Chapter 18
Scholarly Yearnings
W e stagger back as a group, up to the castle, and as I glance over my shoulder, I find the maze is on the island. We never even left. It’s jutting out into the sea, shrouded in mist, and as I narrow my gaze, it seems to blend with the water surrounding it. Another illusion. A powerful one.
The courtyard holds around half of the hopefuls when we reach it, the professors and Caroline Ivey waiting to one side.
As we wait for the remaining hopefuls I quickly grow cold, the exhaustion of the Ordeal gnawing at me.
But I’m alive. I did it. And that lingering parting illusion is fixed far too firmly in my mind.
‘Alden,’ I murmur, turning to him as more hopefuls join us in the courtyard. ‘Tell me what you know about the cold ones.’
He spins to face me, features grim, glancing at the people surrounding us. ‘Not here. This is neither the time, nor the place—’
‘Then when is? After the next attack?’ I lower my voice, stepping closer. ‘One of them killed your father, and they killed the only person who really loved me. The only person I really loved.’
He softens for a moment, regarding me. His eyes trace a path over my features. ‘I’m so sorry, believe me …’
‘And this has all happened before, hasn’t it? You and your brother, you know it too; in fact, he’s been scheming with the professors, meeting with them—’
‘How do you know about that?’
I blink up at him, and he realises his mistake, swearing under his breath. ‘Tell me what’s really going on. Because I have another name for them; tell me if I’m wrong. Vampires.’
He flinches, as though he’s been struck. ‘Look, DeWinter, I can’t, not here—’
‘I need to know—’
‘Hopefuls!’ a voice cuts over us, silencing the entire courtyard.
I turn, finding Professor Grant flanked by Lewellyn, Hess and Caroline Ivey entering from Keeper’s Hall and when I glance back, find Alden has gone.
Before I can search for him in the crowd, Grant continues, every hopeful still and watchful.
‘Well done on completing the second Ordeal.
The maze is a tricksome place, full of twists and turns and illusions.
As you will have gathered, illusionists had the same edge as botanists in the first Ordeal, that is to say … none.
‘What we saw was commendable. A group of hopefuls who held their nerve, worked with their partners, were resourceful and quick, and held in their fear. The maze is designed to test you at your weakest. It’s a mind puzzle as much as a physical one.
There have, sadly, been some casualties; however, I have a privilege to give to a few standout hopefuls. ’
A ripple of interest forms around me but I look away, indifferent, sure that I did not make it back early enough in the group to earn a privilege.
I catch Tessa’s eye and she winks, then I spot Alden, over on the other side of the crowd.
He’s staring gravely at Hess, who is looking suddenly deathly.
‘… and lastly, Alden Locke and Sophia DeWinter. You will have full use of the junior common room alongside the other six hopefuls until the next Ordeal, for your exemplary demonstration of wielding to release your fellow hopefuls.’
I stare at Professor Grant as a short sputter of applause echoes around the courtyard, mostly led by Lewellyn, who I realise is watching me.
I join in, clapping for the others who made it and then make for Alden, determined to finish my questions.
But by the time I reach where he was standing, he’s gone.
I pivot on the spot, searching the crowd of hopefuls and lurking scholars, and find his back disappearing through the archway across the courtyard, heading towards Hope.
Sidestepping through the crowd, I reach the granite-hewn steps that lead to Hope Hall, and see he’s already well ahead, disappearing into the mist at the far end of the island.
Narrowing my eyes, I go after him as quickly as I can, determined to have this out with him.
When I reach his bedroom door, I don’t bother knocking. I barge it open, and he turns to me, shirt in a ball in the corner, as though he’s thrown it. He doesn’t even seem surprised to see me as he pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. ‘DeWinter, I can’t. Not now, I just can’t …’
I swallow, closing the door carefully behind me and lean against it.
The muscles beneath his skin shift as he moves, reaching for his dresser, selecting a simple white T-shirt.
Before he tugs it over his head, I drink in the view of his chest, his abs, taut with a fine line of hair running beneath the waistband of his trousers.
My breath catches as he pulls on the T-shirt, and I imagine running my hands over his skin, feeling the ridges of his chest. Imagine him holding me in his arms.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say softly. ‘Your father, and what happened, I’m sorry, I’ve been relentless, I … I didn’t consider you.’
He nods once, blinking at the floor, and my heart squeezes as his eyes glisten.
He looks so haunted, so beautiful and alone, and all I want to do is reach out to him, for him to know I’m here.
To know I’m here for him . I realise I got this all wrong.
He isn’t doing this to keep things from me; he just didn’t want to fall apart.
He sighs, glancing up, eyes searching my face, lost, as though he is still in his own maze, as though he is still there, that night, and his father has gone into the Morlagh.
‘I should have disobeyed. I should have gone after him, I …’
I take one step, two, and without thinking, before I even realise I’m doing it, I pull him to me and hold him.
His arms fall around me and my heart races, beating so hard and so fast as he grips me tighter.
I can’t bear his sadness, I can’t bear how he seems so lost, and all I can do is hold him, be with him.
He sighs, his shoulders dropping, as though he’s releasing a burden, as though for this singular moment, it’s gone.
His grip on me loosens, and his hands begin moving lower down my back, softly caressing me, before reaching my hips and pulling me tighter to him.
When I look up at him, his eyes are dark and hungry, and then his mouth is devouring mine.
His kiss is deep and desperate, and I lose myself in him, in our connection, in this moment.
I can feel his need pressed against me, and my own want begins to pulse in response.
I am instantly aching for more, more friction, more heat, but almost as quickly as the moment ignites, it cools, his kiss turning gentle before he pulls back, holding my gaze and running one hand softly along the curve of my jaw.
He swallows before speaking, steeling himself.
‘Sophia, the cold ones are vampires. They’re monsters, and I should have shredded that note from my father when I found it that night.
Instead, I kept it, with the information it contained that I’m still trying to figure out.
I should have gone into the woods and saved him, or-or died trying.
He could be alive if I didn’t, if I hadn’t …
’ He draws a shuddering breath. ‘So now you know.’
I nod slowly, not wanting to step away. Because I feel it, right now, in this moment, I feel the pain he locks away inside him, every day.
It’s like he’s holding his heart out to me, the bloody mess of it, and maybe he expects me to walk away.
Maybe others have walked away before. But there are threads between us now, the tentative kind, wrapping us together.
Perhaps once I would have bolted from his vulnerable soul, I would have protected my own heart, I would have cut the threads that are beginning to bind us.
But I cannot.
Here, in this moment, I will not walk away from him.
‘Now I know,’ I say, making sure he hears me. Really hears me. ‘And I’m not going anywhere.’
He releases a charged breath and closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against mine. We stand like this, me and him, and I realise when it comes to Alden, not only can I not walk away, I don’t want to.
‘We need to talk about what you told me. About Fion having two magics,’ I say to Tessa the next morning as we’re walking the gardens.
We both needed to get away from the rivalry, the report of our dwindling numbers at breakfast in Gantry and the nervous energy emanating from the other hopefuls.
Not to mention Peterson, glowering at us, like we personally killed his axe-wielding best friend in the maze.
There’s only thirty-four of us now, and at this rate, twenty of us may not even make it through to become scholars.
‘Fion’s easily the best from the school I went to.
She’s younger than us, but she just flew through.
Parents are the pushy type, you know? Her grandparents are Allowayan.
Cast her parents out of the territory when their magic showed.
I’ve heard she visits them sometimes though, has some special dispensation or something. ’
‘But … two magics? She’s a botanist and an illusionist … How is that even possible?’ In every lecture I managed to attend at the Serpentine library, every piece of information I gleaned on wielding, it’s something I’ve never come across.
Tessa shrugs, her fingers straying from her pockets to brush the frosted tips of a succulent. A cold front blew in overnight, dusting Killmarth in glitter. Anywhere else it would be beautiful, but here … it reminds me of shattered glass.
‘It’s rare, but not impossible, and I only know this because grandmother tested me to see if I had more than one. Part of the training.’
‘Good old grandma …’
Tessa smiles. ‘Quite. Although she did say if a wielder does have two magics, it’s usually alchemy and botany, or masquier and illusion. That she can wield both a tangible magic, botany, and the intangible, illusion, is indeed interesting.’