”

Blake looked at her. “Are you sure about that?”

The First Stone Keeper’s eyes flashed. “Of course. Lord Sharma’s loyalty to us is not a question.”

“No one else was there when Sankara and I arrived,” Blake said carefully. “So in that case, I don’t think willingness is a requirement on this quest, Zaira … Blood magic doesn’t always require consent.”

Zaira paled. Before anyone could say anything more, the sound of footsteps came from behind us. I turned to see two men crossing the court. Kage Tanaka approached us like a soldier of shadow, all in black. His black crescent-moon tattoo curved up the side of his neck, stark against his golden skin. He scanned the court with swift assessment, clearly calculating something, his face taut with tension. Right behind him came Lysander Orphos, the calm strength to Kage’s powerful darkness.

Kage’s gaze landed on Blake. “Lysander and I were up early,” he said without preamble. “Patrolling the school.”

For a moment, I felt a brief relief. They were staying back with Regan; she’d have their protection as headmistress. Lady Elaria might think Regan a pawn in her corner, but if she ever found out the truth, if Regan ceased being so pliant, Kage and Lysander would be there to help. Now I felt a tug of curiosity—not about the two men’s loyalty but about their motives. Maybe a simple desire to protect was all it was, or maybe there was something more to it. I shoved the thought away before it could fully take shape. We had more important things to worry about than the two leaders and the girl they’d become so evidently attached to.

Lysander spoke up. “Some little birds from House Orphos told me a number of House Mortis students are missing.”

“As is Alastor Vane,” Kage added, blunt as a blade.

For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

Then, “Vane?” Zaira demanded. “Who is this Vane?”