Chapter 4
Four
“ C ould you move into the light so we can talk like two civilized people?” Alaire asked.
The figure leaned forward, his smile stretching the scar that cut across his upper lip. But it was his pointed ears that truly caught her attention.
Alaire maintained a detached expression, but beneath the surface her thoughts churned like a typhoon.
Freedom.
The word stirred smothered dreams of a cottage nestled in the woods, next to a river.
Books piled beside a window seat. A garden of wildflowers.
It was the dream that fueled every desperate decision she’d made since leaving the orphanage—a desire that grew each time chains were clamped around her wrists.
He pushed off his forearms, allowing the light to fully reveal him. His sandy blonde hair was swept to one side.
The fae settled back, content to let the silence stretch between them. Alaire observed him. As hungry as she was for more information, she wouldn’t be the first to break.
His hand slid across the wooden surface, an offering. “Professor Rhettus Ross.”
“It seems you already know my name.” She clasped his hand briefly, noting the calluses that contradicted his polished appearance. “The type of freedom you’re offering always comes with a price. What’s your angle?”
“I’m here to offer you a place at Aeris Academy.”
Aeris Academy was the most prestigious fae academy in all of Elithian, where the elite of the seven houses honed their magic, cultivated connections, and amassed power—where bloodlines determined worth and status was the only currency that mattered.
A sharp laugh escaped her. “That wasn’t the question.” She folded her arms, the fabric of the prison tunic rough against her skin. “No one offers a place at Aeris Academy without expecting something in return.”
She gestured to her rounded ears. “In case it somehow escaped your notice, I’m human. I don’t have magic. So what’s your angle? Why waste your time on a prisoner without a dime to her name nor a drop of aether in her veins?”
“Aeris Academy prides itself on cultivating strength in all forms.” He rapped his knuckles against the table.
“Elemental aether manipulation is merely one form of power.” His eyes locked onto hers.
“Strategy. Resilience. You’ve endured what would break most people.
I believe you possess something… uniquely valuable. ”
She could see the image he was trying to paint, but this man was spewing a crock load of horseshit, and they both knew it. No fae ever valued human resilience. Not unless it served their purpose.
How far was he willing to take this?
“And my record?” She gripped the edge of the table. “If I accept your deal, I want it wiped clean. Regardless of what happens at the academy. I’m not leaving here with the threat of this place still hanging over my head.”
Professor Ross stared into the hearth for a long moment. “That can be arranged, if you accept the offer. You’ll have a fresh start.”
His gaze turned to her, mouth set in a thin line. “But understand this, Alaire. Should you fail to uphold your end of the bargain, you won’t return here. You’ll be sent straight to the front lines, where you’ll face creatures who salivate at the thought of tearing your kind apart—limb by limb.”
If she failed, she’d trade one cage for another.
Alaire leaned back in her chair. “You’re asking me to throw myself into a school of fae— freaking fae —where I’ll be a walking target. Why would I willingly take that risk?”
“Because we both know, Alaire, anything I offer is better than an endless future rotting in this prison.” Professor Ross steepled his fingers, a knowing smile on his face.
“Aeris Academy could be a place where you stop surviving and start living . No more scraping by. You’ll be given all the comforts you’ve been denied—warm meals, a bed and room of your own, and resources to build whatever future you choose once this is all over.” His eyes softened, just barely.
Alaire’s heart had dropped somewhere near her intestines. She would accept the deal; she knew she would. The promise of a bed she could call her own, with actual pillows, food that wasn’t cold or stale, and a moment’s peace was too enticing.
Yet she still didn’t trust him.
“Why do you really want me at the academy?” She searched his face for tells, anything to give her a read on him. “This kind of opportunity isn’t offered to any other inmates, and they’ve suffered just as much as I have.”
Elodie’s broken body flashed through her mind.
There was a brief flicker in his eyes, as if weighing how much to reveal. He traced a finger along his thin mustache.
“Elithian grows more dangerous by the day. Forces are at play beyond what many anticipate.” His voice dropped. “Unfortunately, that’s all I can share for now. The rest will be revealed in time—I give you my word. Whether or not you trust me, this offer is the only one you’ll receive.”
He gestured to the room around them. “I won’t try to convince you if you’d rather remain here.”
It felt like a trap, a carefully designed snare. The alternative was worse, even knowing there was more to this bargain than he’d revealed.
Alaire nodded. “I accept your offer. But let’s get one thing straight—I don’t trust you. And I’m nobody’s pawn.”
“I would expect nothing less.” His smile was faint, a glimmer of approval in his eyes.
Professor Ross rose, his unwrinkled shirt tucked neatly into his tweed ensemble. “Your belongings will be sent to the academy. You’ll be bathed, fitted, and properly clothed before our arrival for the commencement of the semester.”
Alaire followed him toward the door, her mind racing with odds and possible contingencies.
Something opaque descended over her head from behind. Metal pricked her skin. She swung blindly, arms raised to strike, but darkness found her before her fists could connect with flesh.
Warmth.
That was the first sensation that registered.
Alaire kept perfectly still, waiting for the familiar shiver that accompanied waking in her cell.
It never came. Instead, she sank deeper into a delicious softness, muscles unclenching from a tension held for too long.
Eyes closed, she cataloged her surroundings through other senses.
A faint, woodsy scent, accented with hints of mint and lemon, filled her nostrils. Discreetly, she ran the pad of her calloused finger over the linens, which were fine and silken. She couldn’t recall ever sleeping on something so luxurious.
Her tongue felt heavy and swollen. She tried rubbing her lips together, but they were cracked.
When Alaire heard no one else, she opened her eyes. Slowly, she blinked against the daylight filtering through the window’s sheer curtains. A thin cotton nightgown had replaced her prison clothes.
The room was spacious, yet simple. Its walls were painted a calming pale green, reminding her of the budding leaves of spring.
Across from her single bed were built-in shelves of cedar, covered with glass containers of varying shapes and sizes.
Some held gauze and linen; others, elixirs and potions.
A water basin sat to her left. Points of a lotus flower stuck out from the top of the bowl. An empty chair was placed beside her bed, raising the question:
Where am I?
The door opened before she could feign sleep. Eyes the color of freshly tilled soil bore into hers before appraising the rest of her frame with clinical precision.
“Good, you’re awake.” The voice was clipped, efficient. Butter yellow hair was pulled tight into a bun, highlighting delicate cheekbones and pointed ears.
“Who are you?”
The woman turned toward the shelves. The sound of lids rattling against wood was oddly soothing. With her gaze focused elsewhere, Alaire studied her more thoroughly.
She wore a richly made tunic with flowing sleeves and matching pants that looked remarkably comfortable. They were the same shade of green as the walls. Silver threads caught the light as she moved.
The uniforms belonged to the healers of House Vitalis. Although based in Silver Plains, they were permitted under a special agreement with the Consortium to support fae communities across Elithian.
“First, I need to examine you.” The soulwarden noted Alaire’s rigid posture and shaking hands. “You’re safe here. You were in rough shape when they brought you in—dehydrated, bruised, and starving. Old injuries never properly healed. We did what we could. But the worst of it was your lungs.”
Alaire stiffened as the healer moved around her bed, murmuring incantations while her hands hovered over different parts of Alaire’s body. When the soulwarden bent to place her ear against Alaire’s chest, she fought to keep her breath even.
“Hm…” The healer’s brow furrowed at whatever she heard.
When she was done, she settled into the chair next to the bed.
Everything about the soulwarden radiated effortless grace. Alaire had always envied the fae for that—the perfect posture, flawless skin, ethereal beauty, the cadence of their voice. Everything about them seemed seamless and fluid.
“You’ve healed better than anticipated,” the soulwarden pronounced.
“Though your lungs remain concerning. Currently, they’re clear.
During my examination, it became evident that you suffer from an advanced case of breathlock.
It’s a common affliction that can significantly impact your daily life if not properly managed. Typically, we teach breath work?—”
“I’m practiced in breath work,” Alaire interrupted, her fingers tightening around the sheets.
“You are?” The healer’s eyebrows rose. “Not many humans possess such knowledge. That’s an important tool in your arsenal.
” She turned, selecting a small object from amongst the glass containers.
When she faced Alaire again, she held a silver compact between elegant fingers. “Do your best to protect this.”
She placed it in Alaire’s palm, cool metal no larger than a stone.
“What is it?” Alaire lifted it to the light.
“A breathbind reliquary. An artifact imbued with potent magic, containing the essence of windroot—a rare herb that eases airways during an attack. When breathing becomes difficult, lift it to your lips and inhale deeply. It will help with the severity of attacks. Ensure it’s closed when not in use. ”
Alaire clutched it to her chest, the weight of the gift not lost on her. “Thank you.” The words felt foreign in her mouth. She wasn’t used to being cared for.
The healer nodded. “The scars on your back, however… we couldn’t heal those completely. The damage to some areas was too extensive.”
It was what she’d expected, but it stung nonetheless. Alaire swallowed the lump in her throat, resisting the urge to reach back and trace the permanent reminders etched into her flesh.
“Where am I, exactly?” Alaire asked, needing a change of subject.
The soulwarden folded her hands in her lap. “You’re at one of the healing centers in a fae village near Grimstone.” Her expression softened slightly.
Alaire opened her mouth to ask more when a sharp knock interrupted them.
“Come in,” the soulwarden called out.
Professor Ross meandered through the door like he was out on a Sunday evening stroll. His sandy hair was slicked back, a garnet velvet cloak brushing the floor behind him. “I believe any questions are better answered once you’ve recovered.”
He looked to be entering his fourth decade, but was likely centuries older.
“Alright.” The soulwarden rose smoothly. “I’ll send food over now that you’re awake.”
Alaire watched the woman leave before turning her attention to the professor, his back to her as he peered through the curtains.
“Sorry about the hood and sedative. Nasty business. The warden would only release you to my custody if you departed with no memory of the way out.”
What view was sprawled out before him? She’d seen nothing but concrete and dead grass for months.
“I’ve sent word to Headmaster Carth. Take today to rest and recover your strength. You’ll need it. Tomorrow, we depart at first light for Aeris Academy.”
As suddenly as he appeared, Professor Ross swept out of the room without a glance in her direction.
But the question lingered—why would the fae permit a human to attend Aeris Academy? She had nothing to offer them. No one did something for nothing.
It felt like an unpaid debt hanging over her head. And she feared what they would want when they came to collect.
The night passed in a blur of restless preparation and fitful sleep, haunted by nightmares of lacerations against her skin, tears streaming down her face, and screams for mercy that went ignored.
But dawn waited for no one, and as the first light filtered through the curtains, Alaire rose.
She dressed in silence. The healer had given her a tunic of richly woven linen that fell to mid-thigh, dyed deep emerald.
It was soft to the touch yet durable, with reinforced stitching along the seams. Matching leggings tapered at her ankles, tucked into soft, supple leather boots. Simple, yet functional.
With a deep breath, Alaire slipped the breathbind reliquary into a pocket sewn into her leggings. She moved to the basin of lotus flowers, splashed water on her face, and dared to look in the mirror for the first time in months.
A ghost stared back—hollowed cheeks and eyes shadowed by memories better left forgotten.
She lifted her shirt, catching sight of the single scar encircling her rib—a permanent reminder of a past that clung to her skin. Now cleansed, her light brown tresses hung limp around her oval face.
A knock rapped on her door. She didn’t have time to contemplate the reflection staring back at her.
Aeris Academy awaited.