4. Moths and Crows
Chapter 4
Moths and Crows
SONGBIRD
T he closing horn resonates across the lawn. The hedges behind me sew themselves shut, and my heart pounds in my throat. I crossed the finish line seconds ago and struggle to catch my breath, arms braced on my knees.
I’ve done it. I crossed the labyrinth and made it into the academy.
But at what price, my inner self snickers. My lips are tingling. My hand, my face, my belly… A part of me wants to backtrack into the marshes to look for my handsome devil, but I dig the balls of my feet in the grass.
He wasn’t real. Absolutely not. A man as beautiful as that would never give you the time of day.
I blink away the volatile emotions of the last hour and observe my surroundings.
The set up on this side of the maze is identical to the starting point but for the intoxicated crowd in the bleachers. The alumni of the academy, along with the immediate families of the applicants, were invited to attend, but my father remained in Wintermere. His boss doesn’t like his personal assistant to wander off, so there’s no shouts or howls of encouragement to greet my success.
If anything, I’m probably to blame for the raucous, unhappy clamor rising from one side of the bleachers.
I shake off the urge to cry, waiting for one of the judges to call me out for breaking the rules.
The three of them whisper between themselves, stealing nervous glances at me, but Master Evelyn finally clears her throat. “Cutting it close, Miss Snow. But well done.” She stands up and motions for the students laying on the lawn to approach.
I quickly take stock of the small group. Five other applicants made it through before me, and they peel themselves from the large pillows sprawled under the torchlight.
Elio jogs toward me. “Beth! You made it!”
Willow’s lips spread in a satisfied smile. “That’ll teach them.”
A boy keeps close to her rear, his eyes the exact same color, and I figure he’s a Summer Fae, too.
Zeke and the girl he was flirting with earlier are the last to stand up. My fiancé looks down his nose at me. “You’re full of surprises, moth.” He punctuates the statement with a wink, and his gaze trails down my sweaty body, my skin tightening under his scrutiny.
“Congratulations to the six initiates who managed to get through the challenge in time. You’ve proven yourselves worthy of your place here. I need your signatures in the official ledger.” Master Evelyn sets out ink and a quill for us to sign our full names in her voluminous leather-bound ledger. It’s a big deal. True names allow powerful Fae, especially royals, to enchant others with ease, but Master Evelyn carefully flips the page between each initiate to prevent us from seeing anyone else’s name.
I go last, and the date written at the top of the page catches my eye.
With the scorching humidity, it’s easy to forget that it’s still technically winter across the continent. Faerie has seven seasons, but it’s almost always warm here in the Summerlands. The school year starts right after Alaveen, the season of endings and new beginnings.
The quill is steady in my hand as I sign my full name, Elizabeth Melia Snow.
Once we’ve all signed, Master Evelyn closes the ledger and holds it to her chest. “I hope you’re all ready to work hard and give us your best.”
The lump in my throat throbs.
“Now, if the judges would join me in the maze, we still have to congratulate the guardians and rescue the poor students who didn’t cut it.”
The other judges walk to Master Evelyn’s side, while Master Idris clasps his hands together to get our attention. “Initiates, come with me. I will take you on a quick tour of the academy and show you to your dorms so you can freshen up for the feast.” From the way he’s grinning, I figure his precious daughter is the Spring Fae Zeke was flirting with.
I try to hide the jitters as I fall into step with the others. Only an hour ago, they were on such a high pedestal that I could barely picture myself among them. A searing glow hovers in my chest, making me feel fuzzy and light—yet I still feel incomplete. Pieces of me are scattered along the labyrinth, as if every challenge and trap took its pound of flesh.
Truth be told, I left my heart at Wonder Boy's feet.
As we approach, the grandeur of the Royal Academy ties up my tongue.
The main building is called the Abbey because of its stern, ominous look and its bloody religious past. The main tower rises several stories higher than the four long wings that extend from its corners. Vines creep along the weathered stone walls, covering about a third of the building's surface.
Dramatic arches create a breezeway that ensures coverage from the heavy rainfall this kingdom must receive to account for its leafy greenery.
The initiates gather in front of the main entrance, where a thick red carpet marks the three flights of stairs leading to the grand atrium. I recognize a few faces from the history books among the portraits of the alumni monarchs, the gold plaques beneath them too small to read from a distance as Master Idris escorts us to the center of the room.
The three-story-high windows at the back of the atrium offer a panoramic view of the undulating dark sea beyond. Salty air blows in from an open dome above the windows and kisses my cheeks like a promise.
The academy is located on the west coast of the Fae continent. I’ve never even stepped foot on a beach or let the sea lick my ankles as they do in my favorite novels. My father always discouraged fiction readings, but I could only read so many history books. Whether it’s the Legends of the Breach, the Tales of the Dark Sea, or the occasional new world novel like Moby-Dick and The Blue Lagoon, I’ve been dreaming of the sea since I was a little girl.
Funny, coming from someone who doesn’t even know how to swim.
I force my attention back to my immediate surroundings. A two-floor mezzanine towers above us, and a group of about thirty students huddles on the third floor. Some of them brace their arms over the ornate banister to catch a glimpse of those who made it through the labyrinth, while others are engaged in animated conversations. A few keep their backs turned to the atrium, as if they couldn’t care less about the new arrivals.
All of them are wearing cloaks with pointy triangular hoods and jeweled masks. I swallow hard. The academy students possess Shadow masks, high-end tools that allow them to walk between worlds freely through the sceawere, the in-between space that connects every realm by use of reflective glass. They can travel between Faerie, the old world, and the new. They are free to become whoever they want to be.
“The Crow’s watching you,” Willow whispers. “Do you know him?”
“Who?”
Common Shadow Fae are called crows, and my ears perk up. Maybe I’m not the only commoner here after all. I glance in the direction Willow pointed, scanning the crowd until my gaze lands on a tall figure looming on the empty side of the mezzanine. My breath catches in my throat. He stands shrouded in shadows—a dark spot of raw magic against the modern, vibrant backdrop of the atrium.
His iridescent onyx mask is peppered with broken pieces of polished glass. Despite his eyes being concealed, I know he’s staring at me. The weight of his gaze travels across my face, and a flash of unease takes root in my stomach.
Willow leans closer to my ear. “His name is Damian Sombra. He’s not really a commoner being the son of High Fae, but he’s known for his stern, dark looks, and his complete disregard for social norms, so they use the sobriquet anyway,” Willow explains before the corners of her mouth twitch. “He’s a graduate student, and he gives my brother Aidan the creeps.”
The Sombra province appeared in my geographic studies of the Shadowlands, but this Damian did not make it into Royal Lines, the genealogical reference I memorized before I came. If he intimidates Willow’s brother, I should be weary of the way he’s staring at me.
“You’re Aidan’s sister?” Zeke asks in a hushed voice.
My, my, was the jaded Shadow Prince eavesdropping? I didn’t notice him creeping into our little group, but there he is, huddling close to Elio.
Willow blinks at Zeke like she’s unsure if he’s being facetious or just plain dumb. “You know Aidan?”
“A little,” Zeke answers quietly.
The brown-haired boy on Willow’s heels snickers, “I bet everyone’s heard of your brother, Will. Even the moth.”
“Of course I’ve heard of him,” I snap. “Aidan Summers is the only known exception to the rules of succession.”
The gods usually mark a king or queen’s heir upon their death, but not in this case. Aidan Summers’ reputation has reached the underbelly of the Wintermere castle, which is quite a feat. Moths don’t often gossip about the Summer royals since most of us aren’t likely to meet one in our lifetime.
The rude boy finally introduces himself. “I’m Sean Summers, Will’s cousin.”
“Elizabeth Snow,” I grumble.
“Aidan was born in fire and blood, his skin ablaze and the Mark of the Gods seared into his flesh, marking him as Thera’s heir at birth . Some say Hephaistos sired him himself—no offense to your father, Will,” Sean says.
Willow rolls her eyes at that. “Wild rumors, of course. Aidan is no demi-god, I assure you.”
Sean’s eyes shimmer, and I get the impression he’s more than a little infatuated with his famous cousin. He pats Willow’s shoulders down with a chuckle. “Will is just blind when it comes to her brother. Sibling rivalry and all that. Aidan holds the record time for the admission trials. He crossed the labyrinth in twenty-seven minutes flat and skipped a whole year, graduating in three, which is unheard of.”
“Not unheard of. The Crow did, too.” Willow grins. “It really pissed Aidan off.”
Damian is still staring at me, and I’d glare at him right back for his rudeness if I wasn’t hoping to make friends with another outsider. “Are the graduate students around a lot?”
“It depends. There’s five of them at the moment, one for each kingdom besides the Red Forest and Wintermere. They might give us lessons in their respective school of magic when they’re not studying off-world.”
“Talking about going off-world, when do we get a mask?” I ask, my palms sweaty just thinking about it.
“Before Morheim, if we pass the exams.”
Morheim is the season of nightmares, when the sun doesn’t rise in the Fae sky for seven to ten days. It’s squeezed between Autumn and Winter, so it’ll be almost a full year before we get what most common Fae consider the ultimate instrument of freedom. I can’t wait.
Master Evelyn joins us just as Master Idris finishes his speech about the various portraits. He was so engrossed in his lecture that he didn’t seem to notice the whispers being exchanged, most of the initiates more interested in Willow’s inside information than in the feats of long-dead kings. All except the gorgeous Spring Fae, who glowers at us for not paying attention, confirming my suspicion that she’s his daughter.
“Everyone alright?” Master Idris asks.
Master Evelyn rubs off a crust of mud from her knuckles. “We had three reanimations, and one badly burnt Spring applicant will probably never recover her rosy cheeks, but all of them are alive.”
“Wonderful, wonderful. Well, it’s getting late, so I will take the men to their dorms, now, while Evelyn escorts the ladies. Men sleep in the south wing and the ladies in the north wing. We do not tolerate sleepovers between the two, and I do not care if you’re not getting along, everyone has to room with their year’s comrades,” he says with a steely edge to his voice. “Your Keepers will show you through the dining hall and bibliotheca tomorrow and go over the school rules in depth.”
Evelyn guides us under the breezeway and into the north wing, which is five stories high, about half as tall as the main building.
"You're a very small group, so you've been assigned to the third floor. There are two rooms with two beds each, but since there are only three of you, one lucky gal will get a private room. Once you decide who that will be, just write your names on the slates hanging on the doors, and your personal effects and school gear will be delivered immediately," she explains.
“Do we have classes in the morning?” I ask.
“No, only orientation tomorrow so you can recuperate from the trials. Classes will start the day after. We follow a clear-cut Summerian calendar. Three days of classes, two days of personal studies followed by two days of rest. It’s a tight schedule, but we manage.”
I bite the insides of my cheeks to hold back a flippant comment. Winter Fae work for six days and rest for one, so this Summerian calendar sounds like a vacation, but Evelyn is from the Secret Springs, and the Erosi calendar calls for four days of parties and decadence every week.
“The seasonal holidays always fall within your rest periods, so you can celebrate accordingly.” She braces her hands on her hips and adds,“Alright, I’ll leave you to get cleaned up. The students’ afterparty is on the beach right outside. Follow the signs for the Saffron Cove. Congratulations again, and welcome. I’ll see you in class soon.”
Evelyn moves to leave, and I thread a little deeper inside the grandiose apartment. The living area spans the entire width of the building, with windows opening to the ocean on the left and the gardens on the right.
As soon as Evelyn is gone, the dark-haired Spring Fae skips ahead of me and spins around to face us, her hands clasped behind her back. “I want the private room.”
“And who are you to decide that?” Willow quips, her tone sharp.
“Who are you, little thing?” The Spring Fae clearly missed our earlier conversation, too busy playing teacher’s pet.
“Willow Summers,” Willow declares with a bit of cheek.
“I’m Iris Lovatt.”
Iris is the daughter of the headmaster and the beloved niece of the Spring Queen. Since Freya Heart couldn’t have children with her much older husband, Oberon Eros, she elevated Iris to the rank of Spring Princess. I read all about it in one of the old royal pamphlets my father smuggled out of the castle for his collection over the years. The gifts bestowed during high-born Faen birthing ceremonies are usually reserved for royal eyes only, but Iris’s title is hardly a secret.
Despite her impressive pedigree, Willow is the sole princess of Summer. That puts them at a hierarchical tie for now, but if I had to choose, anywhere outside these walls, Willow would certainly outrank Iris.
“We should leave it to fate,” Willow says as she grows three brown twigs in her hands, one longer than the others. “Let’s just pick one and be done with it.”
It’s generous of her not to press her advantage.
“I’ll hold them. So you can’t cheat,” Iris says, clearly unimpressed by Willow’s magnanimous offer.
“That’s fair.”
Iris gathers the twigs in her hand and makes sure they’re even, concealing their true length in her fist.
Willow and I both pick one, and I bite my bottom lip. Mine is longer by an inch.
The two women blink, and Willow laughs. “Oh my, looks like karma has spoken and Beth gets the private room.”
“Hmpf,” Iris grumbles. “She didn’t even want it.”
“Cheer up, Iris.” Willow nudges her new roommate. “We get the striking ocean view.”
“I don’t mind switching?—”
“Nonsense,” Willow cuts me off. “You won fair and square.”
I write down my name over the writing slate in chalk and twist open the knob.
All the adrenaline leaves my body as I walk inside the bedroom. It’s five times as big as the one I shared with my cousins back home, and the beds could probably fit three people each. Two desks are set in opposite corners, furnished with a chair and built-in drawers. The frills of the textured pillows are maddeningly soft as I comb my fingers through them, the heavy sensation at the pit of my stomach giving a bit of a pulse.
I don’t belong here.
Uniforms are sprawled over the foot of the closest bed, the other one stripped to the mattress. One skirt is plain black, another white, and the plaid skirt is black and white with teal accents and little snowflakes in the corners of the pattern. The button-down blouses are made of a slick, airy silk that feels almost liquid in my grip.
Corset camisoles add a bit of frill and variety, likely meant for special occasions. There are also swimsuits, sports clothes, and an assortment of shoes—more new clothes than I’ve ever owned. My usual attire mostly consists of hand-me-downs from my aunt.
Any of these garments sold at the market would probably feed a family of six for a month. Wishing I could curl into a ball and sleep for days, I abandon the large, oversized bed in favor of the cushioned bench of the alcoved windowsill. I sit down and hug my knees, staring out at the gardens.
Our apartment is on the third floor, and tall rectangular windows stretch along the corner of the building. Beyond them, wild, overgrown but beautiful gardens block my view of the east wing. A forest of tall, leafy deciduous trees tower in the background to the north, and a creek snakes through the bushes and flower beds. Star-shaped flowers as big as my head sag from the branches of the vines creeping above the windows, and the expansive canopy of trees casts mysterious shadows along the walls. The thick vegetation in the Summerlands is eerie, to say the least.
A loud knock jolts me back to reality as Willow cracks open the door, all dressed up and ready to party. A long fishtail braid hangs over her shoulder, and a dress with sequin stripes that imitates the new mortal fashions finishes right above her knees. She arches a brow at my appearance. “The bathroom’s free now. Are you alright?”
“Yes. I just need a bit more time.”
The door opens all the way, Iris’s manicured nails propped against the wooden pane as she pushes in. “Then you can manage alone and join us when you’re done. I expect even moths know how to use a bath, yes?” She hooks her elbow around Willow’s and tugs her away.
Willow arches a brow. “Is that alright?”
“Go ahead. I’ll catch you later.”
As I watch the two women leave, I can’t help but wonder what it’s like for them. They were probably nervous, but the Royal Academy was their birthright. Willow must have visited this school many times, her parents being the official patrons. Same with Iris because of her father’s position. It’s a wonder they’d never met, actually.
I rummage through my tiny travel bag. I didn’t own any appropriate clothes for the hot weather, and I couldn’t afford anything fancy, but I did bring one classic black dress. I hadn’t realized that my only good garment would probably be considered a rag next to the artful and expensive fabrics sewn by the royal tailors. The Winter Court typically values sensibility over artifice, remaining quite sober in their fashions in comparison to their peers.
After a quick bath, I slip on the solid black academy skirt and forgo the long-sleeved blouse in favor of the corset camisole with ribboned straps. The boning hugs my body, the teal and gold patterns making the ensemble shine.
The bustier is a little risqué, but Summer Fae are used to showing skin. Here, I don’t have to act like a meek moth.
My mind drifts to the confident, glistening man I met in the labyrinth. When I first walked out of the maze, I felt a desperate, eerie, almost all-consuming need for him to be real, but now I’m not so sure. Guardians are either fourth years’ or graduate students, so I’m bound to meet him tonight if he wasn’t a fever dream after all. He said he’d see me soon, but what did that imply?
I shouldn’t get too comfortable in this gilded, humongous bedroom.
Wonder Boy didn’t look like a man who knew how to take no for an answer, brazen as he was to steal not one, but three kisses from me. What if he expects something else in return for helping me? What if he changes his mind and tells the judges what he’s done?
I will be expelled within the hour if anyone finds out.