Chapter 5. Eloise
Eloise
The entire auditorium turns to me in unison. But however confused my classmates are, I’m more so.
I have no idea why my face is floating above Grayson’s head. And the longer I stare at my likeness, the more off-kilter I feel.
Grayson zeros in on me and his broad shoulders tense. “What did you do?” Grayson’s voice projects across the auditorium, and now I’m frustrated.
He thinks I did this? But really, it’s much worse than that. One glance around the room tells me they all do.
“I didn’t do anything,” I respond, lifting my chin and convincing no one.
“Eloise Belrose,” the High Chancellor says. “Return to the stage.”
“Eloise,” Maggie breathes, and it feels like a warning, like she’s telling me to run without actually saying the words.
I rise from the bench, Maggie’s eyes reflecting my own fear. But I have no choice. There’s no disobeying. And with every step down the aisle, Grayson’s searing gaze never wavers.
Naomi glares at me and I hear “cheater” being whispered as I step up onstage.
“Cast again,” the Chancellor says.
I stare at him. “I’m sorry?”
The Chancellor’s tone turns sharp. “Step into the spell and cast again.”
“I didn’t do anything to that spell,” I reply.
Chancellor Stone’s eyes narrow. “I will not repeat myself.”
My lips are suddenly dry and my heart pounds in my ears.
Grayson steps aside as the discernment spell falls to the floor by my feet.
It’s no surprise that when I call my magic, it doesn’t come in a smooth stream. Instead, it’s unwieldy, like the loping rotation of a flat tire. Magic is sensitive to emotion, and I can’t seem to override mine.
If something goes wrong here I’ll get assigned to Labor, which I can’t refuse. Refusing means leaving the wards, and the Lawless would kill me in a heartbeat.
I close my eyes and take a breath. Three actually.
Only the accusatory whispers haven’t stopped.
In fact, they’re discussing how the Chancellor might punish me.
I place my hands in front of me to start again.
But the magic comes too fast and wild. And as I pull the box from the floorboards, I accidently break them in the process.
I swear under my breath.
I can’t shrug it off. I also can’t stop the spell and fix the floor. Even if I reset everything and start over, I doubt it’d go any better. So, I plow on and push harder.
The box is still small, but it’s no longer pretty. Instead of roses, it’s thorns and thickets. Instead of polished wood, it’s raw and rough. The hinges creak. The legs are claws. And the center is dug out roughly, lined with a torn piece of stage curtain.
“Maybe she didn’t cheat,” someone says, and for a hair of a second I’m grateful.
Until I recognize the voice as Naomi’s. “Think about it. Grayson’s our best chance at defeating the Lawless, right?
” I suddenly know what she’s going to say next—the most damning sentence imaginable.
“What if she was trying to sabotage Grayson to help them? Can you ever really trust a Laborer?”
I try to reel myself in, but I’m too revved up and I lose control of the spell completely, the sides of my box expanding and contracting like a balloon.
Oh no.
The wood screeches. The thorns become razors. And the lid opens and shuts like a maniacal windup toy.
I bring my hands together, calling my monster box to me and tying the last bit of magic into a finishing knot that should make it still.
But everything is topsy-turvy. Me. The spell.
The room. And the thing doesn’t obey. It explodes into a thousand shards that spray across the stage like menacing daggers.
I scream, turning and throwing up my arms to shield my face. Which is the exact moment everything falls silent.
I open my eyes, only to realize the shards have stopped a mere inch from my body, halted by a shielding spell that I didn’t manage to cast.
Grayson drops his hand and the shards fall to the floor, my stomach dropping with them. He protected me? Why? Or was he just shielding the entire stage?
But the exploding box isn’t what people are reacting to.
In the air, where the box once floated, is a skeleton key.
It’s made of dark iridescent wood with an air of antiquity.
The key has three swirls—representing the University ethos of progress, magic, and balance.
And the handle is covered in tiny leaves fluttering in an unseen breeze, like the key itself is breathing.
The longing I feel is nearly indescribable. I eagerly step forward, but just as I’m about to touch the living wood, it disappears.
I shake my head, confused, like I just woke up to find myself on this stage.
Which is when the horror of reality crashes back in.
The accusations.
The key.
No, not the key. THE ARCHIVE KEY.
The only key in existence that opens a veiled room in the University, filled with magical tomes so powerful and dangerous that they’re the entire reason the institution was built in the first place—to protect them from the Lawless at all costs.
The room snaps back into focus like a rubber band on bare skin. People whispering the Key’s name. The Council in disarray. And a female Guardian stares at me so intently from across the room that I take a step backward.
Akari? The legendary head of the University Guardians is witnessing me screw everything up?
All of a sudden, the twinkling lights circle my legs and Chancellor Stone roughly pushes back his chair.
His hand traces the motion to disable the discernment spell.
But it’s too late. It’s already forming an image above my head, and my heart shatters when I realize it’s not the Alchemy dragon anymore.
It’s a perfect portrait of Grayson Stone’s face.
“Motherf—” Grayson starts to swear, before he can stop himself.