Chapter 41
Cairn
FINALLY, IT’S A SUNNY DAY. The sunlight makes the snowy courtyard shimmer like fairy dust as I walk the cobbled path—which I shoveled yesterday—up to the castle.
The snow blanketing the campus is pristine, with only a few animal tracks dotting the fluffy layer of white.
Everything is quiet save for the occasional plop of snow falling from the pine boughs and the click of my hooves on the sun-warmed cobbles.
When I enter the castle, the scent of sage and old books washes over me. I tap the snow from my hooves, then cross the marble-floored entryway, heading toward Lysandra’s office.
Some professors return from the holidays early, and some opt to stay at the castle year-round, but I’ve yet to see anyone since the students left. Anyone who is still around is keeping to themselves. This leaves me free to walk the hallways alone, with only my thoughts to keep me company.
This is the right thing, I tell myself, my fingers tightening at my sides. It’s time to move on. To move forward.
When I arrive at the headmistress’s office, the door is closed, as I expected it would be.
Reaching into the inside pocket of my cloak, I remove the letter I wrote last night.
This isn’t the most professional way of handing in my resignation, but it’ll have to do.
The conservatory wants me to start right after Yule, so I’ll need to pack up my little hut and be on my way before the spring semester begins.
Stooping, I slide the letter under the door, and as soon as it’s out of my fingers, I know the decision is final.
After all these years, I’m leaving Coven Crest Academy.
With a drawn-out sigh, I straighten up. My gaze remains on the closed door for a moment, and then I turn to walk away.
And almost bowl right into the headmistress.
“Gods above!” I snap, my heart nearly leaping from my chest at her sudden and silent appearance.
She, as usual, is unflustered, her hair coiled neatly atop her head and her dangly blue earrings barely swaying despite me having almost run her over. She didn’t even jerk back.
Witches . . .
“Cairn,” she says. “It’s unexpected to see you here. Though always welcome. Please, join me for something warm to drink.”
Shit. Now I’m going to have to explain the letter, to have to look into her eyes and tell her that despite everything she’s done for me, all the opportunities she’s given me, I’m going to be leaving.
It’s not what I want to do, but I know it’s the right thing to do.
So I give her a nod. “Sure. I’d love to.”
I step aside, my hooves clacking on the stone floor.
Lysandra procures a key from deep inside her robe, then opens the door.
The windows in her office allow the daylight to illuminate the space, and the letter I slid beneath the door is like a beacon, sitting there on the floor with the wax seal glowing in the light.
“What do we have here?” Lysandra uses a brush of wind magic to send the letter twirling up into the air and right into her outstretched hand. She quickly scans the front of the envelope, then regards me over her shoulder. “Seems we have much to talk about.”
Again, I nod.
We both shed our cloaks, hanging them on pegs by the door. Lysandra strokes Barron’s feathers as she passes him where he’s resting on his perch near the fire, and he closes his bright yellow eyes and lets out what sounds like a rumbling purr.
“So, what kind of conversation is this?” Lysandra asks as she places a kettle over the flames flickering in the hearth. When she turns to face me, she’s smiling. “Meaning, should we be drinking tea or mulled wine?”
I can’t help but to give her a smile in return. After all these years, Lysandra still impresses me with her ability to read people—to read me.
“Wine,” I say.
Her blue eyes sparkle. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
A SHORT TIME LATER, LYSANDRA serves me a mug of mulled wine—it smells of honey and clove and cinnamon, and the brandy makes my nose tingle when I take a deep breath.
Definitely the better choice for this conversation.
Lysandra sinks into the armchair across from mine. We’re near the fire, close enough that it can warm us despite the chill in the castle. She takes a sip of her drink, then sighs and sinks into the cushion’s embrace.
“Okay, I’m ready.” She levels her icy eyes on me. “What’s the letter say?”
I take a deep breath, then bolster my courage with the wine. It’s strong—pleasantly so.
“It’s . . . It’s my letter of resignation.”
“Hmm.” Lysandra takes another sip of her drink. “You’ve accepted the job, then?” The smile she gives me is soft and knowing, and it puts me immediately at ease.
“I have. And this . . . comes as no surprise to you?”
She lets out a breathy laugh. “Yes and no. I was hoping you’d take the job, but I wasn’t convinced you would.” Her silver-blue hair twinkles in the daylight streaming through the windows behind her desk. “What led you to this decision?”
My lips open, trying to reply, but I freeze up.
What led me to this decision? What changed everything, shook me so deep into my roots that I decided I was ready to pull loose from the earth and try something new?
There’s only one answer I can give with any semblance of truth to my words.
And if what Lyra said is true, and professors have already been whispering about us, then I expect Lysandra already knows all about it.
I was a fool to think I could hide anything from her.
After all, she’s the headmistress for a reason.
“Lyra Wilder,” I say, then quickly wash her name down with a swig of hot wine, as if I can burn the sweetness of those words from my tongue.
It only partially works.
Lysandra casts her gaze into the fire. “She came to me,” she says. “Before finals, she asked to take a hiatus from community service. I knew something was wrong.”
“Did she . . . say something?” I ask, realizing only after I’ve said it how suspicious it makes me sound.
“No. But she didn’t need to. I know you’ve grown close.” She swishes her wine and takes a sip. “Barron’s been keeping an eye on her for me.”
On his perch, Barron lets out another deep rumble. I think he’s falling asleep. Guess this conversation isn’t nearly so interesting as flying around spying on everyone. Meddlesome owl.
Again, I open my mouth to say something, but I’m not sure how to speak without digging myself ever deeper into this hole. So I just sip from my mug and turn my gaze to the fire.
But even there, I find Lyra. My mind plays tricks on me, making me think I see her in the dancing flames, and I have to blink the vision away lest I get lost in it.
“Does she know you’re leaving?” Lysandra asks at long last, after an extended silence falls between us, disrupted only by the crackle of flames and Barron’s rhythmic snoring.
“She . . . does.”
“And she didn’t take it well?”
I flick a gaze at Lysandra and shake my head. “She’s upset with me . . . for deciding to leave.”
“Of course she is. She’s young, Cairn. And like many young people, she can’t yet see the forest for the trees.”
I slowly arch a brow at her. “The forest being?”
She finishes her wine, then turns fully to face me, leveling me with such a strong stare that I wonder if she just pinned me to the cushion with magic.
“The forest being your relationship. She’s so focused on the here and now that she can’t see that this is actually a good thing—for both of you.
Should you have chosen to stay here, the relationship would’ve had to end.
You know me well enough to know I couldn’t have allowed such a thing to continue. ”
That’s all it takes to make me feel properly scolded. My cheeks warm, and I give her a small nod.
“But now that you’re leaving, well . . .” Her shoulders rise and fall with a shrug beneath her blue winter dress. “There’s nothing to be done. As soon as you leave this campus, you’re free of the rules that bind you.” She sits forward a bit. “Free to be together.”
I slowly arch a brow at her. “You sound oddly supportive of this, Headmistress.”
Her laughter is light, softened by the wine.
“I know you, Cairn. And Lyra might disagree, but I know her too. And you’re good for each other, regardless of the differences between you.
You needed her to dig you up, to transplant you into a new plot.
And she needed you to help her learn stability.
From you, she can continue learning how to put down roots, to ground herself and her magic.
You’re exactly the fit for each other that I hoped for. ”
Now my eyes narrow. “Did you . . . plan it like this all along?” I ask.
“Of course not.” Lysandra goes to sip from her mug, but there’s no wine left, and a pout tugs on her lips. “Let’s just consider it a happy surprise.”
I shake my head, my horns casting shadows onto the rug beneath my hooves. “I’ve never known you to be surprised by anything, Lysandra. And somehow, I doubt you’re starting now.”
She just gives me another one of those knowing smiles, then holds up her mug. “How about another?”
A laugh rumbles out of me, and I sigh. “Another one sounds great.”