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this very personal offense. “Munitioners. As in munitions artisan.”
    “I didn’t say anything!” Vin rubbed his jaw. The skin was red, definitely bruised. He turned his large, pretty eyes on Caz. His shoulder sloped in her direction. “I never called them that, Caz.”
    “You nodded. I saw it!” Caz said.
    Vin fell back a step and looked around at the crowd. His face went from apologetic to a steely expression.
    “So what?” Vin hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “My dad says they make weapons. What’s that sound like to you?”
    “It sounds like they’re doing what your dad told them to do,” Caz snarled. “Not that you would know a picoamp about it!” Who was he, besides the spoiled kid of the dimensional congressional commandant himself? “You or ol’ Zak Flak.”
    Zak Faras’s pale face glowed scarlet, but he took courage from Vin.
    “Doesn’t matter what you call them,” he said. “They’re still the ones making weapons. And weapons are for . . . killing.” Zak whispered the last word. He scooted next to Vin, drowning in his tall shadow. “What’s that sound like to you?”
    “It sounds like you need to shut up!” Caz took an aggressive step. Xander wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her back.
    With a sudden scuttling movement, the circle of children broke ranks. Caz noticed the startled face of Vin’s shabby little brother, Ricks, among them. The headmistress of the academy, Madame Vislane, strode calmly toward them amidst a swirl of metallic fabrics and striking blue voltage. Her silver eyes caught the light, her eyebrows held aloft in condescending composure.
    Caz released a hiss. The Queen Drone herself, here to put them in their places. She wouldn’t shout, she wouldn’t scold. She wouldn’t even punish them—at least not in her mind. That would go against the rules of etiquette and serenity. That would put her on the same level as a mutineer—a munitioner . As Caz’s parents.
    All the children wandered purposefully away, pretending they’d taken no part in the moment of hostility. They were innocent bystanders who found it all so very beneath them. Ricks buried himself in the crowd. Caz was surprised he’d been watching at all, the coward.
    “Cazandra. Xander,” Madame Vislane addressed them in a soft voice with a gentle bob of her head.
    She touched their hair with small, elegant hands. A mild crackle of voltage traveled down Caz’s scalp and entered her mind. Unnatural peacefulness enveloped Caz’s wild emotions, molding them and softening them into the Rethan standard.
    Caz closed her eyes. This was where she had to comply. This was where she forced herself to allow the manipulation—to become a drone. This was what it meant to be Rethan. It was not only expected, it was required.
    Required. Caz opened her eyes, finding the headmistress’s face inches from her own. The headmistress seemed to sense her gaze and her eyes fluttered open as well. They stared at each other.
    Queen Drone wouldn’t sway her today. Better a mutineer than a drone. Caz shoved the hand away.
    The headmistress curled her poor, wrongly-abused hand and placed it under her chin. Her eyes settled on Caz.
    “I can’t say that I’m surprised at you. The both of you.” She included Xander in her look. Xander dropped his head in shame. “You are, after all, Fisk children.” And with a wave of her hand, she dismissed them as hopeless cases. Not that that would stop her from zapping the abnormality out of their brains whenever she felt the need. She smiled. “Come and see me in my office after classes today, Cazandra.”
    Xander wasn’t looking at the headmistress but at Caz. His lips pressed together. She was going to get it when they got home, that was for sure. Not that it mattered. Xander would forgive her. He had to.
    Madame Vislane turned disappointed eyes on Vin. “Vincent, I expect better of you.”
    Vin’s head dipped. Every student cowered under this gaze, distressed at