“Do you remember when you told me Evanora was your ancestor?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered warily, and I saw a hint of her fear—a spark of the trauma we shared deep in her bones.

“Do you have magic, Violeta?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I think if you have to ask, then you likely know,” I said. “I need your help.”

“I am a servant,” she said, and already I felt her building a wall between us.

“Ana and I are going to attempt to contain the crimson mist. It is possible the mist is also responsible for the blood plague. If that is the case, we have the chance to eradicate both,” I explained. “But we need a third witch.”

Violeta had stopped fidgeting, her hands now clasped tightly in her lap. It seemed this did not make her as nervous as kissing Killian.

“Are you asking me or ordering?”

“I will not order you to help cast,” I said. “Your participation must be genuine or the spell will fail.”

She was quiet, considering my words, and then she took a breath. “And what about the witch-hunter?”

“You have no need to fear Solaris,” I said.

In truth, I no longer believed he was a witch-hunter at all. That was just a ruse to endear himself to Adrian’s court.

“Magic will always be dangerous so long as women practice,” she said. “No one wants us to be powerful. They taught us that once, and they will teach us again.”

Her words filled me with dread and disappointment.

She was saying no.

“I hope you are wrong,” was all I could say.

We were quiet, both of us observing the other, then she stood. “High Coven always tried to help people too. It got them killed.”

“High Coven became docile,” I said. “That is what got them killed.”

She did not like my comment. Her nostrils flared as she took in a breath.

“One spell,” she said. “I will help you with one spell.”

“Thank you, Violeta,” I whispered and then cleared my throat. “I will find you later. We do not have long to practice.”

She curtsied, and when she left, relief washed over me, so intense, I burst into tears.

***

Sorin and I were back in the training room, but this time, we sat opposite one another, our legs crossed. I had not seen him since our last session, and I felt the distance between us. I wanted to say something, apologize for getting involved in his relationship with Daroc, but I did not know if he even wanted to approach the topic, so I stayed silent as he instructed me on how to shift into my animal form.

He was describing how it felt for him—how he always felt like his sternum was being cracked and ripped apart, how his ribs seemed to break and puncture his lungs, and just when he thought he couldn’t breathe, he was flying—free.