I scrubbed for nearly thirty minutes to get the dried blood off my skin and under my fingernails. How blood gets under one's fingernails is beyond me. I didn't even touch him.

My skin feels sticky and thick.

Luckily, my mother was able to heal my father well enough after Hawthorne's intervention. Mother wasted no time in calling the Healers to check him over. Of course, Dad had protested but he was no match for her.

When I arrive at my parents' door, Wilum and Hawthorne are already waiting. The two are lost in their own conversation and ignore me altogether. Hawthorne is the first to notice me. His haunting grey eyes sag, but the color has returned to his face.

"How is he?" I ask.

"He nearly died. How do you think he is?" Wilum snaps.

"He'll be fine," Hawthorne says. His voice is soft yet stern. "How are you?"

"I scrubbed most of the blood away. It clashes with gold."

The corners of Hawthorne's lips twist into a smile. It's the first time I've seen him smile. "No, I guess not. You weren't hurt in the attack?"

"No. I didn't do much, either."

"You saved Dad." Wilum says. "If it weren't for you, that murdering piece of shit would have—"

"They didn't. And they won't." I try to sound as confident as possible. I promised not to read my brother's mind, but I don't need to. "Besides, do you really think Dad's going to die easily and let you inherit all that he's built."

Wilum snorts. "No, he won't. You should change clothes."

"Once I know he's okay. I'll change into something a little less traumatic."

"I should go. It's been a long night." Hawthorne says. "And I'm sure you'd like some time with your family."

"Thanks. For tonight." I say. "If it weren't for you, our dad would be dead. So, thanks."

Hawthorne nods as he leaves us standing in the hallway. His footsteps recede down the hallway until they are no longer audible. I turn to Wilum. His eyes roam over me, lingering too long on mine. "What?"

"Nothing."

Wilum is only twenty-four. The lines on his forehead say otherwise. He's next in line to become a Magister and never asked for it. I dodged a bullet by being born after him.

I pad around the hallway. The wall opposite the door is decorated with family photos. On the dark wood table, my parents have built a shrine to their wedding, complete with candles, roses, and a picture of them on their wedding day.

My parents beam and kiss as rose petals sweep at their feet. My mother's long white dress jostles as my father sweeps her in his arms.

The longer I stare at the picture, the more I get a sense of being there. I can hear my mother's laugh and cups clinking and feel the sun's warmth on my face.

I pull away, my eyes landing on a picture of the family at Seraphim Beach along the coast of Coloaris. I can feel the sun on my skin and hear Wilum laughing. "Do you remember Coloaris?"

Wilum looks over his shoulder. "When I convinced you to bury yourself up to your head?" He laughs.

I roll my eyes. "No. When Britton told you that if you kiss a mermaid, they'd instantly fall in love with you. You chased mermaids the entire time."

"If I remember correctly, you were the one that jumped off the boat in the middle of the ocean."

"I thought I saw a mermaid," I say. "But it was fun, right? It was a good time."

"It was fun. A lot more fun than assassination attempts."

"They were fairies," I blurt. "One of them called me Maeked."

"Fairies? That's not possible. We're at peace with fairies. Fairies were at the party."

Wilum groans, turning away from me. His thoughts are jumbled and chaotic. He's broadcasting.

"There could be war."

"The alliance is broken."

"Stop broadcasting." I project.

Wilum's thoughts are quiet as he turns to me. The quiet between us brings me relief. Until it's interrupted by Eret's screeching.

The giant flaming bird majestically soars in from an open window. Her wings spread almost the length of the hallway. Her head, back and wings are burning furiously as it lands on my shoulder. The flames extinguish themselves as something drops into my hand. It's a letter folded with the seal of House Ardene.

With one hand, I stroke Eret's beak, and with the other, I slide the seal off, unfurling the letter.

"Peri,

I hope your father is well. My father is in shambles after the attack. It was nice seeing you tonight, and I hope to see you again while I'm in town.

Yours,

Aisling."

Wilum peeks over my shoulder, gaining a peck from Eret. "Damn bird! Who's the letter from, your boyfriend?"

"Aisling isn't my boyfriend. I know it's a foreign concept, but I have friends."

"Foreign? I have Britton."

"Britton is in Yurope breeding dragons," I say. "Name another one."

Eret squawks as he flaps his wings and ascends into the air. She bursts into flames again, flying out of the same window she entered.

"They just had to get you a phoenix; all I got was a Hellhound. Where is that damn dog?" Wilum complains.

Before the door opens, muffled swear words fill the hallway. The doors to my parents' room open to my father ranting about being attacked. He must have been in the middle of a huge one. The soundproof charm only works once the door is closed, apparently.

"The Colmata. Now!" He rages.

Dad storms out of the room, trailed by a huge bushy dog. Bron wags his tail unenthusiastically as he walks with his head tilted forward, stalking Dad. She became more his dog than Wilums.

Wilum and I follow him down the long hall to another before we're at the War Room. The infamous War Room is where all manner of treaties and war declarations have been made. Luckily, the war declarations were years before I was thought of.

Dad throws the wooden double doors open and storms inside. We barely slide in before the doors slam shut. "Ake Madhara Ascenseum." He shouts.

The gigantic circular room is built around a round table with all of Sumerica built on its top. Three long maroon booths surround the table. An ancient rug from a pre-awakening place called Persia lies below it.

The walls are filled with books about diplomacy and war. At the far end of the room is a small alcove where at least three people can sit together.

Dad walks over to the fireplace opposite the circular table. With a gesture, a fire roars to life inside.

He gingerly moves back to the table, bent forward slightly as the other members pop into the room. Cordelia is there along with Illyria Ravensdale, Beatrix Stonecroft, and Sybil Cazan. Noticeably absent is Gildren Lockert.

Illyria, ever graceful, moves to the head of the table. Her curly blue hair flutters behind her as her ocean-blue eyes bounce from one member to the other—the Ardent and most powerful among us.

Beatrix's steely black eyes linger on me for too long before she finds a seat on Illyria's right side. The oldest of the Hex sisters, her sunkissed skin is flawless. A persistent scowl accompanies a cold, offputting demeanor.

Sybil Cazan is the last of the newcomers and sits to Illyria's left. Her colorful peasant dress and the ring of flowers adorning her head say that she was observing some of the old ways when she got the call. The house of Cazan is one of tradition. I'm surprised her russet skin is caked with skull make-up.

The air in the room is tense. Their minds are buzzing so fast I can hardly catch my breath. I close my eyes, hoping to steady my power. I clear my mind of everything, pushing out any thoughts that are not mine.

"You're okay." Wilum's voice comes through the haze.

I open my eyes to find Wilum clutching my wrist. He whispers. "Are you okay?" before he finally lets my hand go.

"Rost, we heard what happened. Some of us were in attendance." Illyria says. "Are you alright?"

"I want to call a meeting with the Collective," Dad says.

Wilum's face is as stunned as I feel. Calling a meeting of the Colmata is important enough, but to urge a meeting with the Collective is out of my scope.

"The Collective? You would be calling all those in alliance." Illyria says.

"I know. Someone attacked me tonight. They were fairies." Dad says.

A sharp pain radiates where my heart should be. My heart stops entirely. I hoped I was the only one who heard the man call me "Maeked," but Dad was paying attention.

Maeked is a term for a child in old Fae. Only someone well-versed in Faeur would know that—a pseudo-royal or someone of faithful Fae upbringing.

"And the sword they carried was Fae-forged," Dad says. "The fairies launched an attack on me. On us."

"The fae would not start a new war," Beatrix interjects. "They wanted alliance as much as we did. We have always gotten along with them. Are you sure they weren't vampires?"

"Please!" Sybil says. "We don't want war with vampires, either."

"They were fae. And they almost killed me. And my son. I want retribution." Dad says.

Illyria resets her jaw. Something I've seen her do in more stressful situations. "Retribution or revenge? I will set a group of Magi on the case. They will look for any clues as to who has attacked you."

"You're wasting time."

"I'm trying to talk you down from waging war on the fae. Weren't there fae at your ball?" Illyria asks.

"Yes, there were. And they were quite polite." Cordelia says.

Dad grows quiet. I expect steam to rise out of his ears like an old cartoon. Instead, he merely clasps his hands together with a big grin. "What if they try again? But this time, it's you. Or your children."

"Ardents have no children." Illyria smirks.

"Are not all children your children?"

"Rost, you are angry. We understand you are angry, as you should be, but you are being unreasonable. It is unlike you and unbecoming of someone in your position." Illyria glares at him impassively. "I need you to check your anger. We have a strong alliance with the Fae. They do not want you dead."

"I will not yield. If I have to find the assailants myself, I will."

"As your Ardent, I forbid you from doing anything that might jeopardize our alliance with the Fae. If you do, there will be swift consequences, Magister Reyshard. Am I understood?"

Her tone is one of finality, and I'm not readily familiar with it. She is usually more jubilant and joking, but there is no mistaking her warning. Dad knows it, too. His only reply is a nod of the head.

The witches stand and exit one by one, leaving only Dad, Wilum, and me. Once everyone is gone, Wilum steps forward to Dad, who storms past him.

"That could have gone better," Wilum says.

"Yeah, they shut that down quick," I say. "They're right...this time. The fae wouldn't openly start a war while they're here."

"But who else would want Dad dead?"

"Loads of people. He's the magister."

Wilum's lip twitches. "Of one of the most peaceful, prosperous cities in Sumerica. We have high health, education, and economic scores. The best in centuries. There's a reason why there are no coups."

"Someone doesn't feel the same, Wilum. None of this feels real."

Bron's tail swats my leg, reminding me he's still in the room with us. I run my hand over his soft but coarse fur. "You know, animals only like you because you're non-threatening," Wilum says.

The smell of lavender and rosemary wafts from Bron's fur. His tail wags as he barks at Wilum and lopes out of the room. "Animals can sense assholes, which is why none of them like you."

"Yeah? Well...you're a nerd." Wilum says as he exits the room with a broad smile.

The tense feelings still permeate the air. It's like static crackling in my brain. The feeling, mixed with the iron smell in my nose and the stickiness of my clothes, puts me on edge.

Knowing my Dad, this isn't over.