Chapter 51
Severin
“UNLIKE MANY OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES, Vale did not devote his arcane work to conquest, court influence, or the accumulation of wealth. Rather, he devoted it to . . . ?”
I turn from the board and cast my gaze out across the lecture hall of first-years. Even one semester in, they still look partially terrified, with wide eyes that try very hard not to meet my stare.
One warlock in the second row raises his hand, and when I nod, he says, “Vale devoted his life and magical workings to bringing crop irrigation to rural communities.”
“Good.” I write Irrigation on the chalkboard.
Then I set the chalk down, brush the dust from my fingertips, and turn to face the classroom.
“Many wrongly believe that history only remembers the sensational: wars, plagues, magical catastrophes. But some of the most important figures in history are those who improved life for ordinary people.” I point at the board. “People like Elron Vale.”
As I pace slowly through the lecture hall, firelight from the hearth tosses beams of gold across the stone floor, the flames trying to chase the cold from the room. But outside the classroom windows, the world is bathed in frozen white.
“Not all magic that changes the world does so dramatically,” I continue, letting my gaze drift along the young students’ faces.
They don’t yet understand how rare it is for power to be used without selfishness, and that’s the point of this class.
“Sometimes, magic changes the world quietly, simply by reducing suffering.”
At my own words, my boots pause on the stone floor. And immediately, I’m thinking of Maeve.
She wants to do the exact same thing: to improve life for nonmagic people, to bring them sustainable energy in a way that doesn’t require arcane blood. She’s not interested in spectacle, but in doing what’s right.
My chest tightens at the thought, and the bond reacts, the thread between us pulling so tight that it causes me to lose my breath. Close behind it comes the sensation of a storm rolling across a summer sky, with static humming beneath my skin and causing the hair on my arms to rise.
Sixty pairs of eyes stare at me. But for a moment, as I blink and fight against the sensation, I can’t remember where I am. I don’t recognize the room around me.
Because all I can see is rainwater on pale cheeks, long purple hair snapping in a violent wind, the hem of a skirt brushing smooth thighs.
My gaze flicks up, to where Maeve always sits during lectures. But she’s not here. Because this isn’t her class.
Right.
“Professor?” comes a small voice from the front row.
It helps to pull me back.
The young witch is looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern, and the look is mirrored on the faces of many of her classmates. Her hand is half raised, like she’s not sure if she’s asking a question or not.
“Are you okay?” she continues.
Pull yourself together, I tell myself.
I draw a long breath in through my nose, trying to banish the stormy sensation from that space just beneath my sternum.
“I’m perfectly well,” I say, with a tone perhaps a bit sharper than was warranted.
The witch puts her hand down immediately.
Turning, I stride back to the board, then write the three names of the historical figures we discussed this class period.
“By next class,” I say, my voice carrying through the silent lecture hall, “I expect a two-page report on which of these scholars made the most meaningful contribution to ordinary life and why.” I shift back to face the class.
“Papers will be due at the beginning of class, not at the end of the period, Mr. Kent.” My gaze flicks to a student three rows back, and his cheeks go red.
“Y-yes, Professor.”
Around him, students attempt to hide their smiles.
Then the academy clock chimes, signaling the end of the period, and my students rush to put their books and quills away.
They file out of the classroom in a swirl of cloaks and quiet conversation.
Only when the final student has departed do I allow myself to sink onto the edge of my desk and draw a deep breath.
The distance between me and Maeve was intended to weaken our bond. And indeed, it feels frayed, raw. Yet it still remains.
Even after the words she spoke in my office.
I can’t be half loved.
Her voice still echoes in my mind, and it makes me grit my teeth, fangs aching.
How can she believe she’s only half loved by me? Have I failed to make her understand how deeply and irrevocably she has changed me?
I’m done.
The memory of her words answers my question for me, confirming my failure.
A heavy sigh lifts my chest as I push off the desk and go to the lectern to gather up my notes. But with each movement, the tightness in my chest lingers. And before I leave the lecture hall, I glance once more to the spot where Maeve always sits.
But she’s not there.
THE STAFF MEETING BEGINS AS it always does, with updates on students and faculty, calendar dates to be aware of, and housekeeping items that bore me into staring out the frosty window at the gray sky in the distance.
Until Professor Azula says her name.
“Miss Vandermere’s control over her energy sphere has improved considerably. Her last demonstration showed significantly greater stability.”
Headmistress Moonhart takes a sip of tea from a delicate teacup, then sets it down onto the saucer with a gentle clink. “That’s encouraging. Do you feel more comfortable in your recommendation of her to the Arcanum Collective?”
My gaze flicks to Professor Azula.
She hesitates for a moment, her crimson eyes narrowing. It makes my heart thrum in my chest, battering against the thread still clinging there.
Finally, she nods. “Yes. She still has a tendency toward emotional intensity, but her progress is not to be ignored. If she performs well before the board, I believe she stands a strong chance at being selected for the fellowship.”
Relief floods through me, though I’m careful not to let it show on my face. I drop my gaze to the table, where my fingertip traces a whorl in the wood grain.
She’s worked so hard. She deserves this.
“Professor D’Arques, it seems your mentorship has benefited Miss Vandermere.”
I lift my head and meet Headmistress Moonhart’s blue eyes. She’s staring back at me with a slight tilt to her head, curiosity lingering in her expression.
For a moment, I can’t find any words to say. But all the professors are staring at me. I need to focus. I clear my throat, feeling the incessant thirst that lingers there now, then incline my head and say, “Miss Vandermere did the hard work herself. Any improvement made is hers alone.”
Professor Azula arches a brow, but she says nothing.
I cannot take credit for Maeve’s progress. I simply gave her structure, grounding, something to channel her focus and energy through. I may have unlocked a door, but she’s the one who stepped through it.
Headmistress Moonhart hums in contemplation, then takes another sip from her teacup. She glances at the parchment lying on the table before her. “I see Miss Vandermere’s demonstration has been scheduled for the morning after finals.”
Professor Azula nods once. “Yes. She’s been notified.”
“Good. Thank you both”—the headmistress looks between me and Azula—“for assisting her. She shows tremendous promise, partly because of your fostering.”
Neither Azula nor I say a word.
But my mind is running. Because I may have assisted Maeve in better channeling and controlling her energy sphere, but I may have also complicated the path ahead of her. If I’m still feeling the pain of the connection between us, I can only assume she is as well.
Not to mention the fact that she’s been sick all week because of me, because I left her on that tower as her magic tore across the sky, causing a downpour that turned the campus into an ice rink for three days afterward.
The staff meeting continues around me, but I absorb little of it, lost once more in my thoughts of the purple-eyed storm witch.
All I can think is that Maeve’s future is barreling toward her at an alarming speed, and I’m no longer certain whether keeping my distance from her is shielding her from harm or simply forcing her to face it alone.
For a brief moment, my eyes close.
The distance between us has not severed the connection; rather, it seems to have stripped it raw, leaving it vulnerable and exposed. And I desperately hope it doesn’t hurt Maeve’s chances of achieving this dream she’s been working toward.
I would never forgive myself if I altered her future in such a way.
When I open my eyes again and look once more out the window, the sky is unchanged, still painted in shades of gray. Yet the air feels thinner somehow, as if the academy is holding its breath for Maeve.
And so am I.