Ash sighs like I’ve completely missed the point. “And if I let you navigate a world you don’t know and confront the most powerful Strategia Family by yourself, I might as well give up my future leadership now, because I will always know that I wasn’t there when it mattered most.”

I stare at him, terrified of what could happen to him and just as desperate to have him with me. “If you join me, you might not live to graduate the Academy, much less lead.”

“And I also might never learn to speak French with an undetectable accent. There are just some things one needs to accept about oneself,” Ash says, and the smile creeps back onto his face.

“Ash—”

“November,” he says, and takes my hand, the warmth of his fingers sending goose bumps up my arm. “I’ve considered the danger; I know very well what kind of risks we’re taking. But my decision remains unchanged. I’m going with you.”

Chapter Two

THE EARLY-MORNING LIGHT seeps around the edges of the blackout curtains, and I lie awake in my canopied bed, watching the room slowly come into focus. There was a time, not long ago, when the grayness of this school and the lack of electricity unnerved me. I felt so isolated in this castle in the middle of a forest, away from everything I knew and loved. And it strikes me in this moment that I don’t know when that changed, when I changed, but I don’t feel trapped anymore. I don’t feel out of place the way I once did.

I pull my curtains open, letting in the hazy light. There is a deep chill in the room and my socks aren’t cutting it on the cold stone floor. I make my way over to my antique dresser, which holds a bowl of water and a fresh towel. I splash some water on my face and inspect myself in the mirror. The shadow under my eye where I was punched a couple of weeks ago is barely noticeable anymore, and the cuts on my arms and legs from Felix throwing me out of the tree are red but starting to heal. The bruise along my jawline is darker than it was yesterday and I’m sore, but those seem like infinitesimal worries compared to locating my dad.

I look out the window to the trees; between the branches, the first bits of snow swirl and flutter. “Snow,” I breathe, instantly homesick for Pembrook and Emily and our wintertime antics. And then it occurs to me what day it is. “December twentieth,” I say, and my chest constricts.

“Deeeecember tweeeentieth!” Emily and I shout out the back windows of my dad’s truck. There’s six inches of snow on the ground, making the trees sparkle and our town square look like an idyllic scene from a New England holiday card.