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  When I gazed up at him, the Prime cocked his head as he stared back. "Why are you looking for information about your mom anyway? Why does it matter?"

  My verbal dam broke, and I spat, "Because I grew up not knowing anything about her, and honestly, I really didn't care. But now… now I feel like I need to know her to know myself."

  "What about your dad? Why isn't he helping you?"

  A bitter sigh passed my lips, and shook my head, "I don't know if I can even trust George Miller anymore—Oh yeah, I'm surprised Rebecca didn't tell you. The man who raised me isn't my real dad. Also, his dragon is gone."

  Logan lowered his chin. "Gone? As in gone—gone? As in the Stygian Ritual gone? Geez, what did he do?"

  I shook my head again, "I don't know. Ashe mentioned that it was a punishment, but not for what. And my dad wouldn't talk to me. Maybe he just left the Dragonborn? But is that really a thing? They take your dragon if you leave?"

  Logan's brows came together. "No, not for leaving. The Stygian Ritual is for serious criminals. If he really was punished like that, he must've done something terrible."

  Whispering, I asked, "Like what? What would you have to do? Because to take away someone's dragon? That's terrible… it's just wrong."

  He raised one shoulder. "Well, it's a punishment. The humans punish people, and so do we. We have to protect and punish our own. Especially if it's something outside the mundane world."

  Dinner must have ended because the once empty courtyard began to fill with students streaming from the Main Hall onto wet cobble and gravel paths.

  "Punishment for what crimes?" I asked in hushed tones.

  He shook his head, "I honestly don't know. I've never known anyone who had it done. Having a dragon or even a wyvern is powerful… We need to stick together, work together."

  "Yeah? Don't the Dragonborn already do that?" I asked.

  He lifted a shoulder. "Most of us. But the Elibera are tearing us apart. They want to go public and try to control the mundanes—Power, that's what the Elibera want. Maybe George had something to do with them. Elibera members are the only ones I've even heard of getting the Stygian ritual."

  "What? That can't be true—Ashe is Elibera." Was Logan messing with me?

  The Drake's eyes pierced my own, and not a hint of a smile graced his mouth. "Yeah, most Harrow dragons are Elibera—it would be weird if Ashe wasn't. If you see a Black or grey Harrow dragon—with those spikes on its head—you can guarantee that its rider is Elibera. Just like when you see one of our Drake dragons—blue or green, or kind of both like Aaraeth—you can bet the rider is Orthodox."

  "Huh. Ashe told me some of this, but I didn't realize it was so polarized. What about the red dragons?"

  "Ahh—the third house, Eton dragons—they can be white too or pinkish. They aren't so easy to classify because most try to remain neutral. But life's messy. Eton Dragonborn might be Orthodox or Elibera, involved or not involved at all. They’re always the wild card."

  I considered his words as we continued to walk. Was he exaggerating about the Elibera? Was this all just propaganda used to scare me? Or was this true?

  As we neared Drake House, I stopped on the steps that lead up to the stone porch, but Logan continued.

  With his hand on the door handle, he looked back at me. "I'll try to find out more about the ritual. Come by my room later tonight, and I'll tell you what I learn."

  I let out an exasperated sigh. "Your room? Tonight? Who are you going to ask?"

  "I've got my sources. Come by. I'll be up until midnight." He pulled one of the heavy doors open and turned back toward me, his eyes flicking to the students littering the night. They formed lines along the paths leading to the three houses.

  The Drake Prime stood there, looking like a prince from a fairytale, warm yellow light glowing around him as he stood on the threshold before getting lost in the wave of students entering the building.

  I stayed outside, my mind unsettled, and sat on one of the porch benches. Three of them sat against the wall, looking out past stone columns that held up a second-floor balcony above.

  What did George do? I asked Aaraeth, knowing she didn't have the answer.

  The question is, do you really want to know? She said. Remember, Logan can only tell you possibilities, not fact.

  Taya emerged from the throng of students and sat beside me, nudging my shoulder with her own. "Hey, you okay?"

  "Yeah," I answered her absentmindedly as I chewed my bottom lip.

  Sensing Diata, my guard's dragon, I nudged the beast and asked, what crime is punished with the Stygian Ritual?

  The red wyvern let my question swirl in her mind before answering, bad things, my Queen, very bad things.

  Taya straightened and caught my eye—aware that I spoke to her beast.

  Sucking in a breath and then blowing it out, her gaze flicked to the ground. The flow of students had died down, and we sat alone in the quiet night.

  Tension had built up inside my companion, flowing out until I couldn't ignore it.

  "What's going on? Your dragon feels weird."

  She groaned. "I almost forget you're a Prime sometimes and can feel my emotions."

  "Taya, is something wrong?"

  "Sydney, please don't hate me…"

  "Hate you for what?" I asked, my brows coming together and a chill racing up my spine.

  Taya pulled something from her pocket and handed it to me. She watched me, her eyes wide, her body shivering in the cold as I took it from her.

  "What is this, Taya?" I asked, unfolding what I realized was an envelope.

  A lump formed in my throat when I read who it was addressed to.

  Me—it was addressed to me.

  From George.

  Glancing back up at my guard in the dark, I scoffed. "How long have you had this?"

  She shook her head, "I'm sorry. It was orders. You weren't supposed to know, but after what happened in New York… I've been waiting to give it to you. I swear."

  I searched her face, anxious, and lined with worry.

  Diata? Is this true? I asked, pushing on the Eton beast.

  Taya's red dragon bent to my will. Yes, my Queen. We were ordered to intercept all your communications.

  "Taya? Who ordered you to do this?"

  She sucked in a shaky breath. "Your uncle, Colonel Lambert."

  "Durand… ugh!" I shook my head and smoothed the envelope. It had been ripped open, the top jagged with messy edges.

  I stood, my eyes burning with anger.

  "How long have you had this?" I squinted to read the postmark and scoffed. "Over a month ago. This is bullshit. Did you read it?"

  "No! I got it like that." Taya joined me, grabbing my arm. "You can't tell anyone. I wasn't supposed to give this to you. I was supposed to burn it. I could get court-martialed or worse if anyone finds out."

  "How can I trust you now?" I asked, looking out at the empty quad. The trees swayed in the wind that swept through the open space between buildings.

  She sniffed and shook her head. "Look, I feel like shit about it. I really am sorry."

  I crossed my arms over my chest and blew out a heavy breath. I could feel the truth in her words with my new senses.

  After a few moments of tense silence, I finally said, "I believe you."

  "So, we're good?" She asked, an apologetic smile curving her lips.

  "Yeah, we're good. I'm not sure I want to read anything George has to say anyway."

  She lifted a shoulder. "Well, now it's up to you."

  3

  After showering, I dressed in loose shorts and a t-shirt. Sitting on the bench in the bathroom, I brushed my hair out as I watched myself in the mirror. But I didn’t see me; all I could see was that crumpled up letter from da—George.

  Pawing through the clothes I’d worn earlier, the wad of papers Taya had given me tumbled out.

  A chill ran through me, and I shivered.

  Are you going to open it? Aaraeth asked.

 
I chewed my bottom lip, my insides feeling fluttery. I don’t know.

  Smoothing the envelope on the edge of the bench, I examined it. This was George’s handwriting.

  Aaraeth? I wonder if he got my letter.

  She made that dragon sound that was half hiss, half snort before saying, There is only one way to find out. Open it.

  I was afraid. Unsure about what I might find. I’d told myself that George didn’t matter. That he turned his back on me, so I should do the same to him. But… what if he had a reason?

  Aaraeth, this is one of two things, he’ll either give me answers or hurt me again. I just… If it’s bad, then I don’t want to know.

  Information is power, she replied.

  Mmmm… this could be something important, or it could be more lies.

  There is only one way to find out.

  I swallowed and whispered, “I’ll need to open it. Oh god. I don’t know if I can.”

  It was almost as if I could hear George’s words in my mind, “Shit or get off the pot. Stop messing about.”

  Steeling myself, I pulled out two pages written in George’s tiny cursive front and back.

  I groaned. I hated cursive, and he knew that. Who writes in cursive anymore?

  Then as I read his meaningless scrawling script with extra accidental letters, anger blazed inside me. The man didn’t even care enough to spell my name correctly! It read, “Dear Syidney.”

  Tears filled my eyes, and my hand shook as I flipped the letter over. It was all about the weather and stupid things—all of it, meaningless drivel. I crumbled the pages in my fist and let them drop between my knees.

  A sob wracked my body, and I slid to the floor.

  Had I really expected George to give me answers?

  Wiping my face with my sleeve, I shot to my feet and tugged off several squares of toilet paper from the nearest stall before blowing my nose.

  Pulling out my toiletries bag, I dumped it out on the counter in my anger. The small bottles of hotel lotion and shampoo clattered on the surface alongside a nail polish bottle and a tube of lip balm.

  Mixed in with the various bottles and tubes was a pink lighter. I fished it from the pile and marched back to the bench.

  Picking up George’s bullshit letter, I held it over the sink.

  Flicking the lighter, I held it below the sheets of paper and let out an angry laugh. “You’re a fucking asshole George.”

  The flames crawled across the blue writing, turning it to soot.

  And that’s when I saw it and read aloud, “…when Augusta King stopped by the other day…”

  George had even gone over the name twice, making it bolder than the rest.

  “Augusta King. Augusta Ada King. Ada Lovelace—the coder. Shit!” I gasped and smacked the letter, trying to keep it from burning any more. A weight lifted off my chest.

  Hearing laughter outside in the hallway, I glanced toward the doorway, then back at the paper. With my mind, I steered the girls away from the bathroom.

  That was clumsy of you, Aaraeth told me.

  I kept my voice down as I answered her, “What? I made them go away.”

  Yesssss, she hissed, but you should be able to do it without them feeling you. Keep practicing.

  Storing this tidbit of information for later, I pulled the half charred remnants of paper from the sink. Staring at the mess in disbelief, I chewed on my thumb nail. Out of two pages, I’d managed to mostly save the upper third of both.

  Who is Augusta King? Why does she matter? Aaraeth prodded me.

  “She matters because it means that George still cares! Listen, last fall, he took me to an exhibit in London. It was all about women cryptologists—and Ada Lovelace, also known as Augusta King, was one of them.” I gasped happy breaths, nearly on the edge of hysteria. “Don’t you understand? George hasn’t abandoned me after all. He wrote in code. That’s why everything is so simple, and my name had an extra letter. I should’ve known. I should’ve trusted him. Maybe he knew his letters would be opened. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter now. Right now, I need to figure out how to decrypt this.”

  Pacing the room, I blew out a breath, trying to remember details about her work.

  “Okay… Ada Lovelace… I think she did something with the Bernoulli numbers.” I said, sinking against the wall. “Shit, George! How am I supposed to crack this?”

  Maybe it is something else. Aaraeth suggested.

  I puffed up my cheeks. “Okay. Let me think. Ada Lovelace. Computers, her original code… what else? Ahh…” I pulled out my phone and searched up her name on my browser.

  Skimming the Wiki entry, I read, “Her computer code for the difference machine was used to calculate the Bernoulli numbers.”

  Ashe does things with human numbers. He can help, Aaraeth told me.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall. “No, no. I don’t want to bring him into this just yet. Also, George wouldn’t give me something I couldn’t figure out on my own. I need to think about it. How would he use Bernoulli’s code for this? There’s no starting point, no reference. The code would be way too complicated. Maybe it’s something else. I need to think about it.”

  I folded up what was left of the letter and began tucking it back into the envelope. The top corner stuck out with the date written in the upper right-hand corner. It was written March 3. George dated everything, but this letter was postmarked nearly a month before. It was stamped with the round Vietnamese postal stamp, the date in western numbers 2/2. February 2nd.

  Curious.

  Tucking the letter into the waistband of my leggings, I stood. Gathering up my things, I hurried back to my dorm room. The cold spring breeze wafted inside from the open window. Closing the space, I slammed it shut and began pacing the room.

  With my hands clasped behind my head, I crossed the room twice.

  Aaraeth seemed to squirm and take up space in my head.

  You want out? You’re making this harder for me, I told her.

  When she didn’t answer but just pushed to be free, I let her go. She landed on the plush circular carpet in the middle of the room. Her tail moved Becca’s backpack up against her desk.

  Aaraeth’s multifaceted eyes swirled as she took in the room with her superior dragon vision. Circling like a dog before it lays down, she snorted a puff of smoke before settling onto the carpet. Her head rested on her front paws, and she gazed up at me.

  I paced the small space she left, having to step over her tail as I crossed the room.

  “It has to be simple,” I murmured under my breath. “Could it be that easy? Could the date be the key?”

  Climbing up onto my bed, I grabbed my messenger bag and pulled out a notebook and pencil. Making myself comfortable in a cross-legged position, I found an empty page and began writing out the alphabet.

  I bit the end of my pencil and ran my hand over the crinkled letter.

  Now, if I’m right, and I hope I am, then this is a simple cipher. Three and seven. Shift the alphabet three over, then take every seventh letter. Yeah. Look, he added an I in my name in the seventh position.

  I grinned and began writing a second alphabet below the first, offset by three.

  Then I started writing down every seventh letter. At first, it didn’t work, so I checked the code and moved to the bottom alphabet.

  “For your eyes only,” I read in a whisper. That wasn’t too hard. That was actually pretty easy!

  Aaraeth grunted in disagreement.

  I finished writing out all the letters before going through and making a slash to break up words.

  Daughter of my heart. I love you. Stay away for... Sorry to… you important things in code but needs m…“needs must,” I whispered, finishing his sentence.

  I double-checked the rest of that sheet, but it was unsalvageable, and the second page was just as bad.

  “Crud! George’s handwriting is entirely unreadable.” I read on: For your good. Don’t be obvious. Do not tell…you know where
.

  That was it. My excitement was now doused.

  I groaned. “Stupid!”

  If I hadn’t been so emotional, then I would’ve had the complete letter.

  I smoothed the paper out and tried to decipher the missing words and letters within George’s tiny, messy cursive. It wasn’t possible. Even if I had the complete paper, there was too much that I couldn’t decode.

  “Oh George, you devil,” I finally said.

  When the door opened abruptly, I jumped.

  Taya paused on the threshold. “Do you need me to come back?”

  I shook my head. “No, close the door and come in.”

  She hurried over and sank down into my chair, earbuds hanging around her sweaty neck. Lifting her water bottle to her lips, she swallowed. “Well?”

  “How was your run?”

  She tilted her head and blinked her eyes. “Don’t do that. I can tell you’re bursting to tell me something.”

  “The letter from George was in code. But being a dumb ass, I burned most of it before I figured that out. Can you send him a letter from me?”

  Taya lifted her eyes to mine and slowly smiled. “Yeah.”

  4

  Sitting at my desk, my ponytail slapped my face as I reached down to pick up my math book from the floor. I’d been coasting these past few months, but now knowing that George must want me here for a reason, I needed to catch up on my studies and blend in. I needed to pay attention and get better grades.

  Information was power, and I was being an idiot, not taking full advantage of the school while I was here.

  When Becca came waltzing through the door with Esther and Mai in her wake, I was still poring over my homework.

  The three flopped around the room, chatting and giggling. Mai lay on my bed, which I ignored until she nudged my thigh with her outstretched foot.

  “Hey? We missed you at dinner. You’re not turning into a goodie-goodie like Liv, are you?” She teased me playfully.

  I closed my textbook with a thump and smiled over at Mai, “Very funny. You’re just jealous.”

  Olivia and I had become close over the past month. She was a Drake too, which made it easier to hang out. Most people at Balaur Academy stuck with people from their own house. I wasn’t sure if it was convenience or a prejudice.