Latham’s father sighs. “No, of course not. Just a difficult day at Ivory Hall, that’s all.”

Latham perches on the back of a chair. “What made it hard?”

His father ruffles his hair. “A vote that didn’t go my way.”

Outside the vision, gooseflesh races over my arms. I explore another path, and then another. And they all end at the same moment: when Latham’s father describes who got voted onto the Grand Council.

My hands are trembling as I pull them away from the bones. The implications slide down my spine like ice.

Latham is trying to replicate what happened with the bone I broke. When this bone heals, only one of the potential paths it represents will be real. But unlike before, these aren’t future paths. These decisions happened long ago. Gran used to say that the past is a rigid and unchangeable thing. But in my head, I hear my mother arguing with Latham before she died. Some things can’t be altered.

Remembering his response makes a slow beat of dread pulse through me. With enough power, anything can be altered. Latham isn’t trying to control the future.

He’s trying to change the past.

Chapter Twenty-Two

On the way back to Ivory Hall, I lag a bit behind the others, lost in thought. Every so often Tessa or Bram casts a concerned glance over their shoulder. I can tell they want to pummel me with questions but are fighting the urge. I’m grateful for the space.

Leaving Gran’s bones behind made me physically ill, but I had no choice. If I had taken them, Latham would know I’d been to the shop and we’d lose our only lead on his whereabouts. I’d never find my mother’s remains. Never be able to stop him.

I make a vow in my heart that I’ll go back soon to bring Gran safely home. And I’ll make Latham pay for this day along with all the other horrors he’s brought into my life.

As we crest the hill, I hear Tessa’s sharp intake of breath, and my gaze snaps up. A knot wedges beneath my breastbone.

Norah is standing at the front door, waiting for us. Her hands are on her hips, and her expression is enraged.

Niklas freezes. His arm reflexively tightens around the satchel slung over his shoulder, and I think of the bone-carved tools stashed inside. If he gets caught with them, he’ll be expelled. I move in front of him, blocking him from Norah’s view.

“All of you get inside,” she says through clenched teeth. “Now!”

A dull roar fills my ears as we file past her. She slams the door behind us, then turns to the handful of apprentices milling around the grand foyer.