Chapter 14
Sienna
After six hours of classes and an afternoon break fraught with curious stares, the promise of stiff drinks and idle conversation is enough to make me follow Gemma anywhere—including down a winding staircase lit only by the faintest flicker of candlelight.
The pounding inside my skull is made worse with each step we take until finally, after what feels like ages, we emerge into a musty cavern rumbling with muted laughter and the gentle lap of waves.
Once my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, I make out at least a dozen vampires milling about, drinking from crystal goblets and eying each other with dark hunger.
I keep my gaze off their faces and quickly amuse myself with the saltwater pool kissing the natural rock platform at our feet.
A narrow waterway extends from the far side of the pool, reaching the mouth of the cave and opening to the academy’s only access point to the ocean—a favorite spot for merfolk to gather, judging by how many swishing tails linger on the sun-soaked rocks.
Their damp skin and shimmering scales reflect the setting sun’s farewell as it bleeds across the horizon in a gorgeous swath of deep pinks and purples.
Focusing my gaze, I catch numerous patches of scales woven throughout their human halves—clinging to the curve of an elbow or dotting one’s collar bone—similar to Headmaster Loreander’s while he’s in human form.
Perhaps there is a wrinkle of truth to the rumors of shared traits between dragons of the sky and those of the deep.
“Over here,” Gemma beckons, waving me toward a bar carved from the cavern itself.
Its sculptor has chiseled intricate details into the columns stretching from floor to ceiling, with more swirling patterns and shapes decorating the edge of the flat top, the deepest of which glow with an unnatural white light.
Gemma talks animatedly with the bartender, a man whose skin is so pale that it’s nearly translucent. His eyes lock onto mine as I approach, and I swallow the discomfort threatening to rise. I’ve been suffering from silent gazes all afternoon, and I have a feeling there will be many more to come.
“This is my brother, Thorn,” Gemma introduces. “He’s a second-year and a damn good mixer.”
“Gemma,” Thorn sighs, frowning. “I told you to stop coming here.”
“Why? Because it’s dangerous?” She rolls her eyes on the last word. “If it’s safe enough for you to work here, then it’s safe enough for me to visit.”
“I don’t feed off of magic,” he whispers harshly, narrowing his gaze. “And you are not vampire or merfolk, last I checked.” His gaze flicks to mine. “Neither is your friend.”
“Then pour us some drinks, and we’ll be on our way. To-go,” she amends, beaming at me. “He really is the best bartender of the last three centuries. How he hasn’t found a mate is beyond me!”
“Maybe it’s because of annoying little sisters,” he mutters, mixing a blood red cocktail without needing to watch his hands. His eyes are frozen on his sister in a way that seems deeply . . . intimate.
“I only arrived yesterday,” Gemma counters, waving away his comment. “You’ve been here an entire year. Surely someone has caught your eye by now.”
He pinches his lips into a thin line and does not reply, turning away to pour his concoction into a glass cylinder.
“How are you two related?” I ask, noting the stiff line of Thorn’s shoulders before turning to Gemma.
“I’m adopted,” Gemma replies happily. “Though why none of my siblings care to turn me into a vampire, I’ll never know.”
Thorn sets two large drink canisters in front of his sister, glaring at her once again. “Do not recruit strangers to your cause, Gem. You will not win.”
She smiles sweetly at Thorn and lifts onto her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “That’s why you’re my favorite brother.” After patting his cheek, she cradles one canister beneath her arm and takes the other in hand. “You never change.”
His expression flatlines. “None of us do.”
“Precisely.” Blowing him a kiss, she hops off the ledge and grabs my hand.
“Let’s go before this humidity ruins my hair.
” We take the very same staircase back into the castle.
Gemma doesn’t so much as huff on the ascent, her steps bouncing as she hums to herself.
My calves burn during the latter half of the climb.
“So, your brother . . .” I don’t know how to put into words what I just witnessed. “How are you so close when he’s that much older than you?”
“Vampires age differently,” Gemma replies simply, holding open the door for me once we reach the main floor landing.
“He’s only a few hundred years old, which means he’s basically twenty-five in vampire years—so he says, but who knows with that man.
I think he was trying to make me feel better when he forgot my eighteenth birthday. ”
I have a hard time believing that a vampire forgets anything.
“You’re eighteen?”
She shakes her head. “I’m twenty-two now.
But I think Thorn still considers himself twenty-five.
” Rolling her eyes, she scoffs. “He may as well be forty for how much of a stick in the mud he is.” Rather than take the grand staircase up to the first-years’ floor, she turns down a corridor and breezes past a hundred portraits nailed to the walls. “My room is this way!”
After two more turns, we step into another wing of the castle, its walls and floors suddenly made of warm wood.
A seemingly random assortment of rugs lie across the walkway, each one overlapping the next before bunching against the walls.
Six arched doors stand at the end of the room, and Gemma approaches the one on the far left.
“This one’s mine.” Handing me the drinks, she fishes an old-fashioned key from her pocket and turns the lock.
“Are all witches’ rooms on this hall?”
“Nope, just me.” She leads me inside and kicks the door shut, then locks it with a wave of her hand.
“I’m the only one with an affinity for flora, which is what these rooms are made for.
” The back wall is completely covered with plants, a few of their tendrils waving as Gemma walks by to pull out her desk chair.
Soil samples, vials of liquids separated by color, and three open books lay in disarray on her desk.
Warm light filters down from above, its source unknown. Likely magical in origin.
“This is . . .” I set down the canisters on her nightstand. “Did you grow all of these?”
“Pfffff. In one day?” She grins. “I wish. But no, I inherited these from the witch who came before me. She graduated and couldn’t take them with her, apparently.
” Reaching out to one of the vines, she scratches the underside of its largest leaf like she’s petting a dog.
“They miss her, but I’ve promised to take good care of them. ”
I have too many questions to ask all at once, but I doubt she wants to talk about her gifts or anything school-related. My head feels like it’s going to explode after cramming all day, anyway. I doubt I’ll remember a single thing she tells me.
Sighing, I plop down on her bed and unlace my boots.
For the first time all day, I can’t feel anyone’s eyes on me, and it’s .
. . really fucking nice, if I’m being honest. “Thank you for inviting me over.” I kick off my boots and lie back on her bed, smoothing my hands over the homemade quilt.
“I feel like I could sleep for a week.” After everything Revyn put me through last night on top of today’s lessons, I deserve a break.
If we were together, I’d demand that we hole up at an inn for warm baths and warmer beds, consequences be damned.
The ache in my chest attempts to grow, but I clamp it down. We are so not going there tonight. I do not miss the way his hair curls around his ears when he’s fresh from the bath or the heavy weight of his leg over mine when we’re lying in bed together.
Nope. I don’t miss him at all.
Gemma pours her cocktail into the lid of her canister and holds it out to me. “Drink. You look like you fucking need it.”
Offering a smile, I push myself up and accept it. “Thank you.”
“And stop saying thanks,” she chastises, grabbing my canister and helping herself. “I need a friend, and from the looks of it, so do you.” She downs her cup in one gulp then pours another. “Damn, this is good. Thorn’s a genius.”
I follow Gemma’s lead and down the first cup, gagging as soon as the sugar hits my tongue.
“Gods, what is this?” I bring the canister to my nose and scent a mix of overripe berries.
“It’s—” Holding my tongue, I pour another cup and down it before I insult my new friend. “Unlike anything I’ve ever tasted.”
“Good, right?” She sucks her teeth and lies on her stomach beside me, jostling the mattress as she lands. “I need a mate who can mix me one of these.” Kicking her feet up, she nudges her shoes off with her toes. “But like you, I’m not here to find a mate.”
Carefully lying on my side, I prop my head up with my elbow and sip my deceptively strong drink. The alcohol doesn’t kick because it’s masked behind the fruit. Clever. “Who says I’m not here to find a mate?” I ask, playing dumb.
“Please.” Gemma lifts a thin brow. “If you were, you wouldn’t have kicked that gorgeous man out of your room last night.
” When I open my mouth, she lifts her finger.
“I said no boys allowed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t gossip.
Now, spill. Oh, but fair warning.” Mischief sparkles in her emerald eyes.
“Witches are notorious gossips. Anything you say can and will spread throughout the castle. These guys—” She gestures toward her plants—“love to talk to anyone who will listen. They will tell your secrets.”