Chapter 12
Twelve
A laire’s ponytail swished as she walked the balance beam, eyes closed, relying on her other senses: the wind cycling through the open skylight, the faint creak of wood as she gingerly tested her weight, and the thundering of her heartbeat in her ears.
Her injuries had long since healed, but the bruises on her pride still stung. She hated how often she replayed her failure—the way her vision had blurred and her lungs had burned.
And him .
Kaia had described the moment back to her in excruciating detail.
“You should’ve seen his face, Alaire,” she’d said, her voice a mix of teasing and awe. “When you hit the ground, his eyes—gods, his eyes. Like a storm broke inside him. He didn’t think, just… moved.”
Alaire clenched her jaw, fingers twitching at her sides. It didn’t matter how he’d looked at her. It didn’t matter how steady his arms had felt, like they could bear the weight of her fury and still hold her upright.
Her fingers dug into her arms, grounding herself. None of it erased the fact that by stepping in like she needed saving, he’d made her look weak.
Kaia had been wrong. The storm in his eyes was selfishness dressed as altruism—a trap she wasn’t about to fall into, no matter how her body reacted to him.
She shook her head, forcing the memory of his fingertips pressed into her skin to scatter, and focused on where she was.
Arms extended for balance, Alaire’s body became a finely tuned instrument of concentration.
Heart vaulting into her throat, she coiled her muscles and sprang from the beam.
For a breathless moment she was nothing but air, her world reduced to the freedom of weightlessness.
She kept her body tucked, and when her feet touched the ground, a triumphant grin split her face.
She felt unbound and utterly unstoppable.
Alaire had taken a breath from her breathbind reliquary before class and now carried it everywhere, just in case.
“How can you do that without throwing up?” Kaia swung in lazy arcs on the rings.
“The same way you can swing your body like the arm of a clock on those things.”
Alaire took a long gulp of water before lying down, sweat cementing her to the mat.
Kaia’s feet landed with a thud . Her auburn curls, tied into a bun, had loose tendrils plastered to her forehead.
“Now who’s the show-off?” Alaire crooned.
“The vaults are easy. I’m demonstrating skill, not showing off.”
“Sure, and the fact that you were staring at Archer the entire time had nothing to do with it?” Alaire so enjoyed taunting her.
Kaia’s cheeks went pink. “Nope,” she said, popping the p at the end.
“I’m sure Caius will be thrilled to hear your smoochy noises when Archer walks you to class.”
“Archer is in our class.”
“Even worse.”
“I hate you.” Kaia sighed and lay down next to her.
“The line between love and hate is easily blurred,” Alaire replied, grinning.
“You’re making that up.”
Alaire rolled over and gave Kaia a playful shove. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“Why must we have two insufferable brutes as partners?”
“Because the gods like to look at us and laugh,” Alaire muttered.
“Those self-righteous bastards.” Kaia barked a laugh that echoed around the Crux.
Alaire checked to see how far Archer was before lowering her voice. “Do you not think it’s ironic that Archer hates archery?”
Kaia snorted so loudly she rolled over and hid her face in the mat, her entire body vibrating.
Alaire rested her chin on her palm, legs crossed. “So, when are you going to make your move?”
After several deep breaths to control her laughter, Kaia said, “I’m not.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t that why he’s been hanging around with us? He’s grown on me—except when he comments on my posture.”
“No clue.” Kaia shrugged. “I asked him if he wanted to head to class that day, and he’s hung around ever since. Not that I’m complaining, but I’m not looking for anything serious. A tangle in the sheets or two, nothing more.”
“Not with two trials coming up.” Without magic, distractions were something Alaire couldn’t afford.
“Precisely. But gods, he’s something shiny and fun to look at in the meantime. Plus, having a buffer against the doom-and-gloom duo doesn’t hurt,” Kaia said.
“Hells bells, yes.” Alaire looked over her shoulder.
A flash of white hair caught her attention.
Caius leaned casually in the corner, the scar across his throat making him look even more menacing.
His nostrils flared as their eyes met, and she answered his disdain with a sweet, unbothered smile.
Apparently, breathing the same air as him was a sacred offense.
“Speaking of which, your ball and chain appears to be scoping us out…”
What was he even doing here?
“So how are things going being paired with Umbra incarnate number two?”
Kaia dragged a palm down her face. “Don’t start.”
Alaire’s grin widened. “He’s just so dreamy.” She clasped her hands under her chin and made smooching noises.
Kaia gagged.
“Not so easy being on the other side, is it? All is fair in hatred and partners.”
Kaia rolled her eyes. “Ignore him.”
Alaire gathered her hair and began redoing her braid, focusing her attention back on her friend. “What was your life like in Lyra? Do you miss it?”
Since that first day they’d met in the dormitories, Kaia had been by Alaire’s side—patient, loyal, everything Alaire had learned not to expect from anyone.
Alaire didn’t trust easily; years on the streets had taught her better than that.
Especially with the fae. But Kaia had proven, over and over, that she was different.
Every survival instinct told her to keep her distance, but Elodie and Blake had shown her some things were worth the risk—and some people were worth fighting for.
So Alaire made the conscious decision not to push her away.
“I miss my sister,” Kaia replied, her smile not reaching her eyes. “Things with the rest of my family are complicated.” She twisted her fingers together, knuckles white.
Kaia didn’t elaborate, and Alaire didn’t push. She could tell there was more to it, but she wouldn’t force her to relive whatever pain lived beneath those words. When Kaia was ready, Alaire would hold space for whatever she needed.
“Can you write to her? Surely that must be allowed.”
“It is,” Kaia answered, her lip quivering ever so slightly, “but that wouldn’t change anything. She passed.”
The words splintered the tender scab she kept over her own pain. Alaire reached across the space between them and squeezed her hand. “There are no words to ease that grief,” she said softly. “But I am so deeply sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Kaia blinked away tears pooling at the corners of her lashes. She swallowed. “You’re right. There are no words. Only guilt and pain—and I had no problem drowning myself in mine.”
Alaire’s shoulders stiffened as she listened, the weight of Kaia’s words pressing heavily against her chest.
“But at some point, enough was enough,” Kaia continued, her voice steady despite the sorrow lingering in her gaze.
“I wasn’t honoring myself or my sister’s memory.
She wouldn’t want that for me. But all I wanted was blissful oblivion.
When I clawed my way out, I vowed never to sink into that darkness again, no matter who or what tried to drag me there.
I’d go kicking and screaming back into the light.
It’s still there, always lingering, but every day I choose light and joy because that’s what she would’ve done. ”
Guilt coiled around Alaire’s heart like the barbed wire in Grimstone.
She hadn’t chosen love or joy—she’d burrowed into her anger instead.
It was the most tolerable of her demons, the one thing she could cling to when the world felt like too much.
But the self-loathing that followed was a familiar foe, a dark shadow whispering poisonous nothings: You’re worthless.
Clenching her hands, she rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, breath uneven. Was she not forged of the same mettle? However, the shadows in her heart were old friends.
“What about you?” Kaia’s question pulled her out of her haze.
Alaire shook her head as she sat up. “Just me,” she admitted, her voice hollow. “My parents died when I was young—in a fire that destroyed my childhood home. I’m all that’s left of them.”
She toyed with the edge of her sleeve, nails scraping the threads. “Good thing they aren’t here to see what I’ve done with my life. They’d only be disappointed. Violence is ingrained in my bones. I’m no better than a caged animal desperately seeking escape.”
“I don’t believe that for one second.” Kaia pulled her into a hug, resting her chin on Alaire’s shoulder. “You survived when you had no one, Alaire. That’s not nothing.”
“They died so I could live—or that’s what I was told when I woke up at the orphanage. I can’t even remember who they were, what they looked like, how their voices sounded,” Alaire said in a quiet confession against the hum of the training room.
The words hung in the air, raw and unguarded, as if she’d carried them in silence for far too long. “Sometimes… sometimes I wish I’d perished in the fire with them.”
“Alaire, no.” Kaia brushed a stray curl from her eyes as she pulled back, keeping her hands on Alaire’s shoulders. “Your parents made the decision they did because they loved you. I’m sure of it.”
“How could I not remember them?” she whispered, blinking back the onset of tears, suddenly reminded where they were.
“Your body protected you because of a harrowing event. We don’t get to choose how it processes trauma—none of us. Please don’t judge yourself harshly because of it.” Kaia leaned back on her elbows, dark eyes wide with sympathy.
“There’s more… I spent time in Grimstone,” Alaire confessed.
Kaia went still.
“I was sent there after I stood up to a fae guard for lashing a boy. He was just a child. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t look away.
So I stepped in.” Her gaze dropped, nails digging into her palms at the memory.
One strike, and it had all spiraled out of control.
“A human’s defiance on the Night of Remembrance was the only crime they acknowledged. Grimstone was my punishment.”
“How did you end up here?” Kaia asked, flexing her toes forward and back.
“Professor Ross made me an offer—attend Aeris Academy or stay in prison. If I fail to graduate, I’ll be sent straight to the front lines. Not much of a choice—” Her voice faltered. “I still don’t know why I’m here. Why he picked me .”
Alaire felt lighter, shedding a sliver of the weight she’d carried for so long in solitude.
Kaia’s response came without hesitation.
“You’re here learning, fighting, proving humans are more than the world gives them credit for.
” Her words were a steadying force. “Thank you for trusting me with that,” she added gently.
“Your secret is safe with me. And don’t worry—we’ll try to get to the bottom of Professor Ross’s agenda. ”
She’d tell Kaia about the files when they were somewhere private.
Emotion thickened in Alaire’s throat, the words a balm to the festering wounds of doubt and fear she’d tended in isolation. She reached for Kaia’s hand, giving it a grateful squeeze.
Someone cleared their throat. Alaire and Kaia turned to find Archer standing there, pushing fiery hair out of his eyes.
“Am I interrupting a bonding moment?” Archer asked, his tone dry, eyes darting between them as if he’d stumbled into an arcstorm’s den rather than a private conversation.
“What does it look like?” Alaire retorted. Kaia stifled a chuckle.
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking. I’ll extricate myself—” He was already half turned in retreat, his discomfort palpable.
“She’s just joking,” Kaia said quickly. “Please, stay. Friends are always welcome.”
“If you’re sure…” Archer looked at them warily.
“We’re sure.” Kaia patted the spot beside her.
Professor Hawthorne’s voice echoed across the room just as Archer sat down. “Rotate!”
“Kaia and Galwen to the mat.”
Kaia stretched her neck from side to side, sizing up her opponent.
Galwen was a novice Alaire hadn’t had much interaction with.
He was around Kaia’s height, with angular features and a blunt mouth.
Kaia was already a powerhouse, and with the long nights they’d been spending finessing conditioning to help Alaire rebuild her stamina, Galwen didn’t stand a chance.
Hawthorne signaled for the match to begin.
Galwen struck first, lunging forward with a wave of quick, successive blows, one catching Kaia’s hip bone. But Kaia was patient—and faster. When his arm snapped back for another jab, Kaia made her move. She blurred forward, fists raining down on his ribcage.
“Yes, Kaia!” Archer cheered.
Alaire’s eyebrows shot up. Composed, proper Archer cheering?
Galwen grunted, his face contorting in pain. He swung wide, aiming for her temple. A finishing blow. Kaia ducked under his arm and pivoted, landing lightly on her toes as she faced him again.
She advanced, one punch high at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, another straight to the gut.
Alaire smirked. Kaia had used the same move on her recently.
Galwen blocked one strike, but Kaia adjusted, connecting with his jaw instead. He staggered back, and Kaia pressed forward, exploiting the opening with a powerful uppercut that sent him reeling.
Alaire couldn’t help but be impressed. Kaia’s moves were rougher than those of their fae peers, but she was scrappy—and it showed on the mat.
Galwen sank to the ground, the sound reverberating around the Crux. It was over. He braced himself on his forearms, struggling to rise, but his efforts were futile. Kaia stood over him, chest heaving with exertion.
“Match to Kaia!” Hawthorne announced. “Well done, Novice Moore.”
Kaia bounced off the mat, practically glowing. Archer’s enthusiasm had already drawn stares—particularly from Caius, whose scowl had deepened.
“Think I ruined his day?” Kaia whispered, dabbing her face with the towel Alaire tossed her.
“Oh, absolutely.” Alaire smirked. “Best kind of victory there is.”
They shared a conspiratorial grin.
Alaire wrinkled her nose. “You could use a shower.”
“You don’t exactly smell like roses either.” Kaia rolled her eyes and tossed the sweaty towel at Alaire’s head.