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My hands shook as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I didn’t bother lighting a lamp. I dragged a robe out of the wardrobe, pulling it on hastily over my long white cotton nightgown, then wrenched the door open. I ran through the corridors, down the stairs, out of the Avari tower. The halls were quiet. The lamps had been dimmed. My bare feet slapped against the cold stone as I flew past arched windows. I turned a corner, nearly running into a pair of sleepy-looking students. They stared at me strangely, but I didn’t care. I didn’t stop, and I didn’t apologize. I kept going until I reached the door. Even then, I didn’t hesitate. I raised my fist and hammered on the wood. Once, twice, again.

There was muffled movement inside. “Who is it?” Her voice was heavy with sleep.

“Mother, it’s me. Open the door.”

It cracked open. My mother stood there, holding the scruff of her robe tight to her chin, her eyes wide, her long, dark hair loose around her shoulders. For a moment, I stared. She looked different with her glasses off. Younger and smaller somehow.

“Florence? What’s wrong?” She glanced back into the hall. “Are you hurt?”

I could see the fear rising in her eyes. She’d already been through so much. But I couldn’t allow myself to care about that right now. “How did my father die? How did he really die?”

My mother’s hands started to shake. “What do you mean?”

“No more lies,” I cried. “I saw it. I saw what really happened. He was murdered, wasn’t he? Did highbloods kill him?”

“Florence,” she began to say weakly.

“No, Mother.” Tears streamed down my face. “You told me he was caught in a fire. You told me there was an accident. That it was quick. Peaceful.” I curled my hands into fists. “I saw it, Mother. It wasn’t peaceful.”

She swayed against the doorframe, her face pale. “Florence.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why couldn’t I remember?”

Her breath caught. She pressed a hand to her mouth.

“What did you do to me?” I demanded, my voice harsh.

“I did what I had to do,” she whispered. “To protect you.”

“You erased it. You erased part of me. How?”

My mother looked up at me. “I couldn’t let that terrible memory destroy you. You’d stopped speaking. You woke up screaming every night. You were so afraid.” Her voice broke. “You were frightened of laughter, of the sound of stomping feet. You were so young. It seemed so unfair that you had survived—and yet been left so broken.”

“So you broke me instead?” I said quietly. “How?”

“Thrallweave,” she whispered. “We’d moved by then. I was working for a noble family. The mother saw the state you were in, and she offered. She was adept at the magic. She promised me it would make life easier for you. The gesture seemed so kind. Leaving you like that seemed so much crueler.”

I stumbled back blindly, tears fogging my eyes.

I could hear my mother start to sob. “Florence, I’m sorry. Florence, please. Come inside.”

But I just kept backing away. A few steps, then a few more. Until I turned and ran. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t care. I ran blindly. Behind me, my mother called my name again. But I didn’t slow. I fled down the hall like a ghost, robe flying open, tears clouding my vision. I ran until there were no walls around me. Until the castle fell away and the night surrounded me.

Black sea stretched out before me. Cool sand crumbled beneath my feet. I could hear the waves hissing softly as they met the shore, like breathing in the dark. The wind tugged at my robe and my loose hair, sharp and salty. I walked slowly until my feet hit wet sand. Then I paced along the shore. The tears kept coming. I didn’t brush them away.

Fireheart.

I flinched but didn’t answer.

Tell me what is happening. Where are you?

I pressed my lips together, jaw tight. Now he wanted to talk. After he’d ignored me for days.

Florence, please. His voice sharpened. Command threading with concern. Where are you?

The beach. Leave me alone.

I barely registered the warm glow until I stepped into it. Suddenly I was illuminated in orange and gold. A low fire crackled with driftwood. Around it lounged a group of students, most of them from House Mortis by the colors of their clothes. I stopped, blinking. Realizing I’d made a terrible mistake.