“I do hope to see you again, Agnes,” Matthias said. Then he grinned, quick and catlike. “The semester begins at the end of the month.”

Agnes managed a nod and left the library in a daze, Vada following close behind. She walked down the steps back to their waiting metapar on wooden legs, climbing into the seat as Vada said, “Take us to the Street of Lies. Bas’s Secret.”

The cart lurched forward. Agnes was dimly aware of the streets they wound through, but all the colors and sounds blurred together.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to be,” she said after a while. Her voice was thick with emotion. “I was supposed to deserve a spot, not have it gifted to me because of my family name.”

“Hey,” Vada said. “Do not be so cruel to yourself. You are the smartest person I know, Agnes McLellan, and one of the bravest too. Your grandmother did what grandmothers do—she tried to take care of you. Adults are not always knowing what is best for us.”

Agnes shook her head. A tear slid down her cheek and Vada brushed it away with her thumb, a simple gesture that held more meaning than Agnes could put into words. True, her acceptance was not what she thought it would be. But Vada was here, Vada was touching her, comforting her.

“I am thinking you will be making one of Pelago’s premier scientists,” Vada declared.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Perhaps. But why would that mean it is not also true?”

Agnes gave in to the smile that rose up inside her and allowed herself to melt a little into Vada’s arms. She could feel Vada’s heart beat against her shoulder and it was exciting and calming all at once.

There were other things to consider anyway, she thought as the cart bumped along the streets of Ithilia. Her grandmother had attacked that princess. Leo and Sera were safe for now. She hoped Vada knew how to get to Culinnon. Her stomach pinched at the thought of this mystical island she never knew existed that would one day be hers.

She wondered if Ambrosine knew her estranged son was working for a member of the Triumvirate. Probably—her grandmother seemed like the type who knew everything.

The metapar rolled to a halt and Agnes looked around. They were on a narrow street lit with colorful paper lanterns. Wild music spilled out of the crooked restaurants and bars that lined the cobbled road, and the people here were dressed in slinky clothes and seemed like the sort who would not be out of place in Old Port’s East Village—artists and musicians and philosophers.

“Where are we?” Agnes asked as Vada jumped down to pay the driver.