Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
T he biting cold of winter slipped away in a haze of relentless training and sleepless nights.
The academy’s permanent mist clung heavily to the grounds, as if trying to cover it in a protective embrace.
There had been no other attacks since the night of the Celestial Cascade Ball weeks ago.
Aeris Academy had solidified its borders. Eyes and ears were everywhere now.
One night, she’d managed to sneak back into Professor Ross’s office, risking his wrath. Everyone was so focused on the threats outside campus that no one paid attention to the ones already within. The files hidden in his desk were gone.
Another dead end.
With the budding days of spring and no answers forthcoming, she threw herself into training.
Their schedule’s intensity hadn’t lessened.
The only flicker of light in her days was time with Kaia and Archer, and her continued training with Dawson.
He was meticulously regimented: sparring at the Crux, one-on-one flight lessons, attempts to summon her magic—which still refused to surface—weapon drills, and grueling endurance work to build stamina and muscle memory.
Above all else, he was infuriatingly honorable.
Gone was the teasing, flirtatious banter between them.
He continued freezing her out. It didn’t stop her from trying to pull him back in—testing his boundaries, as he’d done with her countless times.
A lingering touch during sparring, a casual mention of their dance, a comment she knew would rile him—each made a muscle tick in his jaw.
Her heart soared when he engaged. That push and pull between them sparked her soul.
Yet he refused to revisit their conversation from the eve of the ball, refused to acknowledge they were anything more than partners. It hung between them like dead weight. He bore a weariness that seemed to weigh down his shoulders.
It didn’t stop her from remembering his gentle kiss on her forehead, or the way he’d looked at her on the dance floor.
Alaire couldn’t be the only one fighting for them. She poured her frustration, anger, and tension into becoming a better flier.
The results spoke for themselves: her accuracy sharpened, her stamina grew, and her focus was clearer than ever.
She was ready for Aeris Academy’s final trial.
The thing about the Astral Odyssey, the novices’ final trial, was that no one knew how or when it happened. It was a combination of all the skills they’d learned during their first year at the academy. That was all they were told.
Veterans were tight-lipped about what they knew. Having completed it the year before, they were required to participate with their partners to prove they were capable of leading. It was the culmination of their partnership, and they had to pass to graduate.
That morning, Dawson demanded they squeeze in an extra workout at the Crux.
She walked into the training room, empty except for Archer.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” she called as she approached, not wanting to startle him.
“Shouldn’t you?” He grinned, hovering above the beam, muscles flexing in his forearm. “Simply put, the gymnasium was calling to me. I must admit Professor Leslie’s lectures can be rather drab.”
Alaire noticed the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Archer, is everything okay? You’ve been… distant lately.” Since the ball, he’d withdrawn, choosing the gym over company. Quiet. Reserved. Something was clearly bothering him.
“Distant? Me? Perish the thought.” He sighed when her gaze bored into his, then dismounted with effortless grace and offered a small, deep bow. “My queen.”
Alaire rolled her eyes. “Not you too. I’m no one’s monarch.”
“Those humans seemed to think so. Someone stood up for them for the first time in a long while. That’s not something to squander.”
The night of the ball, in the safety of her room, she’d inspected the weighted coin. On it was an anchor, a rope wrapped around it. She’d left both the coin and diadem hidden in her room.
Now, Alaire thumbed the gold band around her finger—a talisman she hadn’t removed since it had acted of its own accord to protect her. Despite the administration’s assurances that campus was safe, she wasn’t willing to take chances, not without aether of her own to rely on.
“The ball was the first time I’d seen bloodshed. Until you came to Aeris Academy, I admit I lived a sheltered life in sprawling homes with human staff to meet my every whim. When the war reignited, it always felt far away, untouchable. But seeing those wraiths harm people—fae and human—shook me.”
Alaire stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. “Archer,” she said softly, “war is a reality no one wants to face, myself included. Give yourself grace. Acknowledging that not everyone grew up with your privilege, and your willingness to help change things, is a good place to start.”
She squeezed his arm gently. “And you have a kind strength few possess. Your empathy and compassion are your greatest assets. Don’t lose sight of that. It’s okay to lean on your friends. I’ll admit I’m not the best at it, but that’s why we’re here.”
“Thank you.” His voice cracked. “You and Kaia are both an immense comfort to me.”
Stretching, he gave the gym a sweeping glance. “My presence is required elsewhere, and I’d rather not be late. These veterans haven’t given us a moment of respite.”
“Totally get it. I’m waiting for Dawson myself.”
“With that, I’ll be on my way.” Archer hugged her, pausing at the door. “Don’t forget to take your own advice. You’re allowed to lean on us too.” He gave her a small, grateful smile before leaving.
The door swung shut, only to open again.
Dawson strode in with effortless confidence, turquoise gaze locking instantly onto hers. Locks of hair fell over his eyes, brushing the top of his shoulder. She itched to reach forward and push them back.
The corner of her mouth tipped up at the sight of him, desire burning in her chest.
He lifted a sardonic brow, as if reading her thoughts—dark and heated.
Dawson walked until the toes of his boots touched hers.
She exhaled, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. Lately, she wished he’d stop being so damn honorable. Both of them were dancing on a murky, undefined line.
His fingers threaded through the long waves she’d left unbound.
A moan slipped from her lips at how easily his hands set fire to her skin. A slow smile curved his mouth.
Cocky asshole.
Never one to be outdone, she pressed flush against him, tracing the dips of his chest, the hollow of his ribcage. Victory flared when a low growl rattled his throat as she scraped her finger from collarbone to the nape of his neck.
“Alaire…”
She kept her tone teasing. “Yes?”
His arm curled around her waist, tugging her closer until their chests brushed with every breath.
“I’m sorry to have to do this, but I have no other choice.”
It was then she felt the prick of a needle at the sliver of bare skin between her leathers.
Alaire’s senses swam in a hazy fog. A dull ache pulsed at her temples, her mouth thick and dry. Memories of being at the Crux with Dawson rushed back—the sharp bite of the needle. With a concerted effort, she forced herself upright.
Indignation washed through her. How dare he?
The air was thick and damp. Opening her eyes, she realized she was in a subterranean room. The buzz of voices stung her overly sensitive ears. Along the wall sat other novices, all dressed in their leathers.
Kaia slumped against the stone, a little drool clinging to the corner of her mouth.
Alaire leaned over and wiped it away with her sleeve. Gross. The touch roused Kaia, who blinked groggily.
“Alaire? What’re you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Kaia’s almond eyes widened as she took in the cluster of novices. She rubbed the spot where her neck met her shoulder. “Last thing I remember was arguing with Caius during training instead of going to Professor Leslie’s lecture.”
Alaire sucked in a sharp breath. “I was with Dawson. He used the same excuse. I guess that’s how they got us all here.” Her memory was fuzzy, but she could’ve sworn he’d said sorry …
The synchronized thud of boots echoed against the walls. Heads snapped toward the sound. Clad in a powder-blue tweed ensemble, Professor Ross strode in, veterans trailing in a single-file line. His mustache twitched as he took in the sight of novices still slumped along the wall.
“The enemy won’t wait for you to be ready,” his booming voice carried. “They’ll strike when you’re vulnerable, compromised, or caught off guard. Your final trial happens now, like this, because this is what real life as a flier looks like. Line up, novices. Across from your partner.”
Alaire fought the urge to cover her ears. Whatever they’d used to knock her out left her with a splitting migraine. Pressure burned at her temples.
Kaia helped her up, and they moved to the end of the line, where apologetic turquoise eyes immediately found hers. She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.
Dawson rounded out the vets’ line. And—no surprise—standing next to him was Caius. Arms rigid at his sides, condescension and superiority rolled off him just like his father.
Alaire had no idea how Dawson or Kaia could stand him—especially Kaia.
Kaia leaned closer. “Trouble between the prince and queen?”
Alaire turned sharply toward her, eyes narrowing. “Don’t even start.”
Dimples popped into Kaia’s cheeks, but before she could respond, Alaire cut her off. “If you say one more word, I’ll very loudly announce how I had to wipe drool off your face while you were unconscious. I’m sure Caius would have plenty to say about that.”
Kaia’s grin faltered. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would.” Alaire smirked. “Care to test me?”
“Fine, you win.” Kaia slumped with a dramatic sigh.
“Smart choice.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Kaia muttered. “By the way, Dawson’s trying to get your attention.”