Chapter 14
Poppy
ALINA, MAEVE, AND LYRA LOVE attending weekend runeball games.
I went to one with them when we were first-years, but it was loud and disorienting and just a bit .
. . much. So I usually stay at the dorm when they go, reading or studying, or sometimes I’ll visit the Whim, since it’s typically empty during the game and I can wander freely without bumping into anyone.
But today’s different. And when I stand from the couch, already bundled in my cloak and scarf to keep the chill at bay, my roommates all look at me like I just grew a second head.
“Are you coming with us?” Alina asks, a hint of a smile already tugging on her lips as she slips her cloak over her shoulders and brushes her long blue hair out of the way.
“Yeah,” I say. “Aric invited me, so I figured I’d . . .” I trail off when all three of them widen their eyes like I just started speaking to them in Latin. They’ve been looking at me like that a lot lately. “What?”
“I’ve been nagging you to come with us for two years, Pops, and now a hunky orc invites you, and you decide to go?” Lyra pouts at me. “I think my feelings are hurt.”
Behind her, Maeve pretends to gag. “Please don’t call my stepbrother hunky. It’s gross.”
“Oh, come on.” Lyra spins to face her. “Don’t act like you didn’t at least have a little crush on him at some point. How could you not?”
Maeve draws herself up and crosses her arms. Her eyes look like storm clouds getting ready to dump rain and hail. “There’s something very wrong with you. Does Cairn know you’re like this?”
Lyra smiles and shrugs. “Yup. And he still loves me.” A squeaking sounds from Lyra’s pocket. Then she adds, “And Juniper says she does too.”
Maeve shakes her head, and Isis, her snake spirit companion, hisses softly from where she’s currently twined around Maeve’s neck. “I may never understand you.”
“Enough, you two.” Alina waves them off and gives me another smile. “I’m so happy you’re coming. It’ll be fun. And I promise we won’t make you sit next to Lyra.”
“Hey!” Lyra snaps. “Pops, you’ll sit by me, won’t you?”
Last time I sat by Lyra, she cheered and screamed so loudly that everyone stared at us, and it made me want to melt into a puddle just to escape their eyes.
I open my mouth to reply, but a loud knock on the door interrupts, and then Raelan pokes his head through. “You ladies ready or what?”
Lyra pops a hip at him. “Well, look who’s a runeball fan now.”
Raelan smirks at her. “The Sigil Strikers are vicious. They put on a good show. And I refuse to be late. So hurry up. Let’s go.” He pushes the door open wide, holding it so the other three can step into the stairwell. When I follow them out, he tips his head and says, “You’re joining us today?”
“Yeah. Aric invited me, so . . .” I reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I thought it’d be nice to go.”
Raelan closes the door behind me and is quiet for a moment as the other three start down the stairs.
Then he smiles, his dark eyes catching the golden light streaming through the stained glass window.
“He’ll be happy to see you there.” Then his smile turns playful.
“But I’ll be cheering for his opponents, so if you don’t want him to see you with me, I’d understand. ”
That draws a laugh out of me, and we start descending the spiral staircase together. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. He won’t even notice I’m there.”
Raelan glances down at me and tips his head, his gaze going thoughtful. Then he says quietly, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
THE STANDS ARE PACKED. FROM what Lyra told me, the Sigil Strikers and Hexrush are the two most popular teams on campus, and it feels like the entire student body—and faculty—are here today to watch the teams play.
I spot Headmistress Moonhart in the stands, sitting close to one of the herbology professors, Professor Fleur.
Then a flash of silver draws my eye to Professor Silvermoon.
Her husband sits on one side of her, his golden hair catching the light, and her son, who I believe she said is named Fletcher, sits on her opposite side, munching on a bag of roasted cinnamon pecans.
Professor Silvermoon looks up and meets my eyes despite all the people crammed into the stands around us, and she waves. I wave back just as Lyra says, “Here they come!”
My gaze shifts to the team now taking the field, led by a student I assume is their captain. She has red hair, like Lyra, and a big smile, which she flashes at the crowd as her team lines up behind her on the field.
Then, from the opposite side, Aric’s team enters.
He leads them at a jog, and my eyes feel glued to him as he waves at the crowd and pumps his fist in the air, eliciting a cheer—and a scream from Lyra.
And I’m now even more grateful that Alina and Raelan are sitting between me and her.
I fear Lyra might’ve burst my eardrum otherwise.
Aric glances around, and I wonder what—or who—he’s looking for.
Then he approaches the red-haired witch, and they exchange a handshake.
She pushes up onto her toes to say something in his ear, her lips brushing close to his cheek, and a little burst of unfamiliar heat goes through me, startling me so much that I sit up a bit straighter, prompting Maeve to look over at me.
“That’s Morgan,” she says, though there’s no warmth in her tone.
“Captain of the Sigil Strikers and Aric’s ex .
. . something.” She wrinkles her nose and lifts one shoulder in a shrug.
“I don’t really know what they were. But that’s history now.
” Her dark purple gaze lingers on me for a moment, but I don’t know what she’s looking for.
“I see,” I say, then reach up to fiddle with the fringe on the end of my scarf.
A small smile crosses Maeve’s lips before she looks away.
The players take their places on the field, Morgan and Aric both in forward positions.
A professor I’ve not yet had a class with and whose name I don’t know steps up between Aric and Morgan, holding the arcane sphere.
He says something, though I can’t hear it over the sound of the crowd, and the two team captains nod.
Then he blows a shrill whistle and blasts the sphere into the air with a burst of air magic.
And the game begins.
From what I recall of Alina’s explanation when I came to a game two years ago, the goal of the players is to kick, throw, or carry the arcane sphere through the goalposts.
But the field is dotted with glowing runes etched into the grass, and when the sphere passes over one, it becomes magically charged—sometimes with fire, ice, or a burst of air speed—making it even more difficult to control.
The game is fast-paced, and at times I struggle to keep my eye on the sphere as it’s passed from player to player and blasted with elemental magic.
The players are focused, yelling plays to one another, sprinting back and forth across the field, all trying their hardest to put the sphere through the opposing team’s goalposts.
At some point, though, I find that I’m no longer watching the game; I’m just watching Aric.
His hair is pulled back into a tight braid, revealing his ears and the jewelry he wears in them. I don’t know as much as I would like to about orcish culture, and I wonder if it’s a personal preference or something that has a deeper significance.
Aric is running, arms held out, ready to catch the sphere, which was kicked to him by one of his teammates. But right before he can catch it, a fireball blasts it out of his reach and right into the air magic of a Sigil Striker.
“Damn,” Lyra says from the other side of Raelan. “That fire witch is no joke.”
Maeve humphs but otherwise says nothing.
Now my eyes are on Morgan as she jogs past Aric and says something to him before giving him a catlike smile.
He shakes his head, looking frustrated .
. . but maybe a little impressed as well.
Which makes sense. Morgan is impressive.
I don’t even frequent these games, and I can already tell she’s a powerful player.
She has a firm handle on her fire magic, which makes her even more dangerous on the field, seeing as fire is one of the hardest and most volatile elemental magics to control.
“Maybe she could give you some tips,” Raelan jokes.
Lyra shoots him a sideways glare. “And maybe I’m about to get myself a dragon-tooth necklace.”
Raelan smirks, showing off his canine tooth on one side. “You’re welcome to try, fire witch.”
On the field, Morgan blasts the arcane sphere through Hexrush’s goalposts, and half of the crowd cheers.
“Dammit,” Raelan growls. “Stop distracting me.”
Lyra just pushes her hair back and lets out a loud boo, drawing sharp looks from some of the Sigil Strikers fans seated around her.
Aric huddles up with his team. They gather around him, dripping in sweat, listening intently and nodding to whatever he’s saying. And watching Aric like this, in his element, guiding his team, makes heat flutter in my low belly.
He’s their captain, their leader, and they all look at him like they’d follow him to the end of the world if he asked them to.
And I realize that I . . . like that. I’m not a leader—I’m much too quiet and reserved for that—but Aric makes it look so natural. And it’s . . . attractive.
My cheeks feel a touch warmer than they did a moment ago.
Aric claps one of his teammates on the back before they resume their positions on the field, though this time they arrange themselves differently than they did at the start of the game. A different play, maybe?
The same professor blows the whistle and sends the arcane sphere into the chill air, and the teams leap into action.