Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
A s the days bled into weeks, now a flier, Alaire settled into a pattern of training, studying, reading, eating, and evenings spent with Kaia and Archer.
Up before sunrise with Solflara to train until her hands cramped from gripping the phoenix’s braid, catching up on the fliers’ curriculum, and the rest of her classes with eyes burning from lack of sleep.
All designed to prepare them for the academy’s looming trial next month.
The only silver lining was that Kaia and Archer were right there with her—even if Kaia couldn’t stop blabbering about the upcoming Celestial Cascade Ball, an extravagant night where students and fae nobility honored Umbra, god of darkness and night, at the height of winter.
Yet an underlying tension blanketed the academy. There was an urgency to everything, as if everyone were moving toward an intangible tipping point that would consume the entire continent.
All partner work in her Tactical Leadership class had been halted. There were whispers about increased vampire activity along the borders. Even the gargoyles seemed more vigilant, gossip replaced by an unblinking watch on the academy’s perimeters.
Dawson’s absence gnawed at her more than she’d ever admit.
Each time she returned to practice, her gaze automatically scanned the arena.
And each time, her chest tightened when he wasn’t there.
She told herself it didn’t matter, that his presence was nothing more than an unnecessary distraction.
But no matter how hard she tried to push the thought away, her mind lingered on the way his closeness had ignited something in her.
Without him, the world felt a little colder, the silence a little louder.
She shook her head as she stretched her arms overhead.
Her body was perpetually sore. The combat training arena was empty except for her and Solflara.
She’d just finished working through flight maneuvers on the ground, practicing the weight shifts and balance adjustments Solflara drilled into her, when Professor Ross stepped through the archway.
Instinctively, she moved closer to her celestial.
“Trouble sleeping?” he asked, noting the early hour.
Solflara’s eyes tracked his path, her flames flaring briefly.
Alaire straightened, wiping sweat from her brow. “Solflara’s a demanding instructor. She says if I’m going to be her flier, I need to stop ‘flailing around like a fish on her back.’”
“ Accurate . Though you flail more like a whimpering goat ,” Solflara corrected.
“ Cut it out .”
Ross’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Celestials rarely mince words.”
“Understatement of the century.” Alaire brushed sand from her pants, eyeing him warily. “Was there something you needed, Professor?”
“I wanted to see how you’re adjusting. Bonding with a celestial can be overwhelming.”
“ More like annoying .”
“ Pfft… like anyone else would tell you when your hair is dull and looks like straw .”
“I’m managing,” she answered curtly. He didn’t trust her with the truth; she wasn’t about to trust him with it either.
Professor Ross approached slowly, hands clasped behind his back. The scar across his lip lent him a more menacing air. “You’ve been pushing yourself hard lately. This isn’t the first time you’ve been out here at dawn.”
“Problem with that?”
“Not a problem, no. But there’s a difference between dedication and self-destruction.” His tone softened. “You don’t have to prove yourself every minute of every day.”
Alaire’s laugh was hollow. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the half-blood everyone thinks conned her way into bonding with the realm’s long-lost celestial.”
“Is that what you think happened?”
“ It better not be ,” Solflara cut in sharply.
“What matters is the optics.” Alaire crossed her arms. “What everyone thinks happened. I’ve had to work twice as hard for everything, and that hasn’t changed since the day I walked across this campus’s threshold.”
“Celestials don’t make mistakes,” Professor Ross pointed out. “They see things we cannot—the essence of a person, their true nature. If Solflara chose you, it’s because she saw someone worthy of that bond.”
“Or because there was no one else. Last phoenix, last Vallorian.” The thought sat in her chest like a stone, irrational but persistent—that she’d never truly been worthy.
“ I thought this was something we’d already gone over .” Solflara puffed out a tiny fireball that zipped past the professor, who didn’t even flinch. “ There could’ve been an entire herd of Vallorians , but I would always have chosen you and your slobbery puppy-dog heart .”
“You can’t believe that,” Ross said.
Whatever she believed was too tangled to voice.
“ You should know better than to doubt me ,” Solflara warned. “ Or you’re the one getting incinerated next time .”
Alaire exhaled slowly.
“What I believe doesn’t matter. What matters is that I don’t screw this up.”
“And what would screwing it up look like to you?”
The question caught her off guard. She thought of falling from Solflara’s back in training, of every mistake that reminded her just how far behind she was.
Alaire stared at her hands. Nothing. Not even a flicker of the magic that had blazed through her that night with Dawson. For a few glorious seconds, she’d felt whole—fulfilled. Without it, a piece of her was missing.
Professor Ross cleared his throat, pulling her from her thoughts.
“Failing her,” Alaire said quietly. “Being weak when she needs me to be strong—that’s what screwing up would look like to me.”
He nodded slowly. “I once knew someone who carried that same burden—the weight of living up to a legacy, of being worthy of something greater than themselves.”
Despite herself, she asked, tipping her head back to take in the dewy pinks and oranges streaking the sky. “How did they handle it?”
“They learned that strength isn’t about never failing. It’s about getting back up, even when the whole world is watching. Even when you’re afraid.”
Something in his tone made her turn to look at him. His shoulders were tight, lips pursed—pain there, albeit carefully hidden.
“You’re speaking from experience.”
Solflara stretched her wings, observing him.
“We all have our burdens.” The moment of openness shut as quickly as it had appeared. “But that’s a conversation for another time.”
“Seems like everything is a conversation for another time with you,” she muttered.
“For now, focus on your training. Trust Solflara’s judgment, and your own instincts. They’ve served you well so far.”
“Have they? Because, despite your evasions, they tell me you’re still hiding things.”
Walking backward toward the archway, he added, “Your instincts are excellent. But not for the reasons you think. Be careful.” He tugged at his tweed lapels, a faint smirk ghosting across his face.
As his footsteps faded, Alaire stood alone with her thoughts.
What kind of professor kept that close of an eye on a student? What kind of man tracked down prisoners in the depths of Grimstone? One the Consortium kept files on.
One thing was for sure—the web was far more tangled than she’d ever anticipated.
By the time the first frost covered her arched window, Alaire’s first trial was only weeks away.
On their way back from Sigils and Ancient Runes, Kaia pulled Alaire into a secluded courtyard. “Alaire, look.” She held out a book brimming with intricate illustrations, a rectangular scrap of fabric marking a page.
“It’s beautiful.”
“No, look,” Kaia insisted, spinning the book and tapping a particular image.
The painted portrait showed a regal couple facing the artist—he in a white suit, she in a striking red gown, a familiar crown resting atop her dark hair.
Alaire’s chest tightened. She knew that crown. Those faces. Her parents.
“Where did you get this?” Her voice was thick with shock.
“I was sorting through some old books my parents made me bring. Saw this last night and thought…” Kaia hesitated. “I know you don’t have much of them, and I thought?—”
Before she could finish, Alaire hugged the book to her chest as if it might vanish. The longing it stirred was a physical ache. She surged forward, wrapping Kaia in a fierce embrace. “I can’t thank you enough,” she choked out, tears pricking her eyes.
“It’s yours,” Kaia murmured, returning the squeeze.
Alaire didn’t let go for several moments. It was a piece of them—of her—and only now did she realize how much she’d needed it.
When she stepped back, her gaze clung to her parents’ likeness. Her father’s hand rested on her mother’s hip, their fingers intertwined. Her eyes fell to the oval ruby on a plain gold band.
Her breath caught—and suddenly she was no longer in the courtyard.
Queen Elara pushed back Alaire’s light-brown waves, tucking her into sunshine-yellow sheets tied with bows.
“Time for bed, darling.”
Alaire clutched her mother’s hand. “Don’t leave. I’m afraid.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Monsters under my bed.”
Her mother slipped the ruby ring from her finger and placed it on the nightstand. “This ring is special. It belonged to your great-grandmother, and when I was little, I was scared too.”
Alaire’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really. She told me it has the power to keep monsters away—and to help you find the strength to face them. Because sometimes, the monsters we fear aren’t under the bed, but inside us, in the darkness we carry. This ring is your reminder to bring light to that darkness.”
“Alaire!” Kaia snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Where did you go?”
“A memory… about my mother.” Her voice was soft, almost reverent.
“That’s wonderful.” Kaia nudged her shoulder. “Fill me in on the way.”
Alaire cast one last glance at the portrait before pressing the book close again. Hope, loss, and love flickered inside her all at once, like sparklers on a cold night.