“You don’t have to …” I falter, distracted by the intensity of his expression. The way he is focused solely on me, as if we haven’t just received news that our training is about to become much more complicated and difficult.

“Yes, I do,” Bram says. “Don’t forget that Latham wronged me, too. He befriended me, and then sent me back to Midwood to help you grieve the loss of your mother without telling me that he was the one who killed her.” He shakes his head. “He did that for a reason, and I need to find out what it was.”

My fingers trace the red tattoo around my wrist. It’s supposed to be growing fainter, but if anything, it’s brighter than before.

“I don’t want you to help me because you feel obligated.”

“But I am obligated,” he says. “I loved your mother.”

A lump forms in my throat. “I know you did.”

But I don’t say the rest of what I’m thinking. That I’m heartbroken she’s the only reason he wants to help me.

Chapter Seven

Instructions for the first challenge of the bone games begin arriving later that evening.

Tessa and I sit on a plush, oversized bench in the library—a space so breathtaking that I find it hard to focus on my studies. It’s a soaring atrium six tiers high, supported by graceful, carved bone columns that stretch from floor to ceiling. Each level has a low-walled balcony made from slender bones interwoven in a lattice pattern, giving the illusion that they’re fashioned from lace. Light pours in from large windows, casting the entire room in an otherworldly glow.

A sudden flurry of activity causes both me and Tessa to look up from our spell books. Two instructors—a blue-cloaked Healer and a purple-cloaked Mixer—enter holding large wooden boxes. They glance around the room briefly, then split in opposite directions—one heading for the staircase that curves toward the upper levels, the other stopping at a table nearby and presenting the box to a stunned-looking Watcher.

“What’s going on?” Tessa asks at the same moment the phrase bone games darts through the room like a whisper on wings.

“Were we supposed to get a box?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” Without even thinking, I stand, as does every other apprentice in the library. We are—all of us—drawn to the nearby apprentice who received a box.

A crowd gathers around the Watcher, who shuffles from one foot to the other as his peers pummel him with questions: What’s in the box? Where’s the rest of your team? Are you nervous?

“Back up and give him some space,” the Mixing Master says, making a gentle flicking motion with her hand. “This group’s challenge has nothing to do with yours. You’ll each get your own instructions in due time.”