Chapter 35
Audra studied the ticking hands on her timepiece. Breakfast wouldn’t end for a while yet. She could go to class; it wouldn’t hurt to arrive early and study. But then she would be alone with Scholar Haile, and that seemed almost as bad as having to clean the sparring field by herself.
She hissed as icy rivers raced across her right arm. Forgotten gods, a ghost had brushed her arm on its way to … well, she couldn’t be sure where, as the ghost disappeared through the wall.
She’d been too distracted because, as she looked around, Central Main was crawling with ghosts.
Did this have anything to do with the initiates buzzing with the news about the MGT?
Could the hive mind of excitement, apprehension, thrill be affecting the spirits?
Making them “livelier”? She took a quick step to the side, closer to a column, as a different ghost, this one in conversation with itself, floated right over the tile she’d just occupied.
She had to get out of here before they caught on that she could see them.
She’d been lucky so far—neither the Basement Lurker nor the Demanding Scholar Ghost had caused any further trouble for her.
But if a spirit noticed her right now, with so many around, it would be chaos.
Audra would never be able to fake her way out of an encounter without being noticed by the initiates and scholars.
But she also didn’t want to return to the dining hall after she’d stormed out like that.
She wasn’t quite ready to admit that she’d acted irrationally; she could apologize later.
And she didn’t want to return to the dorm room, where Wilder might find her, question her about her choice to join Sabre’s Guild trial—and she was finding it harder and harder to lie to her friend.
Where were there no ghosts? Oh, she hadn’t seen any at the Botanical Conservatory—not even one!
Miraculously, the conservatory doors were unlocked. Audra slipped inside—blessedly warm in here, and an entire building void of anyone living or dead? Audra’s face broke into a grin.
On a whim, she turned the opposite way from the last time she’d been here; no need to see that nursery again, relive the disastrous lesson.
She walked past Echinacea classrooms that resembled apothecaries more than lecture halls Audra was used to: dried herbs hung from twine; floor-to-ceiling shelves carved from wood so dark they appeared almost ebony were filled with jars of strange ingredients, glass vials with shimmering liquid, and empty cauldrons waiting to be filled.
Audra’s lips tilted down. Echinacea students took an incramancy class, why couldn’t Arcane take an archemical class?
This wasn’t fair.
She kept on until the corridor came to an end at a large glass door. She peered inside. This must lead to one of three large greenhouses inside the conservatory.
Yes, this would do.
Paths of packed earth branched out like spokes on a wheel.
She chose the path to the far left; on either side of the path were brightly colored, vivid blooms, whose sweet, cloying scents were so strong that they made her nose tickle.
Twining vines and ferns stretched high toward the glass ceiling, which glistened with condensation.
The few plants she recognized were massive, thriving versions of the pitiful plants that grew in Ruscal.
She could almost imagine that this was what summer felt like—warm, with blooming life everywhere one looked.
An ache built inside her as she trod carefully down the winding path, careful not to touch a single leaf or petal. Not because she feared potential harm from them, but because she worried that darkness might seep out of her again; cause them to sicken, decay.
This must be why she came here—yes, to get away from the ghosts and the prying questions … But she’d begun to feel like a walking plague, surrounded by spirits, death …
Here was life, so much of it. She breathed deeply—warm, lush air rushing through her like a balm.
Her timepiece chimed the hour.
She only had a few more moments to enjoy the warmth before breakfast ended and Echinacea students came to garden, and even less time for her to arrive on time for her own lecture.
In her past life—when had she begun thinking of her life in Khaveah as her past life?—Audra made it a point never to be late anywhere. Being on time was something she prided herself on, but more so, she hated disappointing anyone.
But something within her had begun to change, or maybe it was a natural, inverse reaction to her every moment being structured, scheduled.
Still, there was just enough time for her to take a seat on a bench that some initiate had no doubt pulled in here one day, realizing, as she had, how lovely this place was.
The damp wooden slats creaked as she lay down on the bench, gazing up at the vining plants spilling over giant baskets suspended from the glass ceiling, soaking up the sun’s rays, unaware that this warmth was manufactured.
How lucky these plants had it. If they were outside right now, it would not be Audra that withered their leaves and shriveled their vines—the cold winter air would do that in moments.
Mist, maybe solitude was a bad idea, actually. She was becoming nettled by her own miserable company. Perhaps she should’ve sought out her friends instead of coming here.
If she would only stop being a coward and tell them the truth—that she was a walking plague, that her magic brought death, that she was the Heir …
But if they knew … if they knew the truth and didn’t tell anyone, they face dire, treasonous consequences.
The scholars had made that very clear—if anyone suspected another student of being the Heir, beyond the rumored whispers about Noel, if they saw something that truly proved it, they were to inform someone at once.
And Audra would never knowingly put them in danger. Hiding from them, harboring this secret on her own, was painful, but it was a hurt she could manage. Knowingly putting them in harm’s way, of being the reason they were hurt … That would be a pain she wouldn’t be able to cope with.
It would break her.
She would have to bear this alone, for a while longer.
She was just about to heave herself into a sitting position, preparing to leave, when a crackle in the air, a change in the pressure, caused her ears to pop.
“It reeks of self-pity in here.”
Stunned, Audra sat up, planting her boots on the path.
Forgotten fucking gods. Not now. Not him.
“Don’t get me wrong; misery and hopelessness … they have a particular sweetness to them.” Zhaire slid his tongue along the tip of a sharp fang. “One that I quite enjoy.”
She took him in. The demon wore fighting leathers dyed black.
The vest cut into a sharp V revealed a hint of defined pectoral muscles and a peek of a tattoo.
Save the septum ring, his jewelry was missing today.
Mud-stained boots, red and raw knuckles, a cheek slightly scuffed.
She inhaled a sharp breath, smelling sweat mixed with pear cider and something metallic.
Had he just been in battle? Or had he been training with others in the demon army?
“Found a place to wallow in your own misery, Heiress? Or are you simply seeking a refuge where the Zenaidans’ pretty lies can’t reach you?”
“This should be impossible … You shouldn’t be here. I thought …”
A smirk as he twirled something in his hand. She couldn’t tell what it was; it twisted and twirled so impossibly fast, a blur. “Let me guess, you thought there was a weak point in the smithy? That if you avoided the area, you would be free of me?”
She snapped her mouth closed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that yes, that was precisely what she’d thought.
A step toward her. She leaned back, the slats of the bench pressed into her shoulder blades.
“I’ll give you a bit of advice—the pitiful wards carved into the foundation of every building on these grounds, painted on the gates, drawn into the blighted dirt … They are as easy for me to break as brushing aside a spider’s web. All that effort for nothing.” He leaned down and sniffed a flower.
“That was you in the common room … I had wondered why I hadn’t seen … And then, before, on the beach. When we’d arrived—by the tree.” Audra felt dumb. How had she not realized that he was the same being.
A slow grin.
“Just know … There is nowhere in this realm that I cannot reach you. Feel you. See you, if I so choose. And every subsequent day that we are connected by the prophecy, Heiress, the connection grows stronger.”
In this realm. All the more reason she needed to leave Zenaida. She scowled. “I think even here they imprison males for stalking.”
A rich laugh. “If I must be your stalker to save your life … and thus ensure the victory of my realm, then so be it.”
“I won’t help you conquer Zenaida. Your assaults, raids of Zenaidan villages, burning their fields, raiding their storehouses, are why they want to send my friends to the front lines—to garrison their defenses. What makes you think I would join your war, fight my friends?”
A look of disappointment, and she had the sudden sinking feeling that she’d failed a test. Which didn’t make sense—what did she care if she didn’t live up to his standards? If she insulted him? Maybe if she continued, he would grow tired of her and leave.
“Is that what they are teaching at this school? That we are to blame for Zenaida’s famine? For the blighted fields, the empty storehouses? The children starving even now as we speak?”
It could be lies … She had reason not to believe the Zenaidan scholars, but even less reason to believe him, a very being known for lies and deceit. How dare he show up here, unannounced, uninvited—putting her life at risk just by being here, let alone insulting her, spouting lies—
The demon went rigid and hissed, as though in pain. “Wait, wait.” He raised his hand, palm facing her. “A moment, please—it’s overwhelming.”
“What?” Had she missed something? What was overwhelming?