Chapter 29
Cairn
AFTER LYRA LEAVES, MY HUT feels . . . empty. This space, which always feels so warm and welcoming, seems too quiet without her here, too peaceful—if there is such a thing. It’s unsettling enough to get me up and heading out to my garden in an effort to distract myself from thoughts of her.
The rain last night left everything soaked, and water droplets cling to the crunchy blades of grass and the plants that remain in my garden, not yet having been harvested.
I’ll need to pull the cart up to the castle today so the kitchens can deal with all the mugs and mead kegs, but it’s still too early for that.
I grab a wicker basket from atop the bistro table and breathe in the rain-scented air.
It calms my heart, if only a small amount, and helps put me at ease as I kneel beside a raised bed full of carrots and plush-leafed spinach.
These plants like a bit of cold, so they’ll last well into the late days of fall.
I pluck spinach leaves and pull bright orange carrots from the dark earth, and I try to think about anything except Lyra Wilder.
Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work.
No matter how hard I try to focus on the task at hand, her crimson eyes keep flashing in my mind, and her moans from when I had my fingers inside her echo in my ears.
Witchcraft, I think with a huff.
I’ve never had a smidgen of interest in any student. And up until I met Lyra, I never thought I would. I’m a man who follows rules, who likes to color inside the lines and not make any waves. I keep my head down, keep to myself, and live a safe, quiet life.
But she’s changed all that.
I signed a contract when I accepted the job here, and part of that contract included a clause explicitly stating I’m not to have a relationship of any kind with any student—and now here I am, trying and failing to forget how amazing Lyra’s hands felt around my cock, how she stroked me until I couldn’t hold myself back.
Then we bathed together, and I told her about my failed engagement, and she slept beside me, leaving behind the sweet scent of soap and her.
I let out an audible groan.
What have I done?
I’ve fucked up, that’s what. I allowed her to wrap me around her little finger, and though she might not know it yet, I’m pretty sure I’d follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked me to.
Finishing up with the carrots and spinach, I move to the bed of red beets and pull a few of those as well, gently brushing the dirt from the dark purple-red roots. I can chop these up later and roast them, then add them to a bed of spinach leaves and diced carrot.
Does Lyra like beets? I wonder.
Then I remind myself that I shouldn’t care what Lyra likes—she should be Miss Wilder to me, not the fire witch I want to toss into my sheets and ravage until we’re both too exhausted to move.
I am absolutely hopeless.
“Good morning.”
I nearly jump out of my hide.
Whipping my head around, I find Lysandra Moonhart standing there, her pale eyes sweeping over my garden as the morning sun makes her silver-blue hair twinkle.
“Headmistress,” I say, trying not to let on how badly she startled me. She’s the last person I need around when I’m thinking of all the inappropriate things I want to do with my student helper. I stand from beside my bed of beets and roll out my shoulders. “You’re here early.”
Her smile is quick and easy. “I hope I’m not intruding. Knowing you, I figured you’d already be up and working on something.” She flicks her gaze across the garden, then toward my hut.
Am I imagining the curious look in her eyes, or is she looking for something—or someone—specific?
Does she know?
“Would you like to come in?” I offer, gesturing toward the hut like I have nothing to hide. “I’ll make some tea.”
She nods once. “That would be lovely.”
We head inside, and immediately, I start scanning the space, looking for any hint of Lyra. The air still smells of her, just slightly, but Lysandra is a witch, not a minotaur, so I hope she can’t smell it.
I clop into the kitchen and set the basket full of fresh produce on the table, double-checking that I didn’t miss any stains when wiping the table down this morning. Thankfully, I don’t find any damning evidence.
“Lavender?” I call out to Lysandra, who’s already making herself comfortable in the sitting room. Every time she visits, that’s her tea of choice.
“Please. Thank you, Cairn.”
Why is she here? I wonder as I pull the jar of lavender tea off the high shelf.
Is this about Lyra? I reach for my teacup, the one I used this morning to drink dandelion lattes with Lyra, and realize with a bolt of fear that Lyra’s clean cup is sitting there right beside mine.
If Lysandra is looking for some sort of evidence that the fire witch has been here, that little detail may have intensified her suspicions.
Covertly, I put the cup Lyra used back on the shelf—for some reason, I feel like it’s hers now, like no one else should be given the permission to use it—and grab another one for the headmistress to use.
When I finally make it into the sitting room, teacups in hand, I’m wound tight with anticipation.
Lyra was sitting on the couch just an hour or two ago, sipping a latte and looking sleepy and beautiful in my oversize sweater.
Now Lysandra is in that exact spot. What if she looks down and spots a curly strand of red hair?
What would I say? I could tell her Lyra just came in for a cup of tea, or that she hurt herself and needed a bandage.
That one’s true—she did sit right there on the couch while I bandaged her wrist after she slipped and fell.
I sink into the armchair across from the couch and level Lysandra with what I hope is a calm, curious look.
Obviously, she’s here for a reason. We’ve always been friendly, and she’s one of the only faculty members I regularly interact with, but it’s in no way normal for her to come out to my hut so early in the morning like this. There’s something on her mind.
“I heard whispers through the pumpkin vines,” she says at last.
Whispers? Something about Lyra? About Samhain last night? My stomach turns. I knew it was foolish to allow her to help me with the booth, in clear sight of everyone still milling around the bonfire. And to allow her to come back to my hut was beyond foolish.
It was that dress. It bewitched me.
I need to stay focused. I can’t let myself accidentally reveal anything to the headmistress.
“Pumpkins tell lies,” I finally say, and this gets Lysandra to crack a smile.
“Sometimes they do. But I think these ones were telling the truth.” She takes a sip of her tea and hums in approval.
“The truth about what?” I flex my fingers around my cup of tea and try to take easy, even breaths. No need to get worked up. I still don’t know if she has any idea about Lyra.
Lysandra looks up at me. Her frosty eyes are cold and clear. “They said you’re considering a . . . change in career paths.”
The rapid pounding of my heart skips a few paces.
Career paths?
Oh. Oh.
This isn’t about Lyra at all. It’s about the Columbine Conservatory.
The sigh I let out is long and deep. “I apologize for not telling you about the position. I was convinced to put in an application”—Milo’s smiling face pops into my mind—“but I don’t have high hopes they’ll take any sort of interest in me.”
“Well, I think you’re quite wrong.” Lysandra tips her head. “Because the conservatory has already reached out to me. You put me down as a reference?”
I almost cringe. I’d forgotten about that. “I should have asked first. I—”
Wait. Did she say . . . ?
“They reached out? About my application?”
Lysandra’s lips pull into a small smile. “They did.”
“And . . . And what did you tell them?”
She laughs now, almost spilling her tea in the process. “Well, wouldn’t you like to know.” One of her silvery-blue brows arches playfully. Then her expression sobers somewhat. “So it’s true, then. You’re considering leaving us?”
I hadn’t expected to have this conversation so soon, if at all. Truthfully, I didn’t even think my application would get far enough to warrant anyone bothering to reach out to Lysandra regarding a professional reference.
“I . . .”
She’s staring at me, gaze focused and unyielding. Somehow, it makes me feel like I’m a student sitting in her office after having misbehaved in charms class. I take another deep breath.
“I don’t know. I didn’t think they’d be interested.”
“They are interested, I can assure you of that. And if they do offer you the job, will you be leaving?”
My throat squeezes closed. Words don’t want to form into coherent thoughts, let alone sentences.
Why is that such a difficult question to answer?
Maybe it’s because I still haven’t answered it for myself.
I keep taking this a day at a time, trying not to get my hopes up.
I know what it feels like to have all your plans come crashing down around you, and since last that happened to me, I’ve tried hard not to let it happen again.
As long as I don’t hope or wish too hard for anything, it can’t be stolen away from me.
“I don’t know,” I say at long last.
Lysandra narrows her eyes a bit, though not unkindly, then takes a sip of her tea.
She stares into the lavender brew for a moment before saying, “Whatever you decide, I came here to tell you that I support you, Cairn. I love having you here, but Coven Crest isn’t all that’s out there for you.
So, if you do decide to take the job, I want you to know that there will be no hard feelings here. Only well wishes and good tidings.”
Her words make me blink. Then blink again. My throat squeezes a little tighter.
“You’re not upset?” I ask, voice husky with emotion.
Lysandra laughs then. “Of course not. I’m certainly in no rush for you to leave—goddesses know hiring is terribly tedious—but if you do decide to take the job, I’ll be nothing but happy for you.
” Her eyes flash mischievously. “And hopefully you’ll be able to get me into the conservatory with a friends-and-family discount, hmm?
I do love walking through their gardens.
” She laughs again, the sound friendly and floaty.
And despite the tension still squeezing my chest and throat, I somehow manage a chuckle as well. “I’d do my best, Headmistress.”
Lysandra sips at her tea and smooths her skirt over her knees. Her gaze goes to the fire still crackling in the hearth. “How are things going with Miss Wilder?”
My stomach almost turns itself inside out. I remind myself to breathe. She doesn’t know what’s been going on between me and Lyra. She’s just checking in, touching base. Nothing to be worried about.
I sip my tea, using it as a means of hesitation as I try to calm the galloping of my heart. Then I clear my throat. “It’s going . . . well.”
Lysandra flicks a gaze at me. “You sound surprised.”
My shoulders lift in a shrug. “I suppose I am.”
That’s true on multiple fronts. Nothing about Lyra Wilder has turned out the way I expected it to.
“She helped me transport sniffleblooms the other day,” I say, trying to focus on truths without drifting into dangerous territory. My brain provides an image of Lyra working at the garden bench, a furrow between her fiery brows, lips pulled into a focused pout.
The image almost makes me smile—until I quickly wipe it away.
“Oh no.” Lysandra sits up straighter. “How’d that go?”
Unbidden, another laugh slips out of me. “Great. I thought she’d sneeze all the way back to the castle, but she didn’t. Not one sniffle.”
“Wow.” Lysandra raises her eyebrows in an impressed look. “I’d never have guessed. And she’s not burned anything down? Set anything aflame?”
I shake my head. “No. She’s . . . Well, she’s been a help.” I tighten my fingers around my cup and take another sip. “She’s working hard.”
The headmistress hums thoughtfully. “I’m happy to hear that. You were my last hope, you know.” Her eyes soften when I look over at her. “I really didn’t know what to do with her—I wasn’t certain this would even help. So . . . thank you, Cairn. I appreciate you doing this.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I just nod and respond with a grunt.
“All right, I suppose I should get out of your hair now.” Lysandra finishes up her tea and stands from the couch. “Let me know when the conservatory reaches out.”
I push out of the armchair and look down at her. “You mean if they reach out?”
Lysandra’s smile is small and knowing. “No. I mean when.” She puts her empty teacup into my free hand, pats me on the arm, and moves to my door.
“And I’ll meet with Miss Wilder soon. If you’re leaving, I may need to set up her community service with another faculty member.
” She waves a hand, her rings sparkling in the thin morning light, and then she’s gone, opening the door and drifting off into the autumn air.
I stand there in my hut, frozen in place.
Set her up with another faculty member? That’d mean we’d have no reason to see each other—at least, no reason that the academy would find appropriate. Then anytime she came to my hut, there’d be the potential of her—us—getting caught.
My jaw tightens.
After all these years, how is it that one fire witch has made it feel like my whole life is getting uprooted? And why is it that I can’t bring myself to make it stop?
With another grunt, I clomp into the kitchen to rinse out the teacups, and I wonder what the hell I’m going to do about Lyra Wilder.