Chapter 5
I lie in bed with my eyes closed and my wrist burning beneath the blankets.
The mark pulses whenever I begin to drift, faint and golden beneath my skin, dragging me back from the edge of sleep with a warmth that doesn't belong to me alone.
A circle of flame. A boy I do not want. Every time I turn onto my side, the mark brushes against the sheets, and I remember the moment the Eternal Flame chose him.
I remember the observatory going silent.
Valerius Draven standing across from me with fury carved into his beautiful, cruel face.
I remember his voice, low enough that only I could hear.
What did you do?
As if I could ever command ancient fire. As if I could ever make magic choose anything. As if I have not spent my entire life begging magic to choose me at all. The thought hurts more in the dark. Everything does.
My room is quiet except for the soft crackle of the candles my mother lit before she left me.
They burn low now, blue at the base and gold at the tip, their flames trembling every time the wind presses against the tower windows.
Beyond the glass, Arcana Academy sleeps beneath a black sky, its towers rising through mist, its corridors dim, its wards whispering to one another in a language I can't understand.
I stare at the canopy above my bed until my eyes burn, then I lift my wrist.
In the candlelight, the bond mark looks delicate.
Almost pretty. A thin golden circle beneath the skin, so fine it could be mistaken for jewelry if jewelry could sink into flesh and ruin your life.
I touch it with two fingers. Heat answers. Not pain.
My breath catches. For one impossible second, I'm not alone in my own body. There's a pressure at the edge of me—dark, controlled, restless. Like standing outside a locked room and knowing something dangerous is pacing on the other side.
Valerius.
I snatch my hand away. The feeling vanishes. I sit up so fast the blanket slides to my waist.
"No," I whisper into the dark.
The room doesn't answer. Of course it doesn't... rooms only answer girls with magic.
By the time the first bell tolls, I'm already dressed.
Dawn has barely touched the sky when I step into the corridor.
The east tower is quiet, the air still silver with early morning cold.
Most students are asleep, or pretending to be.
Final-year schedules begin at dawn after the Gathering, but not all bonded assessments happen on the first morning.
Lucky them.
My boots echo softly against the stone as I descend the spiral stairs. Floating candles flicker awake ahead of me, one by one. I don't know if they do it because the academy recognizes movement or because my mother's wards still follow me like a protective shadow. I pretend not to care.
The lower corridors are colder. Morning fog presses against the arched windows, turning the glass white.
Outside, the grounds are washed in pale blue light.
The mountains beyond the academy look like jagged teeth against the horizon.
The training halls sit to the south, built apart from the main wings so students can destroy things under supervision. How thoughtful.
I pull my cloak tighter around myself. The bond mark is hidden beneath my sleeve, but I feel it anyway. It has been quiet since I left my room. Too quiet. Like it is waiting. I hate that thought. I hate more that a tiny, shameful part of me is listening for it. For him.
The south training hall appears at the end of the corridor, its double doors carved with branch symbols and old protective runes.
The stone around the entrance is darker than the rest of the academy, scorched from generations of practical lessons.
The air smells faintly of smoke, rain, iron, and something sharp beneath it all.
The doors are already open. Of course he is here before me. I step inside.
The hall is enormous, circular, and mostly empty.
Dawn light falls through narrow windows high above, striping the black stone floor in pale gold.
Training circles are etched into the ground, each one surrounded by layered wards that shimmer faintly when I move.
Weapon racks line one wall. Spell targets hover near another, rotating lazily in the air.
At the far end, three branch banners hang from iron rods.
Tempest blue. Veil green. Aether red.
A professor stands near the center circle with a slate in hand. Professor Thorne and beside him, Valerius Draven waits like the dark after a fire goes out.
He wears training black instead of formal uniform, fitted sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing the bloodline sigils curling along his right wrist.
They look darker in the morning light. Alive, almost.
His short black hair is still slightly damp, as if he has already been awake for hours.
His cloak is gone, leaving the full width of his shoulders impossible to ignore. He looks calm. I despise him for it.
My pulse notices him before the rest of me can pretend not to. The mark under my sleeve warms. Valerius's eyes flick to my wrist. My stomach tightens. He felt it too.
Professor Thorne looks up from his slate. "Miss Starling. You are precisely on time."
"Good morning, Professor." I say. Valerius says nothing.
Professor Thorne says, "Mr. Draven arrived fifteen minutes early."
"Congratulations," I say before I can stop myself. "Does the academy award medals for unnecessary brooding before sunrise?"
Silence. Professor Thorne's eyebrows lift a fraction. Valerius turns his head slowly. His hazel eyes settle on me, and the air between us sharpens.
"Careful," he says.
It scrapes down my spine like a match being struck. I hate that my body reacts before my anger does. "I'm beginning to think that is the only word you know," I say.
His mouth curves faintly. "And yet you keep needing to hear it." Heat rises in my cheeks.
Professor Thorne clears his throat. The sound cuts through the tension like a blade. "If the two of you have finished proving the Flame's sense of humor," he says dryly, "we will begin."
I snap my gaze to him. Valerius doesn't look away from me. Only when Professor Thorne steps between us, the invisible pressure of his stare eases.
"Bonded assessment one," Professor Thorne says, turning to the slate. "Purpose is baseline compatibility, energetic responsiveness, branch alignment, and controlled stabilization."
I understand half of those words individually. Together, they sound like a punishment disguised as education.
Professor Thorne gestures to the central training circle. "Inside."
Valerius moves first. Of course he does. Smooth, silent, carrying himself as if every room is a battlefield he has already won. I follow, stepping over the etched boundary of the circle.
The wards hum to life. A translucent wall rises around us, not visible unless I look directly at it.
Silver lines thread through the air, sealing the training space.
The moment the ward closes, the hall outside seems farther away.
Professor Thorne remains visible, but the sound of the room changes, becoming thicker, muffled, private.
I become violently aware of being alone inside a circle with Valerius Draven. Not alone, Thorne is right there but the ward makes it feel alone. Valerius stands across from me, hands loose at his sides, posture relaxed in a way that feels insulting. I clasp my hands in front of me.
His eyes drop to the movement. "Do I make you nervous, Starling?" The question is quiet enough that Professor Thorne might not hear it.
I force myself to meet his eyes. "Do powerless girls usually make you this curious, Draven?"
Something flashes across his face. "Curiosity gives you too much credit."
"Then stop staring." I shoot.
His gaze sharpens. "Stop reacting."
My breath catches. He knows... Not everything, not even close but he knows something happens when he is near me.
He knows my body betrays me before I understand why.
He saw the light in the classroom. He felt the bond last night.
He felt the mark warm when I entered and now he is watching me like a locked door he intends to break open.
Professor Thorne taps his slate with two fingers. "Face one another."
"We are," Valerius says.
"Without attempting murder through eye contact, Mr. Draven."
I almost smile. Valerius doesn't.
Professor Thorne continues, "The Eternal Flame bond creates a temporary energetic bridge between partners. For most pairs, the bridge is passive until activated through proximity, touch, or shared magical exertion. Today, we test whether the bond between you can stabilize under controlled pressure."
I look at the professor. "What pressure?"
Thorne's gaze lands on me. "The kind your partner can survive." My stomach twists. Valerius looks bored. "Mr. Draven will summon a controlled Shadowflame manifestation," Thorne says. "You, Miss Starling, will stand within the warded circle and observe your bond mark for changes."
I blink. "Observe?"
"Yes." He says.
"That's all?" I ask in panic, but im not showing it.
"For now." The words hum with something unsaid. I hate them immediately.
Valerius rolls one shoulder as if this entire thing is beneath him. "You want me to perform tricks while she watches?"
"I want you to follow instructions," Professor Thorne says. "A task history suggests you find difficult."
Valerius's eyes cool. The room temperature seems to drop with them but he obeys.
He lifts his right hand. The sigils along his wrist darken.
At first, nothing happens, then the shadows beneath his fingers begin to move.
Not the way normal shadows move when light shifts.
These gather, thicken, curl upward like smoke dragged from the floor.
A faint red glow appears at the center of his palm, swallowed almost immediately by black flame.
My breath catches. Shadowflame. I have seen him use it from a distance in demonstrations, never this close. Close is different. Close is terrifying.