Chapter 8
Eight
T he campus glowed beneath a crescent moon. Alaire’s boots padded against the cobblestone as she wandered paths she’d memorized during her few weeks at the academy. Yet the question still gnawed at her: why was she really here?
She hadn’t seen Professor Ross anywhere—not in the dining hall, not in the gardens, not even a glimpse of him in the corridors. His absence bothered her. It felt deliberate, as if he was avoiding her on purpose.
None of it makes any sense.
She could keep wandering in aimless circles, or she could do something about it. Alaire pinched the bridge of her nose; he’d left her no other choice. Spinning on her heel, she turned back toward the castle.
Professor Ross had pointed out his office during the initial tour he’d given the novices on their first day.
If he wouldn’t answer her questions, she’d find the answers herself.
The turrets of Eclat Castle loomed ahead, carved gargoyles perched like watchful guardians.
“Keep it down, will you?” a voice rumbled like grinding stone, making her jump, despite already expecting it. One of the gargoyles kept its eyes closed. “Some of us are trying to get our beauty rest.”
Talking gargoyles stood sentry at all the building’s openings. Cranky and moody, they enjoyed offering nonstop commentary on the comings and goings of faculty and students alike. Aeris Academy’s rumor mill began and ended with the gargoyles.
They knew everything about everyone, and boy, did they like to talk about it. They reminded her of Elodie’s endless chatter. Alaire’s heart cracked at the memory.
“You sleep?” Alaire had never expected a gargoyle to need beauty rest.
“Apparently, you do not,” it retorted, full of disdain. “What are you doing wandering around here anyway?”
“Just looking around,” Alaire replied simply.
“Sure, and I’m on my tenth dream,” it muttered.
Stone wings unfurled as another yawned. “Well, well, if it isn’t a little trespasser.”
“Walking the grounds isn’t trespassing. I’m going to bed now.”
“And moving your mouth isn’t talking,” it drawled, lifting its arm to stretch. “Humans.” It settled back into stillness with a dismissive grunt.
Could’ve been worse. At least they weren’t feeling particularly chatty tonight. Alaire waited until their grumbling faded before slipping into familiar corridors. Alaire couldn’t afford to end up on the far side of the castle. Not tonight.
If anyone happened across her, they’d see only an incompetent human who’d gotten lost trying to find her way back to the dorms.
B e ing underestimated has its advantages.
Alaire moved deeper into the faculty hall. She passed large oak doors with inlaid hinges, each bearing a gold nameplate in flowing, elegant script.
Thick tapestries lined the walls: maps of each territory and renderings of their celestials. A massive griffin stitched in midnight thread dominated one, its wings outstretched in flight—a tribute to the winged celestials of Cielore.
Finally, she spotted Professor Ross’s name. In the polished brass plate, she caught her own reflection—green eyes and a complexion beginning to regain color now that she had access to fresh air.
Alaire raised her hands toward the door. Power radiated from it.
Her chest tightened.
This is incredibly stupid . Reckless. Dangerous.
But also necessary.
If she had any sense, she’d turn around and retrace her steps. But Alaire wasn’t one to take the easy way out. Curiosity and stubbornness had landed her in trouble more times than she could count. If it wasn’t that, it was her inability to keep her mouth shut.
Plan with your head. Lead with your heart .
Life on the streets of Starling Gate had taught her there was always a way around things. But tonight there was no lookout, no time to study how the professor entered and exited his office. She’d have to rely solely on instinct.
As she neared the barrier, something yanked her forward. She tried to pull back, muscles straining, but there was no use. The invisible force dragged her closer. Her skin prickled with static, a whir pounding in her skull, pressure making her teeth ache.
Pain swirled inside her. Her breaths grew ragged the more she fought against whatever held her.
Desperate, she grabbed the door handle as an anchor?—
Warmth bloomed in her chest.
The crushing force vanished, and with it, the clamp that had begun to tighten around her lungs.
What was that?
A loud thud interrupted her thoughts. The door swung open as if welcoming her in.
She’d been sure it would trap her until a faculty member—or worse, Dawson Knox—found her. The last thing she needed was to give him one more reason to lord his superiority over her.
Alaire didn’t have time to question whatever convenience or good luck the gods had finally decided to bestow upon her.
She needed to get in, get answers, and get out quickly.
Orbs flared to life as she stepped over the threshold, casting light on a massive midnight desk.
Professor Ross’s office was larger than she’d expected.
Shelves lined one long wall, crammed with books stacked in rows and piles.
She paused, taking it all in. Though the orphanage had never had many books, Blake had always brought her some during his visits.
She hadn’t cared that their spines were cracked or their pages bent—it was the worlds they transported her to that mattered.
She shook her head, remembering why she was here.
The air smelled stale, as if it had been unoccupied for some time.
Better for me.
Across from the bookshelves, a tall window offered a view of the sprawling academy below.
She went to the desk. Before touching anything, she committed the layout to memory: one neat pile, two haphazard stacks discarded on either side.
There were meeting notes and correspondence regarding curriculum changes, mapped-out flying techniques with annotations in the margins on how novices could combine basics with their elements offensively.
Useless.
The desk drawers were unlocked, filled with blank pages.
Sitting down in his chair, Alaire ran a hand through her hair. Blowing out a breath, she went through everything once more just to be sure.
Still nothing.
Frustrated, she leaned back in the chair and kicked the bottom drawer with her foot. The impact sent a jolt through the desk. Her toe had scraped an edge beneath the desk.
Click. A concealed compartment dropped into her lap.
A smile spread across her face. Sneaky .
The drawer held a folder. Inside were student files—names she recognized, each with family connections, detailed histories, and abilities meticulously documented.
Information, if used correctly, could be just as powerful as magic.
At last, she found her own.
Alaire Aerendyl – Classification: PRIORITY
Her hands trembled as she read:
Parents: Deceased – house fire, age ten
Her chest tightened.
Medical: Chronic breathlock, mild to severe episodes
Memory: Traumatic amnesia, no recall prior to the incident
Guardian: Starling Gate Orphanage
Criminal Record: Theft, assault, lewd language, breaking and entering, possession of stolen property
Magic: None, human
The words swirled together. Alaire blinked rapidly, biting her lip, then forced herself to read the notes scrawled in the margins:
Records disappear after release from Starling Gate Orphanage.
Recommend continued observation. Potentially what we’ve been searching for.
At the bottom, circled and underlined:
PENDING TRIALS
“Find everything you were looking for?” Professor Ross’s voice cut through the quiet.
Alaire shoved the compartment closed, pushing back from the desk as blood roared in her ears.
He leaned against the doorframe, gaze locked onto hers, the frostiness of his tone barely masking the anger simmering beneath.
She smoothed the front of her leathers. “Thought I’d explore more of my new home. Perhaps some reading. You have an impressive collection.” She lifted her chin, though her heart bounced around in her chest. “Though I have to say, your filing system could use some work.”
He stepped inside, letting the door slam behind him.
Alaire fought the urge to flinch at the sound.
A worn leather book was tucked beneath his arm, its spine cracked and frayed. Gold lettering caught the light: A Chronicle of Shadows: The Forgotten Histories of Elithian .
Alaire’s eyes lingered on the book. The title tugged at something in the back of her mind.
“What’s that about?” she asked casually, trying to deflect attention from herself.
“Nothing. Just a book. A gift from old friends. Stories better left in the past.” His eyes flicked to hers. “Not what’s important right now.”
He raised a finger, pointing in her direction.
“Breaking into my office was remarkably foolish, even for you.”
“It wasn’t breaking in if the door was unlocked.” She nodded at the door behind him.
He ran his free hand over his thin mustache.
“What exactly were you hoping to find?”
“Answers,” she said, striding out from behind the desk. “You’ve yet to be honest about why I’m here,” she added, gesturing to the room around them, “or provide any explanations.”
“Some truths have a cost. You rifling through my office proves you aren’t ready to pay it.”
“Who are you to decide what I am or am not ready for?” Alaire crossed her arms. “I’ve been making those decisions for myself since I was ten.”
He shook his head. “And look where it’s gotten you.”
Alaire winced. The words hit a tender wound.
Questions crowded her throat. She wasn’t leaving here without answers—not after what she’d seen—but she needed to be smart about it. Those files were only the beginning of something bigger. If she showed her cards now, would she lose whatever progress she’d made? Or should she force his hand?
Voices rose from outside.
Professor Ross moved to the window with inhuman speed, scanning the grounds below. The book disappeared from view.
“You need to go.”
“What are you even?—”
“Go. Now.” His tone sharpened. “Follow the hall to the end, take two lefts and a right, and you’ll reach the castle’s main hall.
” His shoulders sagged, the anger draining from his expression.
“Don’t stop until you reach your dormitory.
And don’t tell anyone you were here or what you saw. ” A warning—but for whom?
The voices were now inside the faculty corridor. Even Alaire’s human ears could pick them out.
“This conversation isn’t over,” she hissed.
His expression darkened. “There are people who would kill for what’s in those files.
” He paused, glancing toward the door before meeting her eyes again.
“You never know what lurks deep in the shadows. Or more importantly, who it’s looking for.
” He held the door open. “And Alaire, if you ever break into my office again, Grimstone will be the least of your problems.”
The cryptic warning settled uneasily between them.
“ Go ,” he commanded.
Alaire squared her shoulders and slipped past him. The rhythmic thumping of her footsteps echoed too loudly in the hall. She glanced over her shoulder all the way back to the dormitories.
Only when she was in the sanctuary of her room, door locked tight, did she finally breathe.
Quiet.
Yet she couldn’t silence her thoughts. The pages of her file were burned into her mind. PENDING TRIALS. Was he working with Dexter?
She leaned against the door, forehead pressed to the wood, exhaustion weighing her down.
The answers she’d found had only spawned more questions.
But at least one thing was certain—Professor Ross was hiding far more than she’d ever suspected.
Only when the first rays of sunrise chased away the darkness did Alaire fall into an uneasy sleep.