Chapter 46
Time is strange in the academy. It always has been.
There are moments when it creeps along, like the spiders that lace the old rafters with their silks.
And times when it flows as effortlessly as the Farlum River.
It’s so far removed from everything that resembles the “normal” world that it feels like the sun and moon spin differently here.
Everything continues, ignorant to my revelation about reversed cards.
The days become a series of repetitions: wake, eat breakfast, teach morning classes or spend them trying to sketch the vessel from my memories, spend the afternoons with students—usually Sorza, whom Gregor finally agreed to let help find Silas’s family—or in a renewed search for information on the vessel from the perspective of the reversed card.
The same slate I use during classes to outline wielding techniques becomes a chaotic field of scribbles with everything I can remember of what Mother taught me, and of what I’ve been researching.
Forgotten inking techniques. The Fool. The World. Myths of the Majors. Reversed cards. Revisan. It all swirls in my mind as I try to recall the elegant lines of my mother’s inking.
The plans for the vessel card begin to take shape, the recipe for the ink solidifying more and more confidently in my mind.
But the voids in the drawing remain. There are negative spaces between the lines on the card, and I can’t decide if they’re intentional or simply a gap in my recollection.
I try to recall everything I can. Mother’s face, outlined by candlelight, her mouth moving…
But the words she whispered are gone, as elusive as the shapes she was trying to teach me.
I curse myself but carry on, hoping that one day the memories will click back into place.
Eventually I go to Vaduin myself, rather than using Gregor as our go-between for Worldkeeper matters.
His office is cold as always. The fireplace stands neglected. But the man is hunched over his desk—inking supplies scattered—and is wearing only a light coat even though fall is already beginning to seep into winter.
“How is she doing?” Vaduin asks about Arina, his tone compassionate enough.
“As well as can be expected.” Which is to say not very well at all. “Thank you again for lending your healers.”
He nods, and I’m glad that he doesn’t press his point, yet again, that maybe it would’ve been for the best for me to leave her with them.
But given what I hear about Emilia digging deeper underground in Eclipse City—wherever she can find an entry—I feel slightly vindicated.
It’s good that Arina isn’t being moved constantly.
“You’re not here for her.” His eyes flick my way, leaving his current inking.
“I’m not.”
That gets his attention. He sets down the long-handled brush he prefers to use to ink his cards. “You found it.”
I nod. “I know how to make the ink for the vessel card.”
“You’re sure?”
I nod again.
“What was the missing ingredient?”
“I think my mother would’ve preferred I keep that a secret until I can impart it to the next leader of the Worldkeepers.” I smile slightly, knowing he won’t argue, given who Mother was to them.
“Was it Kaelis who helped you?”
“Yes, actually.” In a way, at least…
He leans back in his chair in surprise. “You still trust him, then?”
“Yes.” Even as I say it, there’s still a streak of doubt in me that I ignore. “Do you think I shouldn’t?”
“I think he destroyed an entire clan with a reversed card.” Vaduin’s words turn harsher than I’ve ever heard from him.
The remark comes out of nowhere. He doesn’t know yet that reversed cards are the secret ingredient for the vessel. Why bring that up out of all the reasons for me to possibly not trust Kaelis? Unless…
“How do you know it was a reversed card?” I tilt my head and avoid pointing out how strange the comment is.
Gregor said he got the card from Ravin’s workshop, but what if that was a lie?
Or maybe a half-truth. What if another Worldkeeper was the one to find it?
I can think of several ways they could maneuver him for their benefit when it comes to me.
“Everyone knows it was,” he dodges with ease.
I don’t let him off so easily. “You said that with more confidence than mere royal gossip.”
“I had my suspicions…Enough that I conducted my own research into what happened that day.” He taps his desk and shakes his head with a noise of disgust. “You see a card reverse, and you know what the destruction it brings looks like. You should know by now as well as I.”
I don’t let the reference to Jura or Kel throw me off. “Clan Hermit was an unfortunate accident.”
“Not at that scale,” he says coldly. “There can only be one explanation for what happened that day.”
I press my lips into a firm line. He’s going out of his way to sow doubt between Kaelis and me. No matter what, the Worldkeepers will never trust the prince, that much grows clearer to me by the day.
Vaduin aptly assesses that he’s getting no more from me on this, given my expression, and shifts the topic.
“Since you have completed the task given to you, we’ll plan for the initiation.
All Coins Day is swiftly approaching. We can only initiate new Worldkeepers during the apexes of the seasons, when the magic of that season is at its peak.
Gregor is close enough to completing his task as well.
We’ll plan to take you both to the Stone Citadel at the same time. ”
“The Stone Citadel?” I echo.
“The ancestral home of the Worldkeepers. We risk going there only for initiations…and to ink the vessel.”
I leave allowing him to think that because I know how to make the ink, I also know how to make the vessel. Ignoring the uncertainty twisting in my gut that I will one day soon be put to a test that I’m not sure if I will pass.
The days slip by, and when Arina finally wakes, she’s nothing more than the shell she was before Thal’s card. She’s mindless, wordless…a living doll. Her hands are limp in their restraints, eyes vacant.
“It’s better than the screaming,” Gregor says gently. I know he’s trying to be optimistic—to find some way to reassure me—but it rings hollow. “At least she doesn’t seem like she’s in as much pain.”
“She’s in a soul-crushing amount of pain.” I gently sweep a strand of hair from her forehead. She doesn’t so much as blink.
Not for the first time, I think of trying my Major on her.
The silver card I showed to Thal is hidden with the golden Death card in a room deep in the academy—somewhere only I know the path to after some magical modifications.
It’s unpredictable, but could any shifted fate be worse than what she’s enduring?
Ultimately I don’t. Thal’s card showed me the power of the Majors and the danger of using them. Elorin’s cautions about spinning the wheel ring in my ears. It’s not worth the risk.
My hands fall back into my lap with a soft sigh.
“Let’s unbind her.” I can’t bear to see her tied up for a day longer when it’s so clear that she’s not dangerous. And we have more help now.
Gregor hesitates for a second, then nods.
My one reprieve from Arina and the Worldkeepers, and all the other demands upon me, is Kaelis.
Almost every night, I make my way to Kaelis’s chambers.
The doors are never locked. In fact, the one to his closet is slightly ajar.
Priss is waiting for me—the little shadow of a cat with her glowing yellow eyes—on more than one occasion.
She keeps me company in the dining room as we wait for her master to return from whatever business he’s conducting.
Kaelis fills me in over dinner on what’s happening beyond the walls of the academy.
The pace has been picking up in the search for the great criminal Clara Graysword.
His father is hunting for the new Chariot.
Ravin seems to be content, for now, with supporting both their father and Emilia in their hunts.
Enough so that he’s not been actively bothering Kaelis and the academy for an almost abnormally long stretch.
We dine. We scheme. And then he brings me to his bed and lavishes affection upon me as though I am something to be worshiped.
Finally, when All Coins Day is just under one month away, something breaks the strange cadence of the days.
A letter awaits me one morning, carefully placed upon the center of my desk.
The wax seal is unmistakable: a silver sword on a black background, the mark of Oricalis.
Opening the letter, I scan its contents as the students arrive.
By the time I’m finished, the last of the bells have rung, and the class is seated.
I hold it aloft as I announce, “There is to be a social event tomorrow here at the academy.” My voice carries over the room in the near-immediate hush they’ve all fallen into.
“Nobles from various clans will be visiting to meet with you all.
This is an opportunity for them to report back to their clans on what students are worthy of keeping an eye on during the All Coins Day demonstrations.
“Think of it like a practice run for what’s to come at the Selection Soiree before All Coins Day,” I continue in a calm and even manner.
“There isn’t much time to prepare your skills between now and tomorrow afternoon.
But that shouldn’t be where your focus rests.
Instead, put your efforts toward making the right connections with the members of the clans you want to join.
They will no doubt be making a short list for the Selection Soiree and All Coins Day to follow.
Among nobility, it’s often not what you can do, but who you know. ”
Despite my reassurance, nervous energy still lingers in the air throughout the class. The same trepidation clings to them as they gather with the adjunct professors—myself included—the next day and march as a pack to a lavishly decorated room designed for gatherings like this.
The walls are adorned with intricate tapestries, each depicting a different Major—no doubt the clans represented here today.
I find it interesting that the artist’s depiction is off on just about every count from what the actual Major cards look like.
A long banquet table of refreshments runs the length of the room down its center.
The nobles are already here, outnumbering the students two to one, which makes the gathering feel a bit like a calculated attack. They move with almost practiced steps that suggest they’ve carefully planned who they’ll go to first and what they’ll say.
I don’t recognize any of the nobles. These aren’t heads of families, or High Lords or Ladies—people of such rank wouldn’t waste their time on such a small event.
So the clans sent their “lesser” members: the second sons, cousins, and relatives on distant branches of the family tree.
The only way I can tell their allegiances is through their pins, sashes, and fine embroidery, in the symbols and colors of the clans they represent.
Luren stands awkwardly at Dristin’s side, speaking with someone from Clan Chariot—Dristin’s clan. I can’t hear their words, but I can tell he’s making an effort to endear her to them. Luren is doing her best, but I can tell from here how stiff and awkward she is.
Sorza has been swept up by a broad-shouldered noble from Clan Tower.
She stands next to Alor in a manner that feels almost…
penned in. Deliberate. I can’t help but wonder if they received a directive from the king to ensure no other clans get any ideas.
After all, Sorza’s destined for the castle and King Naethor’s direct command.
I can’t help but draw closer, curious if I’m right.
“And my sister?” Alor asks. There’s an edge to her words, even though she makes a good attempt to mask it with formality.
“Any word on her pursuit of the criminal?” Alor can’t even bring herself to say my name.
She always was the sort to see betrayal and deception as two of the greatest crimes. A Sword through and through.
The man from Clan Tower nods, surprising me. I slow my step the slightest bit. “Emilia is hot on her trail. There’s been a recent breakthrough—evidence of a mountain stronghold where Clara might be holed up.”
I barely refrain from smirking and keep walking. They have no idea where I am, and it’s delightful. Emilia is still grasping at straws and using excuses to save face. I end up at the central table, taking a drink of punch.
Without warning, there’s an unmistakable shift. I feel him before I see him. Those gathered move a second after me, eyes turning as the doors open.
Kaelis has arrived.
He glides into the room with wide strides. His silver-trimmed coat catches the sunlight, casting an almost shimmering glow on the sides of his face.
“We have some late arrivals to our soiree,” Kaelis announces. “As you all know, the roads are so much slower now with all the Stellis checkpoints looking for Oricalis’s most wanted.”
A few other nobles trail in after him. My smile immediately falls as my eyes land on one.
Liam.
Fuck. How could I have been so stupid? Overlooked something so crucial? I’m here thinking I’ve evaded all danger when there’s one major, dangling thread.
Liam knows my name—my true name.
The letters I asked him to look for during the Feast of Cups ball before everything went sideways.
What was in them? Did he address them to Clara Chevalyer like he had the notes we’d exchanged before he entered the academy?
The same notes I was foolish enough to scribble my real name at the bottom of.
Does he still have those old love letters I wrote him, somewhere?
My heart begins to race. The whole room tightens around me, the walls closing in. Any of those notes could damn me in an instant, from anywhere in the world, should they fall into Ravin’s hands. And I know Ravin is aware of our connection, given his little ploy at his own soiree last year.
I suck in a breath, Arina’s thin and panicked words coming to me in a rush: I spoke of mother, our time living on the streets, of your first love and the club.
Of your first love.
What did she tell Ravin of Liam?
The crown prince has all the pieces, I’m sure of it. Eventually he’ll put them together and realize there’s an angle he hasn’t tried. Someone who might have a bit of information yet unexploited. And he’ll be right.
A plan instantly forms in my mind, and before I can think better of it, I’m moving.