Chapter 3 – — Unattributed Student Journal, Confiscated
Chapter Three
“I thought Ashwell would teach me how to save lives. It taught me how to survive them.”
— Unattributed Student Journal, Confiscated
I stare at him then at the parchment, my mind lagging. Slowly, I take it from his hand.
“That’s not possible,” I say. “I didn’t apply.”
The wax seal breaks with a soft crack beneath my fingers as I unroll the parchment, my heart thrumming in my chest as fast as a hummingbird.
I read the neatly written script first.
Maelis Rose,
You have been accepted to Ashwell Academy of Medicine and Alchemy.
Your presence is expected immediately.
Further instruction will be provided upon arrival.
My breath catches as I reach the final line. Expected immediately.
Then my eyes drop to the bottom of the page.
Something has been scribbled there, darker and uneven, as if written in haste.
“Blood remembers what history forgets. Your father knows you are ready.”
My mouth goes dry as I swallow.
My father.
Did he send in my application before he died? Is he tied to this somehow? He must be. It says it right here. My pulse thunders as questions spiral faster than I can hold onto them.
“Who wrote this?” I ask.
The moment I say it, the parchment flares hot in my hands. Silver flames race across the page, swallowing ink and paper alike. I yelp, jerking back as the scroll disintegrates into nothing but drifting ash.
“I see you accept,” he says.
My gaze snaps back to him, to eyes so pale they nearly blend into the gray of his hair. In the dim room, they look almost white. “I did no such thing.” I shake my head and try to process what the hell is happening.
“I’m sorry, Miss Rose,” he says calmly, “but the invitation only burns silver when the student has decided. Whether verbalized or not, you have chosen to accept.”
My eyes drop to my hands where the parchment had been, my fingers curling instinctively as if it might still be there.
Did I decide? I don’t know. I think I did.
Some part of me was already reaching for it the moment I saw my father was mentioned.
Whatever connection exists, whatever truth is buried in Ashwell, I need to know it. Who wrote that? I need answers.
Fuck.
I did accept, and whatever magic binds Ashwell knew it.
“I don’t even know where Ashwell is,” I say, shifting my weight anxiously. “I don’t know how to get there. How long do I have?”
“We leave now,” he replies.
My throat closes, panic spiking sharp and fast. I would step back if I could, but the desk is still pressed into the backs of my legs, leaving nowhere to go.
“I need to pack. I need to tell my sister and my mother.” I swallow hard.
I need to tell Jace. Gods, I wish he were here right now.
He would know what to do. He always does.
The fae watches me impassively, as if none of that changes anything.
“Everything you need will be waiting for you when you arrive, and your family will be notified,” he says, placid.
It all sounds absolutely mad. For one wild heartbeat, I consider sprinting past him, racing into the clinic, locking the door, and bolting upstairs like I’m still a child who can hide from consequences. But he appeared out of an orb of light. A locked door won’t save me from that.
Relax, Maelis.
I don’t need to tell them goodbye. My mother would probably welcome the space, and Briana will be better off without me having another panic attack in the clinic.
They’ve managed this long. They’ll keep managing. Maybe this is exactly what I need, something to shock my senses, to drag me out of the fog I’ve been living in. It could force me to start really living again, the way Jace is always telling me to do.
“Very well,” I say, crossing my arms to steady myself. “What do you need me to do?”
He steps close enough that the air around him feels different, heavier somehow, and every muscle in my body tenses. “This may feel unusual for a moment, but you’ll be fine,” he says, looming over me. “I can’t say I’ve ever done this to a human before.”
My eyes widen, a dozen protests crowding my tongue, but none of them make it out. His hand settles on my shoulder, anchoring me in place. Light erupts around us, bright enough to burn away the room, the desk, the walls of everything I know.
The world folds in on itself.
Then everything goes dark.
The first thing I feel is cold seeping through muscle and bone, spreading beneath my flesh in a thousand prickling trails like tiny insects skittering through my veins. It lingers for a moment before slowly retreating, replaced by a faint warmth against my face.
My feet touch solid ground.
Soft light flickers as I blink, my vision swimming as if the world is struggling to reassemble itself around me. The pressure on my shoulder disappears, and I realize the man has stepped away.
I lift my head to see a wooden door directly in front of me. The number 303 is fixed to the center, the digits formed from what appear to be tiny bones fitted together.
An anxious feeling starts to fester inside me.
We’re in a narrow stone hallway lit by torch filled sconces mounted along both walls, their flames casting a low, flickering glow.
The stone is dark, nearly black, and lined with paintings framed in tarnished metal.
Most of them blur together at first glance.
Shapes. Figures. Landscapes swallowed by shadow.
Except for the one beside my door.
A massive white wolf stares out from the canvas, its fur rendered in painstaking detail, its pale eyes unnervingly bright. I take a step back, certain I saw those eyes shift.
I tell myself it’s exhaustion, shock, my imagination running wild.
Still, the unease doesn’t fade.
If this is room 303, then we’re on the third floor, at least one would think. I glance down the corridor in both directions, counting seven doors spaced evenly along the hall, all identical, all closed.
“This is your room. Don’t come out. Someone will find you come morning with further instructions,” he says.
I turn toward him. “That’s it? Where is everyone else?”
His mouth settles into a thin, emotionless line. He pats my shoulder before abruptly turning away. A few quiet footsteps later, he rounds the corner at the far end of the hall and is gone.
I lower my gaze to the doorknob.
It too is made of bone. After a moment’s hesitation, I curl my fingers around it and turn. The door opens without a sound. I step inside and pull it shut behind me.
Thankfully there is a lock on the inside that I turn into place.
I lean back against the wall, pressing my palms flat to the cold stone as I draw in a slow, steadying breath.
Whatever Ashwell is, I’m in it now.
The room is beyond strange. I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it.
Golden light spills from a chandelier and pools on the floor. The ceiling vaults high above, painted in dark blues and muted gold, the geometrical shape pulling my eyes upward whether I want them there or not.
A four-poster bed dominates the right side of the room, dark wood wrapped in teal fabric. The bedding is layered in deep green and pale blue, tucked so tight it looks like no one has ever pulled it back. Maybe no one has.
The floor hums beneath my boots, a mosaic of inlaid stone and tile forming interlocking circles that compel me to step farther into the room. A narrow beige throw runs the length of the bed.
Two tall arched windows line the far wall. Frost creeps inward across the glass. Beyond them, nothing. No landscape, no lights. Darkness swallows everything, a sliver of moon too weak to fight it.
A heavy wooden desk is between the windows, bare except for an unlit candle and a stack of parchment. The chair is pushed in tight. A wardrobe is opposite the bed, its doors carved with vines that twist upward. Everything is beautiful.
I cross the room and open the wardrobe. Inside hangs a single black cloak, identical to the one the fae wore only this one has a thin purple border lining it.
I pull it free, and the weight surprises me.
My gaze catches on the markings stitched across the back.
Three symbols arranged vertically, each contained within an intricate circular border that looks burned into the cloth rather than sewn.
The top circle depicts a ribcage with the head of a wolf suspended inside it staring straight at me.
The middle holds a heart, dark and anatomically precise, a serpent coiled around it.
The bottom symbol shows a bat with its wings spread wide and a pair of lungs below it.
Interesting and slightly unsettling. I slide the cloak back onto its hanger and push it farther into the wardrobe.
There is a folded sweater bearing the same wolf and ribcage sigil in a purple amethyst color, along with a simple black shirt, a skirt, and a pair of black pants.
Everything is dark. I open the drawers beneath and find a mixture of unfamiliar clothing and, to my surprise, some of my own.
Magic. I spot a familiar pair of soft navy pajamas and grab them.
On the far side of the bed, another door leads into a small bathroom. Stone basin, toilet, and a tub tucked beneath an arched alcove with a narrow showerhead mounted above it. Modest but immaculate. I release a slow breath. Having my own bathroom feels like an unexpected mercy.
I change quickly, tugging on the silky pants and matching top then unwrap the toothbrush beside the sink and brush my teeth.
When I finally look up, my reflection catches me off guard.
Bloodshot eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Copper hair loose and frizzed, falling out of my ponytail.
I look like someone who barely survived the day.
What will the other students think when they see me tomorrow? Will I be the only human here? Does Ashwell truly not accept humans at all, and if so, why am I standing in this room like I belong? Maybe Jace was wrong.
I drag my hands down my face. I should wash properly, search for soap, lotion, anything that might make me feel marginally more like myself. The thought alone exhausts me.
Instead, I turn off the lights and crawl into bed.
The mattress sinks beneath me, softer and more luxurious than anything I’ve ever slept on, the pillow cool against my cheek.
I lie there staring up at the canopy, mind still circling the same unanswered questions.
I hope Jace made it home okay after going back to see that man’s body.
I’d give anything to see his face when he finds out where I ended up. He’s hardly going to believe it.
I hardly believe it yet myself.
Gods, I hope my mother and sister aren’t panicking right now.
I hope someone actually told them where I am, instead of leaving them to imagine the worst. I’m assuming someone had to talk to them if they got my clothes.
I hope tomorrow brings better answers than the ones that fae gave me tonight, because I feel like I have no idea what I’ve got myself into.
I toss and turn beneath the covers, the bed far too soft for how restless I feel. My mind refuses to settle, thoughts looping endlessly, replaying the silver flame, the parchment, my father. Exhaustion eventually drags me under. At least the room is quiet and safe.
I’m suddenly jolted awake at the sound of the door flying open.