Chapter Thirty-Six
We left my grandmother’s chambers in silence. I didn’t really know what else to say to my grandma. I just needed to let things settle and percolate. The snow hadn’t let up. Through the long hallway windows, I could see it blanketing the grounds, already piled high against the low stone walls and the edges of the courtyard archways. It was good that Ardetia arrived before this storm.
The Academy always went quiet when it snowed like this. The magic here liked stillness and asked you to pay attention when everything else was covered.
Elira walked beside me, her pace unhurried, her hands folded loosely behind her back. We didn’t speak, but the silence wasn’t heavy. Just… thoughtful. The kind that lived between people who didn’t need to fill the air with words, but I could tell she was thinking of something.
I didn’t know exactly where we were going until I felt a sudden itch behind my ribs, similar to a string being tugged from the inside. I stopped and looked down the hallway stretching off to the left.
“I’m going to head to Bella’s classroom.”
Elira didn’t question me. She just turned with me and followed.
We moved down the corridor, passing the old staircase with its carved banister and the faded mural of the lunar cycle.
The doorway to Bella’s classroom was just ahead, but something caught my eye, a flicker of movement where there shouldn’t have been any.
I stopped short.
There were two new doors along the wall opposite Bella’s classroom.
I blinked.
They hadn’t been there before. I would’ve sworn it. The plaster had always been solid and unbroken. Now? Two dark wood doors stood side by side. No signs. No plaques. No crests or names.
“Grandma,” I said, already stepping forward, “were these—?”
“No,” she said softly, eyes narrowing. “They weren’t here yesterday.”
I didn’t wait. My fingers closed around the handle of the first door. It was cool, the brass tarnished. The moment I touched it, a small pulse of warmth traveled up my palm as if the door had taken notice.
It opened without a sound.
The scent hit me first—dried rosemary, lavender, something sharp and citrusy, like bergamot. The room was dimly lit by the glow of crystals arranged on wooden shelves, each one humming faintly with quiet energy. Deep purple, pale blue, earthy green, clusters of quartz, amethyst, and celestite, all carefully grouped and pulsing in slow rhythm. My chest warmed at the sight.
On the far wall hung bundles of dried herbs, tied in twine and labeled in careful script. Not just the usual ones. There was thornroot. Moon’s breath. Scorched nettle. Many I didn’t recognize.
A table sat in the center of the room, low and wide, with cards spread across it.
Tarot, yes…but not like any I’d seen before.
Each card shimmered slightly as I stepped closer. The Fool was mid-step across a crumbling bridge. The High Priestess’s face shifted between youthful and ancient. The Tower wasn’t falling. It was rising.
I reached out slowly and hovered my fingers over the cards.
“This isn’t Ardetia’s room,” I whispered.
“No,” Elira said behind me, her voice thick with wonder.
My heart kicked up, a strange mix of joy and nerves tightening in my chest.
“This is Nova’s.” I turned to look at my grandma.
“But, she’s not faculty. She never even…she wouldn’t accept—” My grandma began and stopped short.
“Perhaps the Academy doesn’t care about her job titles,” I said. “It knows who it needs.”
I looked around the room again, slower this time.
The energy was different here.
Not academic.
Not structured.
It was layered.
Living.
Each item in the room buzzed with presence, with intention. The whole space felt like it had grown out of the walls rather than been decorated. It belonged .
“Could I be right?” I asked quietly.
Elira’s eyes shone in the crystal light. She nodded once, and we backed out slowly, careful not to disturb anything, and shut the door.
Then we turned to the second door.
I didn’t hesitate this time.
I opened it and stepped into something that felt like the woods and a classroom had made a quiet agreement.
This space was brighter. The windows were wide to let in the light. Vines crept along the ceiling beams, and the scent of loam and mint hung thick in the air. Tables lined the room, each holding open books, ink pots, and quills arranged with casual elegance. In the corner, a chalkboard displayed neat handwriting in two languages—one human, one not.
The walls were covered in pinned botanical drawings of plants, herbs, even a few labeled fungi. Animated diagrams showed the life cycle of a flower that bloomed only during eclipses and another that tracked the movement of a certain breed of nocturnal owl.
On the windowsill sat a row of glass jars containing feathers, bones, and pressed leaves.
There were nests here. Not bird nests. Something else. Carefully built in the crooks of the beams, hidden in the highest corners of the room.
This wasn’t Nova’s energy, not exactly. But it was familiar.
The room hummed with it.
Fae.
“Language,” Elira said softly, walking past one of the tables. “Herbs. Familiar spirits. Animal speech. All fae disciplines.”
“It’s Ardetia’s classroom,” I said softly.
“Maeve, are you in there?” Bella’s voice echoed down the corridor.
Elira turned toward the sound, and I followed her gaze to see Bella and Ardetia walking into the classroom, side by side.
Bella’s eyes were wide as soon as she saw us. Ardetia’s expression was harder to read, though something about the way her gaze settled on the open door made me think she wasn’t surprised.
“Well,” Ardetia said, stopping just outside the threshold. “Looks like the Academy’s made up its mind.”
“About what?” Bella asked, looking between us.
“These rooms,” I said, stepping forward. “They weren’t here before. But they are now. One for Nova. And… one for someone else.”
I didn’t say it out loud, not yet.
But I felt it.
I knew somewhere deep in my bones, where hedge magic stirred and dragon secrets pressed behind my ribs.
The Academy was waking up.
And it was choosing who would guide it next.
I didn’t even wait for the snow to let up.
“This is even more lovely than I could have imagined,” Ardetia said, sweeping her fingers along a table.
The moment the others began murmuring to each other, Bella asking questions, Ardetia making observations in that quiet way that sounded more like pronouncements, I turned and slipped back into the hall.
I needed fresh air.
Space.
I needed to see Nova.
The first room, with the crystals, cards, and dried herbs bundled so carefully that it looked like a poem, belonged to her. I felt it in my gut. The same way you know when someone’s left their scarf on your coat hook, or when you hear laughter in a place that used to echo empty. It wasn’t just magic. It was resonance.
Nova was unable to set foot inside the Academy. Not past the Butterfly Ward, anyway.
She always looked a little sad when she looked past the beyond. I could tell her heart belonged inside the Academy.
Nova used her hands like they were listening, and the plants always leaned toward her when she passed.
She had magic in her bones, wild and unapologetic. And now the Academy was calling to her.
Fiercely.
And I needed to see her.
My grandma caught my gaze, and off I went, winding through the corridors and down stairs that appeared to offer a shortcut.
The air outside slapped me in the face as I opened the main doors, cold and sharp with snow. It tugged at my coat and whipped my hair around like it had something to say. I pulled the hood up and pressed forward, down the front steps and onto the path that led through the trees.
The snow was deep, nearly to my calves, but the path had a faint shimmer, like it remembered where feet had fallen before. I followed it without thinking, boots crunching steady, breath curling into the air in front of me.
It was a fair walk to the edge of the village where Nova’s cottage sat, nestled near the birch trees and surrounded by mismatched wind chimes. I’d only seen it in passing, but I knew she wasn’t at the shop at this hour, so she was on a moonlight stroll or nestled in her home.
By the time I saw smoke from her chimney, my cheeks were raw and my fingertips half-frozen.
But I didn’t slow down.
I knocked twice on the bright blue door, then again faster.
“Nova, it’s me!” I shouted through the wood. “Open up!”
There was a shuffle, a soft thud, and the door opened. Nova stood in a patchwork sweater and thick socks, her raven-colored waves wild around her head like a halo of sparks. She blinked at me.
“You’re half-frosted, Maeve,” she said, pulling me inside without waiting. “Come on, come on. What are you doing out in this mess?”
She bustled into the kitchen, already pouring tea without asking if I wanted any. I sat on the bench near the fireplace, peeling off my gloves and trying to warm my fingers without catching them on the flames.
Everything about Nova’s cottage was more perfect than I imagined.
Warmth greeted me not just from the hearth, but from the very bones of the place. The cottage hummed with magic, soft and wild, like a lullaby sung by fairies. Crystals hung in the windows, catching stray beams of moonlight and scattering them into tiny rainbows that danced across the weathered wood floors. The air smelled of lavender, candle smoke, and something ancient—sage, maybe, or secrets.
Books lined every wall, overflowing their shelves in delightful chaos. Some had bookmarks made from feathers or dried petals, others left open as though Nova might pick up reading mid-stride. Tarot decks were stacked in woven baskets beside the worn armchair, each wrapped in silk or tied with twine, buzzing with quiet power.
Whimsy lived inside these walls.
A teacup balanced on a stack of poetry, a cat-shaped clock meowed the hour, and tiny bottles of stardust…or glitter, maybe…rested on a window ledge. It was all so unmistakably Nova . The kind of space where magic didn't just happen, it belonged.
“I had to tell you something,” I said.
Nova handed me a mug and raised an eyebrow. “Clearly. What is it, then? Has the Academy finally remembered we exist?”
I looked up at her. “I think it’s more than that. I think it’s inviting you in.”
She froze, mid-sip. “Don’t tease me, Maeve.”
“I’m not.” I set the tea down. “There’s a classroom. Two, actually. They weren’t there yesterday. No one saw them before now. But one of them… Nova, it’s yours. I can feel it.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“Crystals, herbs, cards— your cards, Nova. They could belong to no one else. The bundles of lemon leaf and rue are tied with that striped thread you always use. I didn’t need your name on the door. The room felt like you.”
She sat down slowly across from me, still holding the mug but no longer drinking from it.
“The Wards never let me through,” she said quietly. “I always hit the edge and bounce.”
“I know,” I said. “But maybe tonight is different.”
Nova looked past me, toward the window where the snow was still falling hard, the world outside blurred white.
“What if I go and it still pushes me out?” she said, voice low. “What if it hasn’t changed?”
“Then you’re exactly where you’ve always been,” I replied. “Safe, surrounded by herbs and wind chimes and stubborn goblins. But if it has changed… don’t you want to know?”
She looked at me, and for once, there was no teasing in her eyes. Just quiet, deep thought. The kind that settled low in your belly and made the air feel charged.
“I’ve spent most of my life just beyond the gate,” she said. “It never felt like a prison. I had enough magic. I had purpose. But some nights…” Her voice drifted. “Some nights I dreamed of the corridors. The hush of old stone. Like a heartbeat, I wasn’t allowed to follow any longer, but I never thought I’d come back as a teacher.”
I swallowed hard. “Follow it now.”
She stood. Not fast. Not dramatic. She just rose, set her mug down, and reached for the shawl that hung on the hook by the door.
“Help me with my boots,” she said.
I did.
And then we stepped out into the snow together.
The walk back was slower. She didn’t rush. She moved like someone walking toward something sacred—cautious, measured, full of quiet expectation.
When we reached the edge of the Butterfly Ward, she stopped.
The invisible line shimmered faintly, same as it always had. She raised her hand toward it, palm open.
And then she stepped forward.
No resistance. No recoil.
Just a breath of warm air against our skin as the Ward parted for her like silk.
She looked back at me with wide eyes, and I felt my heart stutter.
The Academy had finally opened its doors to her.
Nova walked in.