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“What reason could she possibly have for that? I still stood out like a sore thumb.” No, Orcades hadn’t taken my powers away on purpose, she had used them up to save herself. But I didn’t want to tell my friends that. I wasn’t sure they’d understand. Because in the end, I didn’t blame Orcades for what she’d done. I was simply grateful to have had her in my life.

“I don’t know …” Theo took a deep breath. “Maybe because sometimes the safest thing is for a powerful person to believe that they aren’t one.”

I thought Theo was off base, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a little truth to what he’d said. The words sank in deep, and I hadn’t even told them about Rodriguez’s little prophecy.

Visha leaned back against the chaise she was sprawled on. Even during dark-magic rituals, she looked surprisingly casual. “He’s saying it has to be your blood we use for this. Not mine. I mean, are we really surprised?”

“Blake’s blood, your own powers, or your mother’s.” He shook his head. “Either way, there’s something about you, Medra.”

I threw up my hands. “Fine. As long as you’re sure.”

“Look, I’m the resident sanguimancy expert, aren’t I?”

I knew Theo was trying to joke. But no one cracked a smile. “I trust you. I just don’t trust that this will go well. And if we fail …”

“If we fail, Blake is dead,” Visha said bluntly. She eyed me. “Among other possibilities.”

“But he already is if we do nothing,” Theo said quietly.

I inhaled slowly, picturing Blake’s face in my mind. His mouth, smirking slowly. His crooked nose, perfectly imperfect. The way his hand felt holding mine. The way he said my name—not Medra, but Pendragon. I’d grown used to it. He’d made it his own. Whatever happened, whatever the cost, it was worth it. I nodded. “Right. You’re right. I know this. Let’s do it.”

Theo sat down on the floor cross-legged. I sank down across from him. Visha stayed where she was, the critical observer. “Here goes,” Theo said. He rolled up his sleeves.

A few minutes later, I studied the dagger Theo and I had just performed a dark blood-magic ritual over. “How do we know if it worked?”

“We won’t. Not until you, you know …” Theo tried to shrug nonchalantly but I saw the worry in his eyes. “But I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Visha pushed her chair back. “As will I. Now can we stop dawdling and get out of here?” She looked at the clock on the wall. “I’d rather be early to a confrontation with a dragon than late, if you don’t mind.”

Panic sprang up in me again, sharp and unrelenting. “What if he doesn’t come? What if he’s too weak to fly? What if—”

Visha cut me off, already opening the door. “This isn’t the time for what ifs. This is when we act. This is when we take the battle to Vorago. Now, are you coming or not?”

I grabbed the object from the floor; it felt cold against my palm. I hoped I wasn’t accidentally infecting it with my doubt and fear. All of this could be for nothing. But Theo really did look confident, so that was something. And Visha … well, she always looked skeptical.

I shoved my own nagging doubt aside and carefully placed the item in a heavily stuffed backpack, then slung the bag over my shoulders. Theo was already out in the hall, crossbow in his hand. His angular face was resolute.

“I’m coming,” I said, reaching for my own weapon propped by the door. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 17

BLAKE

I drifted in and out of consciousness. When I did surface, it was always in old memories.

I found myself in a drawing room. Someone had lit tall scented candles and drawn the curtains, even though it was still daylight outside. A blightborn servant moved through the room, quietly clearing away cups and plates of half-eaten food and drink and straightening chairs.

I only had to catch a whiff of the candles for the memory to come streaming back in full. I knew this day: It was one of the worst days of my life. The day after my father’s death.

I sat on a velvet sofa with Aenia curled up beside me. We were at one of the Drakharrow estates just outside Veilmar. Every so often, Aenia’s small body would shake with sobs. But she wasn’t crying for our father. She was crying because Mother was gone.

I watched the servant tidy up, doing what people in the great houses always did after a death: pretend that order could fill the void.

The day before, in a single moment, everything had changed. Mother, Aenia, and I had been together in the same drawing room, seated around a table playing a game of cards, when Viktor had unexpectedly arrived. We’d watched from the window as he’d jumped out of his carriage, surrounded by guards, and marched into the house. My mother’s hands had tightened around the cards she’d been holding as my uncle entered. He delivered the news with a coldness that, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have found surprising, telling us how Father had been found dead in the Black Keep that morning. It was suicide, my uncle had announced. The family would know the truth. But to the public, he would tell a different story. Highbloods didn’t often die so young from natural causes. But this would have to be an exception. No doubt Viktor would be painting it as a terrible tragedy.

“Blake,” Aenia asked for the hundredth time that day. “Is Mama sick?”

I closed my eyes. “No, I don’t think so.”