Chapter 49
Forty-Nine
A blend of blackberries and dark, floral notes cut through her haze. She tried to turn toward the smell, but her limbs felt heavy.
When Alaire opened her eyes, velvety petals floated in front of her. She blinked—inky hair fell across her vision, not black dahlias. Another blink, and Dawson’s concerned face swam into focus. He sat in a chair at her bedside, one of her hands enclosed in both of his.
The ruby ring still gleamed on her finger.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice rough. He didn’t pull away or hide behind the walls she’d grown so accustomed to during the push and pull of their partnership.
Something flickered across his expression—surprise, wonder. His hand rose to cup her jaw.
“I am.” Alaire leaned into the touch. “How long have I been here?”
“Long enough,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into the barest hint of a smile.
She looked around. Once again, she was in the academy’s infirmary—three pillows propping her up, tucked into white linen sheets. A side table stood piled with books and a comb, though it was the vase of black dahlias that caught her eye, petals dewy as if freshly plucked.
Memories slammed into her. Alaire flew upright. “Where’s Solflara? Are Kaia and Caius okay?” Her heart pounded.
A familiar trill answered, warmth blooming in her ribs. She’d been so sure she’d never hear it again. But there, outside the window, amber eyes gleamed bright and steady. Solflara was resplendent, feathers flaring under the sun.
“ Kaia and Caius are safe ,” she answered. “ When the barrier holding Dawson , Beck , and me prisoner collapsed , the magic suffocating our bond lifted . That’s how I found you — lying unconscious in a bed of ash .”
Tears pricked as Professor Ross’s sacrifice resurfaced, along with all the truths he’d revealed. “ Thank you ,” Alaire whispered, swallowing past the burn in her throat. “ For coming to find me .”
“ Always ,” Solflara replied. “ I will follow you into whatever darkness .”
Alaire focused on the creature who had never abandoned her, no matter how many reasons she’d given her to.
“ Though it would be remiss of me not to mention that the gold dress I found you in was quite tacky . Seek a stylist before you ascend the throne , or I’ll deny our bond entirely .”
Despite the weight pressing down on her, Alaire almost laughed. Somehow Solflara knew—or sensed—the truth of what had happened in Nebula’s Veil: her magic, unbound.
Closing her eyes, Alaire looked inward, searching for her power.
It rose easily to meet her. Within herself, she saw it clearly: the Star of Eternal Night.
There were no spells to dull its luminance now.
It emitted a soft shimmer of silver and indigo, half a swirl of shadows speckled with starlight.
She remembered the violent detonation, violet fire devouring everything in its path, and felt relief that she hadn’t burned out.
She’d only needed time to rest and recover.
Learning how to tame that kind of power was essential.
“She refused to leave your side,” Dawson said, amusement threading his tone. “The soulwardens had to move you here so she could keep watch—lest anyone risk incineration for upsetting her.”
Solflara’s feathers ruffled smugly.
“She does love to threaten immolation,” Alaire quipped, suppressing a laugh.
When she looked back at Dawson, his eyes were dark chips of ice. “We didn’t know what happened to you. I thought I’d lost you.” He pressed her wrist to his chest, like he couldn’t believe she was real.
“You know me—too stubborn to let Umbra have me.” She smiled faintly. “I tried to find you.” Her thumb brushed his temple.
“You’ve been out nearly a week.”
“A week?” Her brows shot up. Her body was whole—no cuts, no breaks, no bruises.
She tried to sit, but the room tilted violently.
Dawson leapt to his feet, gently pressing her back against the pillows. “Your magic is powerful but untrained. Whatever you did, it pushed you to the edge. Your body’s healed, but your power needs rest. You’ll be back to causing mischief in a few days, Firework.”
Would she? After everything that had happened, was she really just supposed to go back to class? War was coming, unlike anything Elithian had ever seen. And she carried knowledge none of them yet possessed.
“Thank you,” she whispered—not just for his vigil, but for pushing her, for believing in her, for being the flicker of hope in her all-consuming darkness. For seeing her when she couldn’t see herself.
She was falling for him. And she didn’t know what to do about it.
“Rest, Alaire. We can talk later.”
Every instinct told her to push, to demand answers. But when her gaze met his, the fight drained from her. For now, this was enough.
She sank back into the pillows, eyelids heavy. When she woke, Dawson would be there. They’d find a way forward—together.
A few days later, when the soulwardens were convinced Alaire had rested enough, she called a meeting to finally tell the others what had unfolded.
Her boots scuffed against the limestone as she ascended the narrow steps, hand brushing her breathbind reliquary to ensure she hadn’t forgotten it.
The soulwardens had given her a replacement after the previous one was lost in the trial’s frozen tundra.
Despite her healing powers, her lung affliction remained, as did her scars—a lingering consequence of her bound magic.
Twin gargoyles flanked the staircase, wings curled, claws hooked into the stone.
She moved quietly, or so she thought.
“Well, well… look who’s up and about,” one of them drawled, voice as rough as grinding stone.
Alaire froze mid-step.
The gargoyle on her left shifted, dust falling from its jaw as it clicked back into place. “Oh, don’t mind us. Just doing our part to watch over the academy’s most talked-about flier.”
Alaire sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t in the mood.
“Rumor has it,” the first gargoyle said, tucking its chin into its palm, “you played damsel and phoenix all at once in the trial.”
“Truly impressive,” the second chimed in. “They say you even managed to ensnare the Prince of House Aetheris with his brooding stares. And what was it? Ah, yes— forbidden longing .”
She choked.
“You wouldn’t believe the stories,” the first crooned. “Secret midnight rendezvous, whispered declarations beneath the stars, oh, and my favorite—he saved you from death with a single smoldering glare.”
Even though she had saved him , she wasn’t going to waste her breath correcting them.
“Deadly and romantic.” The second sighed wistfully.
Alaire let out a ragged breath. “How about I kiss him in the middle of the Aeriel Coliseum? Would that satisfy you?”
The first barked a laugh. “Hardly! But it would be deliciously salacious.”
“Perhaps throw in some heated looks of hatred and longing. Your brooding admirer thrives on that.”
She rolled her eyes and resumed her climb.
“Do let us know if there’s a wedding!” the first called. “We’re excellent at looming ominously from the rafters!”
“And free on weekends!” the second added.
Alaire didn’t look back, but a smirk tugged at her lips.
Damn gargoyles.
Inside the Australe Library, iron chandeliers flickered amongst tall windows, shadows slipping between rows of books. The air smelled of worn leather and old paper, a balm to her restless thoughts.
Headmaster Carth and the administration had buried the truth of the Astral Odyssey, just as they had with the bloodravagers. They’d claimed they didn’t want to incite mass panic. Professor Ross’s sacrifice was honored as a defense of the students. No one outside their group knew the truth.
Today, Alaire would tell them everything. She’d shared only a partial version with Headmaster Carth—unsure who she could trust outside of her friends. She hadn’t revealed her recovered memories, the truth of the Star, or who Ross really was to her and her family.
Her friends were gathered in a private nook.
Kaia gestured animatedly with her hands when she spotted Alaire’s arrival, Archer leaned forward, riveted, while Caius lingered in the back, arms crossed, silent but intent.
Dawson sat with one ankle draped over his knee, massaging his temples with two index fingers—the slant of his brows, his full lips, the tension evident in the tight lines of his body revealed his strain.
“Alaire!” Kaia squealed, rushing forward to squeeze her so hard Alaire could barely breathe.
Alaire hugged her back just as fiercely, all those moments when she’d nearly lost her flashing through her mind.
“Kaia,” Dawson said sharply, warning in his tone.
“I’m fine,” Alaire croaked from Kaia’s crushing hug.
“Al, we were so sure—Dawson was so worried?—”
Archer stood. “Heard you took the wrong turn during a promenade.” His posture was casual, hands tucked in his pockets, but his shoulders were taut.
Caius dipped his chin in greeting. His usual sneer was absent, replaced with wary focus. Progress.
When they’d all sat back down, Alaire set her hands on the worn table and looked around. “What happened to all of you?” she asked, masking the desperation in her tone.
Days of enforced rest had given her too much time to think—enough to piece together fragments, but not the full truth. Dawson had refused to share details until the soulwardens cleared her. So she’d asked to hear it from everyone, in person.
“Once you and Dawson made it through the portal, it closed behind you,” Kaia said grimly. “We were trapped. Every time we cut off one of the creature’s limbs, another grew in its place.”
“I remember,” Alaire said grimly. The thought of the slimy monster had bile rising.
“It was clever,” Caius added, pride coloring his voice. “Kaia noticed one tentacle stayed closer to its body. She figured it meant something.”
“Turns out if you sever the right limb, it doesn’t regenerate. It made for a fairer fight—and yes, I struck the killing blow.” Kaia grinned. “Caius was fussing over me unnecessarily.”