“Dismissed,” Kieran says. “Try not to fall off the mountain on your way down.”
With every step out of the Void Pit, my magic returns, and I feel a little less like collapsing. Supernatural healing is officially my favorite thing about being a witch.
Felix falls into step beside me as we make our way down the volcano. “She really worked you over,” he says casually, as if we’re talking about the weather instead of Vera beating me to a pulp.
“Lucky me.” I roll my eyes.
Evie moves to walk beside Felix. “It’s because you threaten her,” she tells me. “The whole privileged thing. She had to claw her place here. You just appeared, like a gift from the gods.”
“Appeared and got my ass handed to me.” I scoff. “Super threatening.”
We finally reach the base of the mountain, and I’ve never been so grateful to see flat ground in my life. From there, we trudge toward the dining hall for breakfast, a bedraggled groupof would-be warriors. My plain dagger bumps against my hip with each step.
Sometimes the simplest tools reveal the most,Kieran said.
Although after that training exercise, I have a sinking feeling I’m going to be spectacularly bad at using it.
JADE
The fancy lecturehall at Blaze makes even the ones at Yale look plain, since the school is a literal castle, and it never lets you forget it.
Colorful, detailed tapestries cover the walls, depicting what I assume are various important moments in supernatural history. The air smells faintly of smoke, and narrow arched windows cut through the fortress walls, letting in slivers of gray daylight. Tiered seating rises toward vaulted ceilings where chandeliers hang overhead, their flames casting dancing shadows across twenty-four tense faces sitting at the elegant brass tables.
In my two weeks here so far, I’ve noticed that barely anything at the academy is made of wood. Too much of a fire hazard.
Professor Thaddeus Morgrave stands at the front of the classroom, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the firelight as he writes across the startlingly normal-looking chalkboard with sharp, decisive strokes.
“The Ethics of Fire Compulsion.” He turns from the board, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Strong witches can influence emotions through their flames. They can suggest actions and implant ideas. They cannot, however, create love where noneexists, cannot fundamentally change someone’s core nature, and most importantly—“ his gaze sweeps the room, “—they cannot compel other witches.”
My pen races across my notebook as I write down as much as possible.
“There are restrictions on when, why, and how powerful compulsion can be used,” Thad continues. “The Council of Covens permits fire compulsion in cases of immediate threat exposure, self-defense, or when authorized by a coven leader. Deep memory modification follows stricter protocols, requiring documentation and review.”
When I finally take a second to breathe, I realize that most people aren’t bothering to write any of this down, since apparently, these are commonly known facts around here.
“Now, let’s explore a hypothetical scenario,” Thad continues, leaning against his desk. “Your sibling—say, a sister—falls in love with a human. The relationship is getting serious, and she’s told you she intends on revealing the truth of what she is to her boyfriend without a Council member present, which violates protocol.” He looks to me when he says that last part, since I’m probably the only one in here who doesn’t know anything about the Council’s protocols. “You have reason to believe that when her boyfriend learns the truth, it will end badly and result in exposure. Do you use compulsion on him to push him toward breaking up with your sister before it reaches that point?”
A ripple of unease passes through the room. Chairs creak. Pens still. Someone coughs too loudly.
“Never,” I blurt out before my brain catches up, since I’d never do something like that to Holly, despite our many differences. “You can’t decide someone else’s relationship like that for them. You can’t make someone stop loving someone else.”
Heat floods my face as every head in the room swivels toward me. Most of them are frowning or looking at me in clear disapproval, and a quick glance at my notes reminds me that while Thad said we can’t create love where none exists, he didn’t mention anything about stopping someone from loving someone else.
Although can’t that fit in with not being able to change a person’s core nature? If someone loves another person—true, deep love—does that not become a core part of who they are? I think so, but I’m far from an expert on soul deep romance, given that my ex broke up with me when he learned we wouldn’t be going to Yale together and started dating my ex best friend a day later.
Even though I’m not the biggest fan of what I’ve learned so far about compulsion, it would have been heaven to have had that pain compelled out of my heart.
Garrett twists in his seat, his voice carrying from the front row, forcing me out of my spiraling thoughts. “If we want to reveal our nature to a human, the Council requires we get permission from them first and have the conversation with at least one of them present,” he says, like he’s speaking to a particularly annoying child. “After all, what happens if the human panics? If they tell their family and friends, and it spreads? The Council has to be there so they can do whatever’s necessary to stop that from happening.”
Nina cuts in. “Whatever’s ‘necessary’ can include wiping your existence from that human’s mind, or worse,” she says. “Would you really risk having yourself wiped from the memory of someone you love because they didn’t react the way the Council wanted, in the time frame the Council allowed? You’d put them at the Council’s mercy like that?”
“The Council’s memory protocols exist because humans have historically reacted badly to magic,” Garrett replies, no emotion in his tone whatsoever.
“That was in the past,” Nina fires back. “Now you want to destroy something real for something thatmighthappen.”
“You’re being naive?—”
“You’re being a dictator.”
