Chapter 39
Cairn
THE STUDENTS HAVE ALL LEFT the campus, and it’s quiet around here now—no laughter or conversation, no boots crunching over the leaves or snow. Just me and Coven Crest and the bite of cold in the air.
Despite the academy being closed for the semester, there’s still plenty for me to do. This is the time of year when I work inside the academy—oiling squeaky door hinges, tending to the indoor plants, washing the windows so they shine despite the gray outside.
I keep myself busy, working hard, but no matter how much I sweat or how many tasks I check off my to-do list, Lyra’s face is never far from my mind.
When I shovel snow, I see her. When I pour tea, I see her.
And when I sit in my armchair and stare into the fire at night, I can almost swear I feel her—the warmth of her skin, the softness of her mouth.
The pillow she once slept on no longer smells of her, and I’m not sure whether to be relieved or not.
Today was a cold day—colder than most. The Mistwood is frosted over, ice clinging to the pines, and now that night has fallen, I move around my hut, pulling the drapes closed to trap the warmth from the fire inside.
But as I grab hold of the drapes in the sitting room, something outside the window catches my eye.
The moonflowers are blooming, glowing silver against the cloak of darkness that is a winter night. And something about the ethereal light beckons to me.
I close the drapes, then grab my cloak from a peg by the door and fasten it about my neck before heading out into the cold.
As I step into the snow and close the door behind me, the quiet of the night settles like leaves falling to the earth.
The air is crisp and sharp, with the unmistakable freshness only winter can bring.
It chills my nose and lungs as I breathe in deep, and steam puffs around my face as I let it out with a sigh.
Hooves crunching across the snow, I make my way toward the blooming moonflowers. As I draw near, I appreciate their light and the way it glows and reflects off the snow around their bases, turning everything a shimmering shade of silver and blue.
I kneel before them, and immediately, another memory returns to me.
Lyra sitting with me on a blanket, watching the moonflowers bloom and glow. The wonder in her eyes as she first watched them unfurl. Then her weight in my lap, her fingers dragging through my beard, the heat of her body and the press of her lips against mine.
Still kneeling, I bury my head in my hands and let out a growl.
What is wrong with me? Why did I allow this to happen?
I knew this could only end badly, knew it would just be messy and painful and wrong.
But I let it go on anyway, let myself believe that maybe, somehow, it would work.
After all these years, these feelings are unearthing my memories of my ex—the looks on her parents’ faces when she introduced me to them, the horror when they realized their daughter wished to marry a beast, a monster.
They didn’t know me. Didn’t want to know me.
But Lyra knows me. And yet it still didn’t work out. It’s like love isn’t meant to be—at least, not for me.
When will I accept that?
As I kneel there in the snow, a cold wind twines through the trees, rustling the moonflowers and sending one blossom drifting down to settle upon the snow.
My eyes follow its movement. It glows for a short while, clinging to life, but like all things, it eventually succumbs, its glow fading until it falls dark.
I reach for it, scoop the delicate flower with its creamy-white petals into my palm. And as I cup it there, I realize something.
Nothing lasts forever, no matter how badly I might wish for it to.
And it might be time for me to stop gripping and just . . . let go.
My gaze lifts to my hut. The windows glow with very subtle firelight, the drapes drawn and still. Smoke puffs from the chimney in a steady stream, drifting up into the night sky until it slowly disperses and vanishes from view.
I love it here. I’ve settled into this place, my roots growing deep into the earth. I’ve never wanted to be anywhere else. But now I have a chance, an opportunity at something different.
Will I let my fear hold me back?
Another cold wind dances around me. It snags the moonflower from my palm and sends it spiraling through the air. I track its movements with my eyes until the wind steals it from view, carrying it somewhere I can’t follow.
With a deep sigh, I brace my hands on my thighs and push to my hooves. My cloak shifts and settles about my fetlocks, buried deep in the snow.
I tip my head back and regard the sky, with its thick cloud cover and fleeting glimpses of stars.
And I know what I have to do. I just hope it’s the right decision for both of us.