Whatever Call had been suspecting, it wasn’t that. He gaped at her. “But — but how? The Magisterium — they would know —”
“There was no way for them to know,” said Anastasia. “It was long ago, and as I said, I barely knew the mages. But when both my sons were … dead … Master Joseph contacted me. My husband, your father, had killed himself by then.” Her voice was emotionless. “Joseph told me what Constantine had done. How he had transferred his soul. I was determined to be there for my son in his new body as I had not been before. I left the country and went back to my homeland. There, I stole the identity of a woman about my age: Anastasia Tarquin. I altered my appearance. I practiced my craft with a newfound devotion. Then, returning as a powerful mage from abroad, I married Augustus Strike to obtain a seat on the council. No one guessed who I was or my true purpose.”
“Your true purpose?” Call’s mind was spinning.
“You,” she said. “That’s why I came to the school. That’s why I joined the Assembly. It was all for you. And that has not changed.” Anastasia rose, standing and putting her hand against the clear not-glass of the window, as if she wished nothing more than to reach through it and be able to touch Call’s hand with her own. Her eyes were sad but determined. “This time I am going to save you, my son. This time I am going to set you free.”