Chapter 24
Severin
IT’S BEEN LESS THAN TWENTY-FOUR hours since I last saw Maeve, but I already miss her.
The smell of her skin, the feel of her hair running through my fingers, the deep purple of her stormy eyes—these details are etched into my mind now, and I’m certain even another three centuries will be unable to erase them.
This witch has become a problem. Or maybe I’m the problem.
Regardless, I’ve realized that I’m in deeper than I thought. And I’m just hoping none of the other professors have mind-reading capabilities, because I’m currently surrounded by a table of them.
Headmistress Moonhart sits at the head of the table, a cup of tea in front of her, glasses perched low on her nose as she reads from a parchment with our meeting notes on it.
Professor Stone returns from the refreshment table with a plate of banana muffins and sits down with a sigh. “I’ve determined that fourth-years,” he says, voice somewhat weary even though it’s only Monday morning, “are more exhausting than first-years.”
Seated across from him, Professor Azula says, “That is because fourth-years think they’re competent.”
“They are competent,” Professor Stone says around a bite of his muffin.
“And that’s precisely the problem. They think they don’t need us anymore.” She arches one of her sharp red eyebrows, her lips pressing into a firm line.
Professor Fleur, who’s seated next to Moonhart, says softly, “At least none of them set anything on fire last week.” She gets a brief haunted look in her green eyes, and I wonder what she’s recalling.
Headmistress Moonhart clears her throat and sets the parchment she was reading from onto the table. The professors go quiet, straightening up a bit as her pale blue eyes lift to address us.
“Let’s begin with reviewing the midterm budget,” she says. “The repair costs for the elemental practice room exceeded projections. We may need to draw from the academy’s reserve.”
“Again?” Professor Fleur asks.
Headmistress Moonhart nods once, then lifts her teacup and takes a sip.
Professor Stone finishes his muffin before saying, “Perhaps we should require more proficiency before allowing access to the practice room.”
Professor Azula shoots a look at him. “Requiring proficiency before practice defeats the purpose of practice.”
He shrugs and wipes a few crumbs from his lips. “Maybe. But it’d protect the castle.”
Moonhart raises a hand, cutting them off.
“We won’t restrict access. However, I do expect clearer thresholds for advanced elemental demonstrations.
” Her gaze flicks to Azula. “Particularly as we approach fellowship season.” Moonhart sets her teacup down and folds her hands on the table in front of her.
“Correspondence from the Arcanum Collective arrived this morning; they’ve requested performance summaries for all fourth-year candidates. ”
Professor Stone sighs. “Already? We’re only halfway through the semester.”
“They’ve tightened their review process. Apparently, several other academies have been . . . optimistic in their endorsements.”
A small murmur of laughter goes around the table, but I don’t react.
Because Maeve is applying for the fellowship. And I know she more than deserves it.
“So,” the headmistress continues, picking the parchment back up off the table, “let’s review our fourth-year fellowship candidates.”
She starts going through students alphabetically, which means Maeve will be at the end of the list. I tune out most of the discussions; as a history professor, I don’t have much to contribute.
Then the headmistress says, “Vandermere, Maeve.”
My body reacts to her name being spoken aloud, my stomach tightening and my fangs pulsing with a single burst of sharp thirst. I strive not to react outwardly, keeping my face neutral and disinterested.
“Miss Vandermere shows incredible potential,” Professor Azula says, “but she continues to struggle with control.”
Don’t we all, I think, clenching my teeth.
“She’s close but still lacks refinement. And with storm magic, precision is a necessity.”
Headmistress Moonhart takes another sip of her tea. “As her advisor, what do you suggest?”
Professor Azula sits back from the table, forehead creasing thoughtfully. “I hesitate to say this, but we may need to delay her formal endorsement for now.”
My eyes flick to Professor Azula’s, but she’s not looking at me.
Delay Maeve’s endorsement to the fellowship board? That might hinder her chances of getting selected, of even getting to stand before the board and demonstrate what she’s been working toward.
She’d be devastated.
“Miss Vandermere is powerful,” Professor Azula continues, “but power isn’t the issue. Storm magic is volatile, reactive. In a fellowship review, that will be tested.” She lifts one shoulder in a subtle shrug. “If she cannot display magical stability, I will not put her name forward.”
She says it so simply, but I know this would be crushing. Imagining the hurt in Maeve’s eyes makes me want to leap to her defense, protect her in any way I can.
And before I can stop myself, I say, “Miss Vandermere is capable.”
All the professors—and the headmistress—shift their focus to me.
“I don’t question her capability,” Professor Azula says, arching a sharp brow at me. “It’s her consistency.”
“You have her in lecture, Severin,” Headmistress Moonhart says. “What’s your assessment?”
I sit up a touch straighter and look the headmistress in the eye. “She demonstrates discipline. She’s not afraid to stand her ground.” Before saying the next few words, I have to ensure a smile doesn’t slip through and give my real feelings away. “She doesn’t back down from a challenge.”
“Storm magic isn’t a history lesson,” Professor Azula says, voice edged with heat.
“No,” I say. “But discipline is what leads to consistency, as you put it.”
Professor Azula continues to stare at me, her red eyes narrowing slightly. Whatever she’s looking for, I’m not going to give it to her.
“You’ve taught many students over the centuries,” Headmistress Moonhart says. “What do you propose Miss Vandermere needs?”
My mind flashes with images of Maeve, overlapped with my own thoughts and struggles since I felt the first draw of interest in her. And when I speak, it’s both to the headmistress and to myself.
“If control is her problem, perhaps she needs to be set free.”
Professor Azula has yet to cease staring at me. “Set free? She’s a storm witch, Severin. Do you have any idea how much devastation their magic can cause?”
“Yes,” I say simply. “I’ve centuries of experience, Bia. I’ve seen what happens when powerful witches lose control. You’re welcome to sit in on my Dangerous Magic Across Time lecture if you need a refresher course.”
Professor Azula’s lips twitch with displeasure. Beside the headmistress, Professor Fleur tries to hide a smile behind her hand.
“My point,” I continue, “is that trying so hard to maintain control may be the problem in and of itself.” As the words run out of me, I internalize them, wondering what they mean for me and my life, for the way I’ve survived all these years.
Suddenly, I remember something Maeve said to me in that first lecture class, when she insisted on arguing about the Tempest Cataclysm. “Storms need guidance, not dominance.”
Headmistress Moonhart tips her head at me, and a small, subtle smile plays at the corner of her mouth. “Perhaps you can help her with that.”
Now Professor Azula’s sharp gaze snaps to the headmistress. “What? He’s a history professor. How is he going to help her?”
The headmistress is unfazed by Professor Azula’s cutting tone. She takes a leisurely sip of her tea, then says, “He’s had centuries of experience in control. Perhaps he knows better than the rest of us how to balance it with storm magic’s natural inclination to be free of constraints.”
The other professors seem unsettled by this, and I can’t fully blame them; I don’t have a drop of magic in my blood, and they all know it.
What the headmistress doesn’t know, though, is that since I met Maeve Vandermere, my level of control has been in a steady downward spiral, and two nights ago, it almost ceased to exist.
I didn’t bite her, I remind myself. I may have done a number of other things I shouldn’t have, but that’s the one line I didn’t cross. The one line I can’t cross.
“Well?” the headmistress says when I don’t respond. “Do you have time in your schedule for a mentorship, Severin?”
I consider saying no, trying to create some figment of distance between myself and Maeve. But if I don’t help her and she doesn’t get the chance to stand before the board of the Arcanum Collective . . .
I’m quite certain I’d never forgive myself. And she’d never forgive me either.
“Yes,” I say, to what appears to be the utter distaste of Professor Azula. “I’d be happy to mentor Miss Vandermere.”
“Good.” Headmistress Moonhart nods once, silver-blue hair catching the autumn light coming through the windows of the staff meeting room.
“For now, Miss Vandermere’s endorsement will remain provisional.
We’ll reassess after her next demonstration.
” Her pale eyes meet mine, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a challenge there.
“That’s six weeks from now. And I look forward to seeing what she can do. ”