Chapter 47
Forty-Seven
A laire drifted between consciousness and the numbing pull of oblivion.
Her body swayed harshly, see-sawing from side to side.
Each jarring movement sent pain through her limbs, coaxing a low groan from the back of her throat.
She forced her eyes open to slits, careful not to alert anyone she was awake.
This was it—the pain and suffering the bat had promised.
Her mind urged her to move, to fight, but her body was an amalgamation of pain and fatigue. Each breath scraped through her like sandpaper. She was a vessel of exhaustion. Alaire couldn’t fight in her current state, so she forced herself to remain still, to observe. Watching. Listening.
She wasn’t dead. And until she was, she wouldn’t give up.
A ripple of shadow, subtle but unmistakable, bled along the edge of the gloom.
Her pulse quickened against her ribs. Another flicker of movement caught her eye—a figure lurking in the darkness.
Relief and suspicion warred in her chest as she recognized Professor Ross, half-consumed by shadow.
Tweed jacket, sleeves rolled to the elbows, face grim and determined.
Is he here to save me—or finish what his master started?
Her mind cataloged every interaction they’d had, every moment that had felt off. She’d always known he was hiding something. Now, hanging upside down and vulnerable, she’d finally find out what his true agenda was.
Friend or foe, Professor Ross?
Staring at the creatures Professor Ross was doing his best to avoid, the words of the one that had spoken into her mind echoed through her thoughts: we are both old and new . They had eight eyes and could spit spidersilk, yet their anatomy was that of a bat.
Horror dawned as she realized those monsters were hybrids—made of something both old and new. An abomination born of the Voidshade Sovereign’s depravity.
Hybrids.
Ross moved with calculated stealth, eyes scanning the cavern for threats. When his gaze found hers, he pressed a finger to his lips, gesturing to the bats hanging above.
Stay quiet.
With practiced precision, he directed small bursts of flame at her restraints.
The fire singed a few strands of spider silk at a time, careful not to burn her skin or rouse the sleeping creatures.
Alaire had never seen anyone wield fire outside her memories of Aurelia.
Watching him, she realized there was far more to Professor Ross than she’d ever suspected.
The scent of scorched silk filled her nose. Across the nebula, controlled flames burned, drawing the hybrids’ attention—distractions he must’ve set. The diversion had pulled them away from her section of the cavern.
She sent a prayer up to Lysia: Please, let him finish before they notice.
His eyes met hers briefly, a silent promise there. Perspiration glistened on his brow as he continued dismantling her manacles. Just a few more minutes.
Her mind wandered. If Professor Ross was here, it had to mean something had gone catastrophically wrong with the trial. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, each second stretching endlessly.
Finally, the last strand of silk gave way. Then she was falling.
She braced for a jarring collision, but an invisible platform caught her mere feet from where she’d been suspended. Pain bloomed along her forearms and shins as she landed hard. She stayed down, panting, breath fogging the glass beneath her, limbs trembling from the strain of hanging for so long.
At the far end of the nebula, flames burned higher, distracting the monstrous hybrids.
Wings unfurled as their grotesque forms flew toward the glow.
Alaire pressed her head flat against the cool surface, praying their eyes wouldn’t find her.
The knowledge of being fed on without her consent crawled over her skin like ants.
A glint of metal caught her eye—the emergency dagger their leader had taunted her with. Its blade shone faintly in the fractured light. She stretched forward, fingers closing around the hilt, and slipped it back into her boot. The weight of steel at her ankle was reassuring.
Shiny black dress shoes filled her vision. Looking up, she nearly wept with relief at Professor Ross’s familiar face.
He extended a hand. She took it, hauling herself upright as her muscles screamed in protest. Once steadied, he placed her daggers gently into her palms. “It seems you were missing these.”
The cool, familiar weight grounded her. But then realization struck harder than a yeti’s blow. She’d left them behind in Bellatrix’s Blizzard.
“Is everyone okay?” she whispered, fingers squeezing the blades.
“The trial ended hours ago, Alaire.” His brows knit. “All the other teams made it through the three segments. We knew something was wrong when none of you four—or your celestials —returned. I left before they gave any updates. I’m sorry. I wish I had news.”
Her shoulders slumped, the sting of disappointment pressing down on her. She couldn’t dwell on it now.
“Professor,” she whispered. “How did you?—”
“Questions later.” His gaze swept the nebula. “We need to move before they realize you’re gone.”
She wanted to trust him. Needed to. But every instinct screamed he was holding something back.
Silence folded in around them. Professor Ross gave her a once-over, eyes lingering on the puncture wounds.
Alaire looked away, shame burning her throat.
The bat’s words echoed: Your blood is his gift.
We may only sample. They’d fed on her while she was unconscious, taking just enough to weaken her for their master.
The Voidshade Sovereign wanted her alive—which meant the toxin in her veins was meant to incapacitate, not kill.
The thought made her stomach turn. She knew it wasn’t her fault. But still, embarrassment pressed against her ribs like a vise.
Professor Ross shrugged out of his tweed jacket and extended it toward her. “Here, you must be cold. Take it.”
She met his gaze, expecting pity, but found only anger. Not at her. For her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, wrapping herself in the warm fabric.
He gave a curt nod. “Let’s go.” His hands hovered near the long hunting knives strapped beneath his waistband.
He led the way deeper into the decaying nebula, magic at the ready. She followed his footsteps, gripping the hilts of her daggers tightly.
Alaire reminded herself to breathe evenly.
With her breathbind reliquary gone, she fought to keep her mind from unraveling.
She counted each step, reciting the Sanguis Carta —the declaration that had formed Elithian’s territories and established the Consortium—words she’d memorized during long nights in Australe Library.
By blood and by birthright, the worthy shall govern. From the union of Lysia’s light and Umbra’s shadow came aether, the breath of creation itself. The original bloodlines, chosen by celestial covenant, are sanctified to rule, for in their veins flows the power of the first bonds.
The air thickened with smoke from the flames Professor Ross had set and the metallic tang of blood. At times they ducked under or sidestepped massive webs. When the passages grew too tight, Professor Ross’s fire sliced through sticky traps with careful precision.
The grotesque hybrids still haunted her. She swiped at shadows as they moved.
Professor Ross raised a hand, signaling her to stop. His gaze swept the passage before he leaned against the wall.
“One of those things passed this way. We need to give it some space.”
Alaire mirrored his stance, though her mind whirled with questions. She blew out her cheeks and sighed. “How were you able to get here?”
Professor Ross didn’t answer right away. His hand rasped over the stubble on his jaw; he’d always kept everything but his mustache clean-shaven.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “No one could breach the trial’s landscape. Every attempt, every spell, bounced right back. The wards were strong—stronger than anything I’d seen in a long time.”
Alaire sucked in a breath. Her foot tapped the floor. “But you’re all powerful fae. You should’ve been able to get past them. Break through the wards. If you’d come sooner…”
If he had aloof them might’ve been safe.
“I know. I’m sorry. We tried everything.” He scrubbed a hand through his sandy-blonde hair. “Then your daggers appeared. Nothing else—no people, no objects—just them.”
His eyes scanned the shadows.
“It was as if the landscape allowed them through. Like it knew you needed them.”
Her frown deepened.
“I picked them up, recognizing them right away, and”—he exhaled sharply—“a portal opened. Not one like I’d ever seen. Deep red, bleeding through the air. I stepped through.”
Alaire’s stomach knotted.
Her thumb brushed the gold band. That same color of magic had appeared twice now: first at the Celestial Cascade Ball, and again when it intertwined with Dawson’s.
Her mother’s gift.
But how would he know about it?
“How did you know it would bring you here?” she asked coldly, pushing off the wall.
“I didn’t. I just knew something was wrong and you needed help. I wasn’t willing to wait another second. It closed behind me and dumped me here.”
Suspicion gnawed at her. The daggers, the portal, the ruby, the Voidshade Sovereign’s supposed return—none of it was coincidence. Nothing since she arrived at Aeris Academy felt coincidental anymore.
A shrill bellow split the air.
“We need to move.” His gaze flicked to her, then away.
They moved through the nebula’s passages, undetected.
Alaire kept assessing his every move. He was the one who offered her freedom from Grimstone.
The one with files in his office. The one who always spoke in ominous warnings.
The one who wielded fire. And now, the one who came to rescue her. Had he been the one behind everything?
“Almost there,” Professor Ross whispered, eyes focused straight ahead. Alaire kept hers locked on the rear.