I had imagined some sort of smooth, inspirational speech, which kind of happened.
Then I figured I’d usher everyone inside, and they’d obediently file to their dorms, maybe humming a cheerful tune as they went.
Instead, it was more like herding cats.
Magical cats. Cats who argued about which wing they belonged in. Cats who didn’t want to leave their satchels behind because someone mighthex their underpants and give them the itchies in the nether regions.
I didn’t want to ask why that was of concern, so instead, I just stared at Nova, who was diligently conjuring student placements for the dorms and handing out sheets of paper to each student conjured by the Academy because it knew more than I did.
Nova took it in stride, of course.
“You’re going to need more than a few rules, Headmistress.” Nova’s brows raised as she handed sheet after sheet out.
“Don’t call me that,” I groaned, already nursing the beginnings of a headache as a troll and a willowy elf debated over the acceptable volume for nighttime lute and harp practice.
“Too late,” Nova called in a sing-song voice, waving a glowing baton she’d summoned out of nowhere, while steering a group of nervous witches toward the East Dormitories.
My grandma nearly floated through the madness like it didn’t faze her at all, offering warm nods, the occasional gentle word, and somehow making even the grumpiest centaur bow politely in response.
And Ardetia… well, Ardetia was perched on a low-hanging branch like she’d been born there, casually twirling a blade of grass between her fingers, watching it all with a faintly amused, faintly aloof smile.
The fae obviously had a knack for watching and waiting.
“I suppose I’m the only one who finds this mildly terrifying?” I grumbled as I helped a shivering selkie balance an absurd number of books on her head.
“I’d be worried if youweren’tworried,” Grandma Elira said softly, falling into step beside me. “It means you care.”
I exhaled hard through my nose. “I just… I don’t want them to feel like they made a mistake coming here.”
“They won’t,” she assured me. “Trust them. And trust yourself.”
Easy for her to say.
She wasn’t the one being pulled into five conversations at once about blanket preferences, meal schedules, and whether or not the Academy allowed pet ferrets. Of course, the answer was yes.
I waved off another sprite trying to tangle itself in my hair and turned my attention to a group of students lingering near the Butterfly Garden. It was the one area of the Academy that still shimmered with that strange, untouched magic I couldn’t quite explain, but it was one of the places I felt most connected.
The gals stood out from the crowd immediately.
Four women, all draped in rich, layered fabrics of velvet, lace, and silks in colors that caught the moonlight like they were stitched with stars, chatted softly among themselves.
Their laughter was low and melodic, the sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, though not in a bad way.
Just in a curious way.
I went over, brushing past a giggling trio of fae who’d somehow enchanted their shoes to squeak like geese, courtesy of one of their teenage sons who passed on the trick.
“Evening,” I greeted the four lavishly dressed women and flashed what I hoped was a friendly, headmistress-y smile. “You ladies settling in alright?”
They turned as one, reminding me of dancers in perfect sync.
The tallest, with a cascade of black curls and skin as pale as the moon, dipped her head.
“Indeed, Headmistress,” she said, her voice smooth as satin. “We were admiring the gardens. They have… a certain old-world charm.”
“Are you drawn to the old-world ways?” My brows lifted in amusement.
Their laughter was low and delighted.
