Chapter 9
By the next morning, I learn there are worse things than being ignored. Being watched is one of them. It begins before dawn, before I even reach the south training hall, before my boots touch the cold lower corridors where the windows are still black with night. I feel it the moment I leave my room.
Not magic. Eyes.
The portraits are awake earlier than usual, painted faces turning as I pass.
One old headmistress pauses mid-conversation with a long-dead war mage and follows me with narrow eyes.
A portrait of three former Tempest champions stops laughing the second I step beneath their frame.
The bond mark is quiet this morning, but quiet doesn't mean gone.
It sits beneath my skin like a secret with a pulse, golden, thin and impossible to forget.
I slept better than the night before. Which means I slept for almost three hours instead of none.
Improvement, technically. My body feels heavy as I descend the tower stairs, my hair still damp from washing, my cloak folded over one arm because Professor Thorne told me not to wear it in the ward chamber.
The academy is colder at this hour, all sharp stone and silver shadows.
Floating candles wake slowly ahead of me, their flames small and pale.
Normally, this is my favorite time of day. Before the halls fill. Before whispers grow teeth. Before magic becomes a performance I have to survive but now silence doesn't feel peaceful. It feels like the academy is holding its breath.
I reach the second-floor landing and stop. Someone stands at the bottom of the staircase. For half a second, my heart jumps because I think it is Valerius.
It's not.
Magistra Voss looks up at me from beneath the archway, pearl-grey robes perfectly arranged, black stone chain resting against her chest.
Her silver hair is twisted back so tightly it pulls her sharp features into something almost statuesque.
She looks out of place in the sleeping corridor.
Too polished. Too awake. Too interested. My fingers tighten around my cloak.
"Valentina Starling," she says. Not good morning. Not child. Not Miss Starling. My full name, spoken like a file being opened.
"Magistra Voss." I force myself to continue down the last few steps because stopping too long would make me look afraid and I am but looking afraid has never helped me.
She smiles faintly when I reach the bottom. "You rise early."
"Bonded training." I answer honestly.
"Yes." She pauses. "With Valerius Draven."
The way she says his name makes my wrist warm. Traitorous thing. Her gaze drops instantly. The warmth vanishes beneath a rush of cold panic. I keep my hands still. She notices anyway.
"The Flame made a surprising choice," she says.
"So everyone keeps reminding me." I say.
Her smile widens by a fraction. "You sound displeased."
"I doubt the Flame chose us for pleasure."
"No. I doubt that too." Something about her tone makes my skin prickle.
I glance toward the corridor leading to the south wing.
Empty of course. At this hour, there is no Seren.
No professors passing by. No crowd to disappear into.
Just me and a council woman who watched the Eternal Flame bind me to Valerius Draven like I became interesting the moment I stopped being invisible.
Magistra Voss takes one step closer. "Tell me," she says, "how does the bond feel?"
My heart thuds once, hard. "I'm not sure what you mean."
"I think you are." She challenges me.
I hold her gaze. "It feels like a bond."
"Warm?" She questions.
"That seems common." I answer.
"Painful?" She speaks lower.
"No." I said right away.
"Reactive?" The word slips between us like a hook.
I instantly remember black flame around my wrist. Gold under my skin. Valerius's hand closing over mine. Professor Vale saying contradiction. Professor Thorne saying necessity. I remember Valerius stepping between me and Thorne. 'What happened here stays here.'
My mouth goes dry. "I wouldn't know what counts as reactive," I say.
"A clever answer." She laughs.
"It's the only one I have." I lie.
Magistra Voss's eyes sharpen, and for a moment I see behind the polished council mask. Not frustration exactly but something that looks almost like hunger. She wants something from me.
"There were reports of unusual magical movement during your assessment yesterday," she says.
My stomach turns. So much for secrecy. "I stumbled."
"That was not the report." She tries to correct me.
"Then maybe the report is wrong." I inform her.
She laughs softly. "You have your mother's spine." The words should feel like praise but they don't.
"My mother is the dean," I say. "If you need details about academy assessments, I'm sure she can provide them."
"Oh, I am certain Amara provides exactly what she wishes to provide." I go still. The sound of my mother's name in her mouth feels like a hand touching something private. Magistra Voss watches my reaction too closely. "Did she tell you anything before the Gathering?" she asks.
My pulse climbs. "She told me to sleep."
"Did you?" She ask.
"No." I answer honestly.
That earns another faint smile. "Honest, when it doesn't matter." The insult is delicate enough to be denied.
My fingers curl around the fabric of my cloak. "I'll be late," I say.
"Valerius doesn't seem like a patient partner." She states the obvious.
"He isn't." I agree.
"No, he isn't patient, nor gentle, nor easily controlled." The word controlled lands heavier than the others. She steps closer again. This time, I can't stop myself from shifting back half an inch. Her eyes catch it. "The Draven boy is a dangerous bond for someone like you," she says softly.
Someone like me. Powerless. Fragile. Breakable. A blank cloak and a famous name.
I lift my chin. "Then perhaps the Flame should have asked the council first."
For one suspended second, silence fills the corridor. Then Magistra Voss smiles. This time, it looks real. "I see why it chose him."
A chill runs over my skin. Before I can ask what she means, sounds of footsteps come from behind her. Slow and measured. A sound I'm becoming too familiar with. My bond mark burns. Not warm under my skin like usual... this time it burns.
Magistra Voss turns before I do.
Valerius Draven steps into the corridor from the south wing, dressed in b;ack training clothes, his dark hair still damp, sleeves rolled to his forearms like usual. The sigils along his wrist are visible, black against olive skin, shifting faintly. I hate that I'm starting to love this view.
His gaze takes in the scene. Me at the foot of the stairs. Magistra Voss is too close. My cloak clenched in my hands. His expression doesn't change. That is how I know he's furious.
"Magistra," he says. His voice is calm. Dangerously calm.
"Valerius," she replies. "You are early."
"So are you." The air tightens. I look between them, my pulse loud in my ears.
Magistra Voss's smile remains in place. "I was speaking with your partner."
"I see that." He mocks her smile.
"Do you?" She questions.
Valerius walks closer with every step, the shadows at the base of the walls seem to lean toward him.
The candles along the corridor flicker lower.
A thin pressure moves through the air, dark and heated, brushing against my skin like the promise of a storm made of fire.
He stops at my side close enough that his shoulder aligns with mine.
Close enough that Magistra Voss's attention has to shift between both of us instead of resting entirely on me.
The bond mark pulses. His jaw tightens. He feels it too. "Training begins in five minutes," he says.
Magistra Voss's gaze flicks to the space between us. "How diligent."
"Professor Thorne dislikes waiting." He informs her.
"And you care what Professor Thorne dislikes?" She asks, cocking her head to the side.
"No." Valerius's eyes remain cold. "But I dislike interruptions." The words land with enough weight that even I feel them.
Magistra Voss studies him. Then me. Then him again. "Protective already?" she asks softly.
I go still. Valerius doesn't. "Possessive of my assignments," he says. "There's a difference."
Something ugly twists in my chest. Of course he makes it sound like I'm work, an obligation, a thing assigned to him.
Magistra Voss seems entertained. "How very Draven of you."
Valerius's gaze darkens. "And how very council of you to mistake observation for entitlement."
The corridor seems to drop several degrees. I look at him sharply. Magistra Voss's smile fades.
"Careful, Mr. Draven." The word strikes me strangely in her mouth.
Valerius has said it to me so many times it has become almost his. A warning. A blade. A spark dragged down my spine. Hearing it used on him makes something in me tighten.
Valerius tilts his head. "I usually am."
"No," Magistra Voss says. "You usually survive the consequences of not being."
For the first time, his face shifts. Barely but I see it. So does she. Then her attention returns to me. "We will speak again, Valentina."
She turns and walks away, grey robes whispering over stone, the black stones at her chest catching candlelight like polished eyes. I don't breathe until she disappears around the corner. The silence she leaves behind isn't peaceful. It's heavy.
Valerius remains beside me, staring down the corridor where she vanished. I should thank him. The thought appears, unwanted and irritating. I crush it immediately.
"I had that handled," I say.
His head turns slowly. Hazel eyes lock on mine. "Did you?"
"Yes." I say softly.
"She had you cornered in an empty corridor before dawn." He reminds me.
"She was asking questions." I tell him.
"She was measuring your fear." He says. My mouth closes because that's exactly what it felt like. He steps closer, his voice lowering. "And you gave her more than you think."
Heat rushes into my cheeks. "I didn't tell her anything."