Kell had told him about White London: the scarred people staring hungrily at him, spilling blood for any scrap of magic.

It was disgusting. At the same time, though, Rhy wondered how well such methods worked, or if their effectiveness even mattered. Could his longing for magic drive Rhy to do the unthinkable? He wished he could say no and be utterly certain.

But some days, he'd see other people do something mindlessly magical - like fixing a collar without touching it, or stirring tea without a spoon - and his heart would fill with envy, and he wouldn't know the answer.