Chapter 58
Aric
THE ROAR OF THE CROWD is deafening.
I sprint across the field, my feet pounding against the short grass, the arcane sphere clutched in my hands. It pulses with energy, warm against my palms.
“Aric! Left!” Leo’s voice cuts through the chaos.
I glance left and see him open, but Morgan is already closing in, her red braid streaming behind her as she charges toward me. She’s fast—she’s always been a quick, ferocious player—and the determination in her eyes tells me she’s not going to make this easy.
Good. I don’t want easy. Not today.
This is the final game of the semester, and it’s Hexrush versus the Sigil Strikers, the academy’s biggest rivals. We’re tied, three points each, with less than five minutes left on the clock.
I fake left, and Morgan takes the bait, lunging in that direction. I pivot right and throw the sphere to Leo, who leaps and catches it with ease. He immediately launches himself forward, weaving between two Striker defenders with the kind of agility that makes him one of our best players.
“Cover him!” Morgan shouts to her team, but it’s too late. Leo passes the sphere to Mona, who’s positioned near the goalposts.
She winds up and takes the shot, but one of the Striker defenders materializes in front of her, conjuring a blast of wind that sends the sphere flying high, and another Striker player snatches it out of the air.
Fuck!
“Fall back!” I yell, and Hexrush scrambles into defensive positions.
We can’t let them score. Not when we’re this close to winning.
The Strikers charge forward in formation, passing the sphere with practiced precision. They’re coordinated and focused, just as hungry for this win. Morgan leads the charge, her magic crackling around her—fire sparking at her fingertips as she prepares to enhance her throw.
But our defense holds. Callum conjures a powerful gust of wind that knocks the sphere off course when one of the Strikers tries to score. It goes wide, missing the goalposts by inches, and bounces out of bounds.
Referee’s whistle. Our sphere.
Half of the crowd cheers, and the other half boos.
I jog over to retrieve it, my lungs burning, my muscles screaming. We’ve been playing for nearly an hour, and every player on the field is exhausted and gleaming with sweat in the winter sun. But I can’t think about that right now. Can’t think about anything except winning this game.
Well. Almost anything.
My eyes flick toward the stands, just for a second, and I spot her. Poppy is sitting with Alina, Raelan, Maeve, and Lyra. Even from here, I can see the way she’s leaning forward, completely absorbed in the game.
She came. She’s watching. She’s—
“Vandermere!” Coach Grayward’s voice snaps me back to attention. “Focus!”
Right. Focus. I can stare at my girlfriend later. Right now, I have a game to win.
I take possession of the sphere and survey the field. The Strikers are regrouping, setting up their defense. Morgan is in the center, her eyes locked on me, and I can see the challenge in her expression. She wants this win.
But so do I.
“Key lime pie!” I call out.
All our plays have silly names, but it helps us remember each one.
My team responds immediately, breaking into the play we’ve practiced a hundred times. Leo goes left, Mona goes right, and I charge straight up the middle with the sphere.
Two Striker defenders converge on me, trying to box me in.
I throw the sphere high over their heads, and it crosses through the fire rune, becoming engulfed in flame.
But Mona is there to catch it, exactly where she’s supposed to be.
She hits the sphere with her water magic, making it sizzle and steam in the cold air as the fire goes out.
“Go, go, go!” I shout, sprinting forward to support her.
Mona dodges one defender, then another, her small frame making her agile and hard to pin down. She’s almost at the goalposts when that same defender who blocked her before appears again, his massive body creating a barrier between Mona and the goal.
But she’s too smart to let that happen again. She passes the sphere back to me, and I’m already in motion, jumping to catch it midair.
Morgan is there in an instant, her hand crackling with flame. “Not this time, Vandermere.”
She releases the spell, and I have just enough time to conjure a shield of ice, deflecting the flames. The collision of magic sends sparks flying, and the crowd gasps, many leaping to their feet.
We’re locked in a standoff, magic against magic, her fire pressing against my ice. She’s incredibly strong, and for a moment, I think she might overpower me.
But then Leo appears at my side, adding his own magic to my shield, helping to reinforce the glittering ice. Morgan’s fire falters, and she stumbles back.
“Now!” Leo shouts.
I don’t hesitate. I break away from Morgan, the sphere still clutched in my hands, and charge toward the goalposts. Defenders close in from all sides, but my team is there to block them, buying me precious seconds.
The giant clock poised over the field is ticking down. Thirty seconds. Twenty.
I’m ten feet from the goalposts when that massive defender appears in front of me one last time, his air magic already swirling around his hands.
But I’ve learned his pattern. I know he expects me to throw high or wide, trying to curve the sphere around his defense.
So instead, I channel everything I have—every ounce of magic, every bit of strength—into the sphere. Since finals ended, my magic hasn’t failed me. Guess it was the stress after all.
Fire erupts around the sphere, turning it into a blazing comet, and I throw it straight at the defender’s swirling magic.
The sphere punches through the vortex and continues its trajectory straight through the goalposts.
Goal.
Time slows down
Then the crowd explodes.
The referee’s whistle blows, and the scoreboard updates with a bit of magic.
Hexrush: 4. Sigil Strikers: 3.
We won.
We actually won.
My teammates swarm me, shouting and cheering and clapping me on the back so hard I nearly lose my balance. Leo wraps his arms around me in a crushing hug, laughing like a maniac.
“You did it!” he shouts. “You fucking did it!”
“We did it,” I correct, grinning so wide my face hurts.
Across the field, the Strikers slump their shoulders in defeat, but they’re good sports about it, shaking hands with one another and their coach. And then I see Morgan walking toward me.
I extract myself from my teammates, then go meet her.
Morgan stops a few feet away, her expression unreadable. Strands of red hair have escaped from her long braid, and they cling to her sweaty cheeks and forehead. For a moment, we just look at each other—two captains, two competitors, two people who had something at one time but don’t anymore.
Then she extends her hand. “Good game, Vandermere. You earned that win.”
I take her hand and shake it firmly. Her skin is still hot from her fire magic. “You too. Your team played hard.”
“Not hard enough,” she says with a wry smile. Then her expression softens. “I saw you with Poppy last night. At the ball.”
I pull my hand out of hers. “Morgan—”
“It’s okay,” she interrupts gently. “Really. I see the way you look at her, the way she looks at you.” She pauses, then adds, “You’re a worthy opponent.
Both of you.” There’s no bitterness in her voice, just quiet acceptance and maybe a little sadness, like maybe she wanted to try again with me, even after it failed the first time.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “That means a lot.”
She nods, then steps back. “See you next semester, Captain.”
She jogs away, rejoining her team, and I watch her go with a strange mixture of relief and regret. Morgan and I may not have worked out romantically, but I’m glad we can end this chapter with respect intact.
“Vandermere!” Coach Grayward’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and he waves a hand at me. “A word.”
I jog over to where he’s standing on the sidelines, his arms crossed, his expression as stern as ever. I wonder if all wolf shifters are so gruff.
My stomach clenches when I meet his eyes. Even after winning the game, I can’t shake the anxiety that he’s about to tell me I screwed something up—or failed every single one of my final exams.
“You played well today,” he says, which is about as close to a compliment as Coach ever gets.
I nod once. “Thank you, sir.”
“And I heard back from the academic board.” He pauses, and my heart hammers in my chest. “You passed. All your classes. Congratulations, Vandermere.”
The relief is so overwhelming I nearly stagger.
“I—really?”
“Really.” He claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, his teeth flashing white in the winter sun. “You’ll continue as captain next semester. But don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t, sir. I promise.”
He grunts and walks away, barking orders at the team to start packing up, but I barely hear him.
I passed. I actually passed. I get to stay on the team, stay as captain, keep working toward my apprenticeship with Alden in Faunwood.
And I have Poppy by my side.
I get to have everything.
Without hesitating for another moment, I sprint toward the stands, taking the steps two at a time, searching for familiar faces. And then I see them—Poppy, Alina, Raelan, Maeve, and Lyra, all standing as I approach.
“I passed!” I shout, probably louder than necessary. “I passed my classes! I’m still captain!”
Poppy’s face lights up, and she launches herself at me. I catch her easily, spinning her around while she laughs and clings to me.
“I knew you would,” she says, pulling back to look at my face as I set her on her feet.
“Couldn’t have done it without you, Brains.”
The others crowd around, congratulating me. Maeve pulls me into a fierce hug, and when she steps back, she’s smiling.
“I’m proud of you, Aric,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You worked so hard for this.”
“Thanks, sis.”
She wrinkles her nose. “But you smell.”
Around Maeve’s neck, Isis flicks her tongue like she agrees.
“Group hug!” Lyra declares, and suddenly, we’re all tangled together, laughing and celebrating.
“Let me out of here!” Maeve cries, but Lyra just smooshes her tighter.
When we finally break apart, I notice two new figures approaching from the crowd.
One is a woman with warm brown skin and kind eyes—Poppy’s mom, Layla, whom I met briefly at the Wandering Cup.
The other is the man we caught her with when we arrived back at the café from Pepper’s grooming appointment—Lyra’s dad.
“Congratulations on the win, Aric,” Layla says warmly. She pulls me into a hug, then steps back.
“Great game,” Mr. Wilder says. “That final shot was something else.”
I shake his hand, but I’m distracted by the way Lyra is staring at the two of them. Her eyes are wide, her mouth slightly open, and she’s looking between her father and Poppy’s mom like she’s trying to solve a complex alchemical equation.
“Wait,” Lyra says slowly. “Wait. Are you two . . . together?”
Layla and Mr. Wilder exchange a glance, and Mr. Wilder’s arm slides casually around Layla’s waist. “We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now,” he says, a bashful smile pulling on his lips. “Surprise?”
“Months?” Lyra’s voice goes up an octave. “Months? And nobody told me?”
She whips around to look at Poppy, who appears to be trying very hard not to smile.
“You knew,” Lyra accuses, pointing a finger at her. “You knew, you little secret keeper!”
“I might have found out when Aric and I went into Wysteria this fall,” Poppy admits, her cheeks flushing.
“Unbelievable!” Lyra throws her hands up. “You’ve all been conspiring against me!”
Everyone laughs, but even Lyra can’t maintain her scowl for long. She crosses her arms and shakes her head, but there’s no real anger in it.
The group starts making their way down the stands and toward the castle, chattering about the game and the upcoming Yule holiday. But I hang back, tugging gently on Poppy’s hand to keep her with me. She looks up at me with those beautiful lavender eyes, and I can’t help myself.
I cup her face and kiss her, right there in front of everyone.
She makes a soft sound of surprise, then quickly melts into it, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. When we break apart, her cheeks are flushed pink—whether from the cold air or the kiss, I’m not sure. I kiss her again.
This time, when I pull away and look up, I realize our friends are already partway back to the castle.
Mr. Wilder has his arm slung casually over Lyra’s shoulders while she continues to lecture him, her mouth moving animatedly, though I can’t hear what she’s saying.
Layla and Maeve are deep in conversation, laughing about something.
And Alina and Raelan walk hand in hand, their heads close together.
This feels like the perfect way to finish the semester.
I take Poppy’s hand, cupping my fingers around her fluffy mitten. “Come on, Brains. Let’s go home.”
She smiles up at me—that brilliant, beautiful smile—and together, we follow the group toward the castle and whatever comes next.