I believe what Patricia’s told me. After all that I’ve seen here, it would be foolish to think there’s no more to learn. But of all the secrets I thought I’d uncover, I didn’t think my mother’s life—and the magic she wielded—would be one of them. Wildcrafting, plant energy manipulation. What danger would there be in sharing those abilities with others like her? Did she believe Patricia was dangerous? That seems unlikely—Patricia left her alone. The Order’s militancy is more than enough reason to keep a low profile on this campus. But if that was her reasoning, then that means she knew about the Order and Merlins long before I was born. So, did a Merlin know about her? My instinct says yes. Why else would one be at her deathbed twenty-five years later?

Patricia stands up to wrap her shawl around her shoulders. “Traditionally, your mother would teach you all of this. For you not to know when your mother knew about her own abilities means she withheld this information for some reason. And that means, ethically, I need to consider what it means to tell you what your mother did not. Perhaps it’s the therapist in me, but I would like to respect her wishes. I think we should stop for the day. We’ll meet again on Friday and I’ll give you my decision.”

“No!” I’m on my feet, heart pounding. “I need you to tell me everything. I have to know—”

She pauses, frowns. “You have to know what?”

What can I say? Telling anyone that I suspect the Order was a part of my mother’s death could put them in danger, much more so if they use aether. And if my mother hid parts of herself from Patricia, then should I hide my abilities too?

I choose the safest thing to share, and phrase it carefully. “I know about aether.”

Patricia lets out a harsh breath, and I know immediately that I’ve said something wrong. “Where did you learn that word?”

“I—I can’t say.”

Patricia gives me a shrewd, measuring look. She knows I’m hiding something. Like mother, like daughter, I think.

“I respect and value confidentiality, and so I will not pry about what you know or how you know it. Instead, I will aim to earn your trust. But I must tell you that the… practitioners”—she says the word as if it tastes rancid in her mouth—“who use the word ‘aether’ are not your mother’s people.”

“Her people?” I ask.

“Her people. Our people. We are the descendants of those who developed the craft, and we do not call the invisible energy of the world ‘aether.’ We call it ‘root.’ ”