Chapter Four
FOUR
Unlike her cousin, Moira is accepted into Malachite after she sends a bright red flame right through Xavier’s handprint, burning his blood away as if its stain on the stone was offensive to her.
She wielded her element so easily, I couldn’t help the sliver of envy that crept up my chest and lodged in my throat.
Years I’ve spent trying to wield mine. Hell, just trying to sense it inside me.
But each time I tried, I found nothing to grab onto.
It’s no wonder Moira turned her nose up at the mere drips of liquid that fell from the water wielder’s hand.
At least a dozen more students rise from their seats as the headmaster’s list gets dangerously close to the N surnames. Three of those students choose Malachite, four choose Opal, and the others are accepted into Agate.
The empty spaces in front of Tilly and me feel too exposing. Before, I could hide myself behind the heads of others, but now, the gaps clear the way for everyone to turn and stare up at me as Headmaster Zain calls out, ‘Arianell Nocthare.’
Gasps penetrate the air around me, followed by a cacophony of whispers that get louder until I can barely hear my own thoughts.
‘You can do this,’ Tilly encourages beside me.
Can I?
I close my eyes, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth as I attempt to tame the nerves skittering beneath my skin. When I open them, I keep my gaze locked on the centre of the room, blocking out the faces staring at me and ever so slowly rise from my seat.
There’s no going back now.
I lift my hands and push the grey hood of my robe off my head, letting it fall over my shoulders. The move exposes my white-blonde hair, twin to my brother’s, our father’s and the rest of our ancestors in the Nocthare line.
‘Holy shit. It really is his sister,’ I hear someone hiss.
‘Nocthare slut.’ Another doesn’t even try to lower their voice as I walk down toward the dais. My fists bunch at my sides, turning my knuckles white.
Just keep walking. Don’t give them what they want.
‘Murderer!’
Just. Keep. Walking.
The insults get louder until eventually, I hear so many I can barely decipher them, and finally Headmaster Zain silences everyone with a shout.
‘That’s enough!’ His deep voice bellows across the room.
‘This is a sacred ceremony. I will not tolerate this behaviour in my hall. If you have an issue with Miss Nocthare, you may take it up with her when we are done. If you cannot control your own tongue, come forth and I will cut it out for you.’
Silence.
No one utters a sound, not even a peep, as I stand at the edge of the steps.
The offer of bodily harm does wonders. I’ll have to remember that. Though I don’t miss the way Zain has also granted them permission to spew their insults at me outside of the ceremony. Lucky me, I have something to look forward to.
My skin prickles as I meet Bartollo Zain in the centre of the room, beneath the silver stream of moonlight.
Now that I’m closer, I’m able to make out more defining features of the man.
His eyes have an unusual glint in the middle of them – right where his pupil should be is a pale, whitish-blue circle instead. As if … as if the headmaster is blind.
No. Surely not.
I recall the way he walked across the stage. He moved along it with ease and gestured to each archway just like any fully sighted person would do. Unless … unless he has performed this ceremony so many times that he knew where each step, each edge of the dais and archway began and ended.
I look down at my hand, stretched out before me. ‘I cannot yet wield my element; therefore, I wish to use my blood.’
My eyes flutter, ready to squeeze shut as I wait for the sharp edge of the blade to meet my skin, hard and fast like I’d seen on the others before me. But Headmaster Zain’s hand grabs my wrist tightly, making me gasp.
‘Do not close your eyes,’ he commands in a low tone. ‘You will face worse than this once you get behind those doors, Miss Nocthare. This will seem like nothing.’ I hear the warning loud and clear.
Before I get a chance to respond, a sharp pain slices across my palm.
I hiss through my teeth and yank my hand back.
Fuck. Warm crimson blood pools out of the open wound.
My vision blurs for a second as I breathe through the white-hot sting.
When I’m certain I’m not about to pass out, I force my feet to move in the direction of Malachite.
The blood spills over my palm, trickling down between my fingers. I feel the itchy sensation of eyes lingering on my back as I inch toward my brother’s unit, praying that this works.
I need Malachite. I only hope it needs me too.
Sebastian stands guard like a sentry carved from stone.
Broad shoulders, wide stance. Immovable.
The Grand Hall is vast; the ceiling stretches high, but it’s all six-foot-three of him that makes me feel smaller the closer I get.
My stomach twists, because as our eyes meet, I see no warmth in his gaze.
No trace of the same relief at seeing each other again that I feel whirling inside of me.
Instead, his blazing green eyes are hard, narrowed, as if my mere presence offends him.
I don’t understand it. He’s never looked at me this way before.
When I finally reach him, though, I know I should just keep walking and place my hand on the stone like the others did. But I can’t stop myself from speaking to him. It’s been so long.
‘Seb—’ I whisper, hoping our voices don’t carry. But he cuts me off before I even manage to finish his name.
‘Keep walking, acolyte,’ he snarls, looking down at me with disgust. ‘You don’t get to speak to me.’
I reel back as if I’ve been struck. My mouth opens, then closes. Words scramble on my tongue and fight my lips to get out.
Acolyte?
So impersonal. So indifferent.
‘What are—’
‘Did you not fucking hear me? I said keep walking.’ He shifts to the side, moving to the edge of the alcove to the gate. Further away from me. His eyes leave mine and glower over my head. I know a dismissal when I see one, yet I never thought I’d get one so blatantly cruel from him.
I stand, stunned, as disbelief and rejection course through my veins, working their way toward my heart, which gives a deep, achy squeeze.
I’m desperate to find a glimmer of the man I thought I knew, but it’s as if I’m looking at a stranger.
This … this isn’t the Sebastian I know. I have a horrible feeling that this has to do with what happened to Lukas.
Moreover, the crimes that have been pinned on my brother.
Sebastian was his best friend … I never even thought for a moment that he would condemn Lukas like the academy did.
That Sebastian would turn his back on Lukas and believe the lies. But what if he has?
My heart sinks at this realisation, because this doesn’t just mean he’s betrayed my brother.
It also means he’s betrayed me, and I can no longer trust him.
My jaw clenches with the effort of not letting my eyes fill with tears.
I swallow the burning sensation climbing its way up my throat and force my feet to move.
I pass by him, placing my hand to the stone, trying not to think about the dried blood next to it from previous students.
It’s hard and cold beneath my skin. I hold my breath and wait.
Slowly – as if the stone is sensing my blood, tasting it, deciding if it’s worthy – I watch as the swirls of colour move beneath my palm.
Mint, jade, a deep forest green. So many beautiful shades live within the stone that for a moment I forget about the pain in my hand, too enraptured with the beauty of it all.
Until finally, my heart gives a deep aching thud when I suddenly realise how long I’ve been standing still. Nothing has happened.
No!
‘Come on,’ I whisper to the stone, pressing my hand harder against it as if that’ll get it to work and I’ll be sucked in by sheer force of will alone.
‘Come on,’ I beg again.
‘Arianell Nocthare,’ I hear Headmaster Zain’s commanding voice ring out behind me, ‘Malachite has not chosen you.’
My eyes squeeze shut. My hand drops from the stone and hangs limply at my side as embarrassment and disappointment pierce through me.
Reluctantly, I slowly pivot on my heels and turn around, just to find Sebastian looking at me with a smug expression on his face.
It throws me off kilter, because again, who the hell is he now?
Deciding to ignore him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing my eyes prick with tears, I leave the alcove. I push back my shoulders, grit my teeth and pass Agate’s door to head over to Opal’s. The unit both my parents came from, and the one I always thought I would choose.
The unit leader of Opal doesn’t smile, or greet me, but at least he doesn’t look at me like he wants to snatch the dagger from the dais and shove it into my back.
I take it as a win and stride forward.
Once again, I place my hand against stone, watching flickers of rainbow shards shimmer within the pale, iridescent gate.
It’s undeniably beautiful, the way they almost dance around each other.
Shards of light reflecting every colour I could think of inside this wall.
A wall of stone that, even after an full minute has passed, does not pull me to the other side of it.
No. This isn’t right. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. Of any unit, Opal is supposed to be my unit. It’s what I had always planned. So why didn’t it accept me?
I pull my hand away and glance over my shoulder just in time to hear, ‘Arianell Nocthare, Opal has not chosen you.’
No one else has been rejected by two Units.
My cheeks heat.
The only unit left is Agate. Confusion settles between my brows as I walk back the way I came and stand before the gate swirling with browns, reds and oranges. The colours move around each other in thin rings like the middle of a tree trunk.
This doesn’t feel right, but I’m left with no other choice, so I press my aching palm to the stone and once again, I wait. A cold dreaded silence follows, stretching on for what seems like minutes as I stand there, willing it to accept me. But … it doesn’t.
‘What?’ I pull my hand back, examining the cut along my skin. Maybe there isn’t enough blood. Maybe I need to cut my other hand and offer fresh blood?
I squeeze my hand, making a fist, hoping to draw more blood from the wound, digging my nails in. Despite my eyes pricking at the pain that lances through my hand and up my arm, I quickly slam my palm against the stone.
‘Miss Nocthare …’
‘Just give it a minute,’ my words come out in a desperate whisper as the headmaster’s voice is followed by the pounding of blood in my ears.
‘… Agate has not chosen you.’
I don’t understand.
A sharp laugh comes from beside me. I look back to find the unit leader of Agate peering down her pointed nose at me, with ire in her eyes. ‘No one wants you here, traitor scum. Even the gates reject you.’