Chapter 28 The Tree and the Runes
The next morning, I woke to the gentle pattering of rain against my window, a soft rhythm against the glass that felt almost conspiratorial.
My body ached, but not from exhaustion. The scent of rosehip and clover still lingered on my skin, woven into the sheets, as if the night had left its mark on me in more ways than one.
I turned onto my side, reveling in the cool press of linen between my bare legs.
My fingers drifted absently over my arms, my stomach, recalling the weight of hands that weren’t mine, the press of lips that had left no space between wanting and taking.
Heat coiled low in my belly, lazy, lingering—until it collided with the sharper edge of regret.
My lips parted on a breath that felt too shallow. Sequoia’s sigh against my mouth, Aspen’s hand at the nape of my neck—it all flickered through me like an afterimage burned into my skin. I had let them in.
Worse, I had wanted to.
I had given in to the very thing I had spent my life resisting.
The realization settled over me like a second skin, both thrilling and suffocating. I had told myself I was better than this—stronger than my impulses, smarter than my desires. I had spent years pretending I was untouchable, that no one could reach inside me and unearth something real.
But I had let them, willingly.
My eyes shot toward my desk, where the Skorn deck lay in a scattered, chaotic spread. Twenty-five cards pulled and left askew, separated from the rest. Imbued. My pulse ticked up.
I sat up, the room spinning slightly as I pressed my palms into the mattress. The moment my fingers reached for the Skorn deck, a sharp pulse of static snapped at my skin. I flinched, exhaling sharply.
The magick was there.
I clenched my jaw, swallowing against the rising tide in my chest. My gaze snagged on Julian’s journal, discarded among the wreckage of my choices. The sight of it tethered me back to orbit.
I had a purpose here. I had a mission.
I exhaled, dragging a hand through my tangled hair.
No. Nothing has changed.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor biting at my bare feet.
I was simply using them. Sequoia and Aspen. That was all.
What had happened—what I had done—was just another step toward the truth. Another move in a game where I could not afford to lose.
And if they got caught in the crossfire? A sharp pang twisted in my chest. My fingers curled against my palms.
So be it.
I grabbed the nearest sweater, tugging it over my head with more force than necessary. My trousers followed, my movements brisk, efficient, mechanical.
This was nothing.
This was a distraction.
I stepped into the hall before I could think twice, before I could look back and see the truth staring at me from the mess of cards and tangled sheets.
Before I could admit that I was already too far gone.
*
Breakfast was awkward. Everyone was already seated at the table when I walked in, plates in front of them. My heartbeat skidded at the sight of the Trees, shame stinging my face and neck. No way but through, I reminded myself.
I took my seat next to Nina and forced a smile.
“You sure look well-rested,” she said, and a blush crept up my cheeks. Across the table, silence stretched too thin.
“I guess I am,” I said, focusing my attention on my plate.
A few moments passed before Nina stood, stretching her arms. “You all are a lively bunch,” she muttered, though her eyes lingered on me a second too long. I rolled my eyes at her, hoping the act mimicked normalcy enough to prevent further suspicion.
“Hmpf,” she huffed before striding away from the table.
I finally broke my willpower and let my gaze drift up to the Trees. They were both staring at me, their expressions soft but steady.
“How are you feeling, Dahlia?” Sequoia asked, her voice light.
“Fine. Good, actually. Thanks for the help last night,” I said, figuring it would be more awkward not to address it.
“Of course,” Sequoia replied, her cheeks tinged pink.
I glanced at Leone, but he was so absorbed in his book that I thought he hadn’t noticed. I hoped he hadn’t noticed. But then, his eyes flicked up to meet mine before drifting to the Trees. The gesture was slight, but I understood it for what it was.
He was reminding me of our deal.
Aspen looked as relaxed as ever, but there was a flicker—something unreadable—lurking just beneath his gaze.
I weighed my options. Approaching them together for the pen could backfire.
If one resisted, the other might follow.
Or worse, it could sow discord between them—and I couldn’t afford to spark a rift I couldn’t control.
I finished my plate at the same time they did, lingering as they picked at crumbs. Sequoia pressed a kiss to Aspen’s cheek, murmuring something about an essay before leaving the dining room. As she passed me, she reached out, giving my arm a gentle squeeze.
“Let’s talk later, okay?”
Aspen followed her out, but I caught up to him in the hallway. He met my gaze mid-stride.
“A word,” I said in a whisper once Sequoia was out of earshot.
His brows lifted in amusement. “Back for more so soon?”
I rolled my eyes. “What happened last night—it doesn’t change anything.
You know why I’m here.” I let the words settle between us, admitting it at last. Aspen had suspected I was investigating Julian’s death.
And after last night, it didn’t feel right to keep lying—not when I had been so honest with other parts of myself.
He nodded, but for a split second, I swore I saw something like hurt ripple through his expression.
“And I still want to help you,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
Aspen hesitated. It was brief, but enough to make my stomach tighten.
“You told me you regretted not being more open with me,” I pressed.
“I did.” His voice was quiet. “But there are things I’m forbidden to say.”
I scoffed. “Great. More secrets. Like I said, nothing has changed.”
He sighed, and for the first time, he looked tired. “I do want to help you, Dahlia.”
I shook my head, exhaling sharply. “Then prove it.”
He watched me for a long moment before finally nodding.
“There’s something I need,” I said, lowering my voice. “A pen. Leone said you have it.”
Aspen’s confusion lasted only a second before a chuckle slipped past his lips. “That old sport is still after it,” he mused, then lowered his voice. “Wait—you slept with us for a pen?”
Heat climbed up my throat. “No—that was—”
Aspen grinned, cutting me off. “Relax, Dahlia. I’m teasing.” His voice dipped lower, a warmth behind it that made my breath hitch. “I figured you’d realize by now—that’s how I show affection.” He paused. “If you want the pen, I’ll give it to you,” he said finally.
I arched a brow. “And?”
“And what?”
“You’re not going to ask for something in return?”
His lips curled at the edges. “What, you want me to ask you to solve a riddle?”
I groaned. “Whatever. Just bring it tonight.”
But before I could turn, his hand closed around my wrist, firm but careful.
“What I said last night,” he murmured, his breath brushing against my skin. “I meant it. We’re here for you, we’re your friends.”
I swallowed hard. “You are,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I truly believed it.
They were more than that, but still less than friends.
Friends trusted each other, but I couldn’t trust anyone in this House.
Sure, I could trust them with my pathetic childhood stories, but not with anything that mattered.
Maybe if things had been different: if I hadn’t been a fraudulent student, if I hadn’t been hired to solve Julian’s murder, if I didn’t have a dead father haunting me.
Then maybe we could have all been friends.
He finally released my arm, and I went upstairs without another word.
*
I had packed my bag, ready to head back down to the tunnels once I had the map, armed with the rest of my necessities: a second functioning compass, my deck of cards, Julian’s journal, and my sharpened dagger.
I only hoped that whatever Julian had left for me in those tunnels was worth all the trouble I’d gone through to get this far.
“We are building off of our previous discussion on free will tonight and examining the historical origins of predetermination. Aspen, this should be a favorite topic of yours,” the Meister began.
I was already regretting attending tonight’s Circle.
“And, Ms. Blackburne, you should have some research findings to report on the topic as well. From the Nordic sources, yes?”
Damn. I had been so preoccupied with Julian’s case that I had completely let the Meister’s side project fall to the wayside. I was going to have to rely on my working understanding of the runes and Norse system to get through this discussion.
“Of course. I’m happy to contribute,” I lied.
As if sensing this, Aspen tilted his head to the side, giving me a slow, sideways smile. I furrowed my brows in return. I hated the way he could so easily read me—the way I read others. It was infuriating.
“I’m also fascinated by the topic,” Nina chimed in. Thank God. They could carry the conversation.
Aspen and Nina went back and forth for a while before eventually turning to me.
“The concept of the Fates spinning the tapestry of the future—that symbolism exists in Norse mythos too, right, Dahlia?” Nina asked, looking at me. She didn’t seem to realize she was setting me up to expose my ignorance. Or was she?
“Yes,” I answered slowly, trying to recall the readings I had done weeks ago. “There are three Fates that mirror the Greek ones—they’re called the Norns.”
I let out a breath, relieved that I could remember something useful.
“And how are they tied to predestination? Is it through the runes?” the Meister interjected.