“It is time,mes chéris!” Madame Cuorvo’s voice trilled too sharply next to her ear.
Seren clenched her jaw, steeling herself for what was to come. Though she couldn’t put her finger on it, something feltoffabout the night. Reaching for her magic, she felt its comforting pulse beating just beneath her skin. The unease within her ebbed, just enough that she could take a breath, gathering the train of her dress to take a step forward in her heeled black boots. Seren followed the vanishing trail of witches headed in a line toward the stairway.
A tricky thing about Calami Tower—one that Seren was still learning the hard way—was its ever-shifting layout. Rooms rearranged themselves. Whole structures like halls, classrooms, and staircases moved at will, as though the Tower were a living, breathing, growing thing. The only room that seemed to be stagnant was the dead Conservatory, but Seren hadn’t bothered to ask why. She also knew the professors had no control over it, but that it could be compelled to cooperate and move to their desired arrangement if they asked nicely enough.
Tonight, they must have asked extra sweetly as the Tower deigned to move its grand staircase directly into the dining hall for the witches to be presented to their guests gathered at the bottom.
“Come on, come, we do not ‘ave all night Mademoiselle Marudas.” The madame waved her forward with the tip of her cane.
Having the foresight to know that the rigid madame would never allow her to enter the dining hall in a dress so scandalous, Seren conjured a thin, black magical mist to cling to her dress like a second skin. The magic sparkled like bits of quicksilver and starlight. Once she reached the bottom of the staircase, she planned to dispel the mist so that everyone would have a view of her dress in all its glory, when it would be too late for the professors to make her go change without embarrassing themselves by admitting to the gathered schools the wool had been pulled over their eyes.
As though suspecting her treachery but not having the energy or time to investigate, Madame Cuorvo side-eyed her wearily but urged her forward with the others. When Seren realized it would be Icarus taking the liberty to announce the first years, her heart gave a painfully delicious squeeze. She felt her cheeks warm and gripped for the edge of the banister to steady herself.
Below, the hall stretched wider than she remembered and glimmered with light from floating orbs that shifted colors above the heads of guests. Small bubbles drifted through the air, shining in gilded shades that sparkled like glitter when they popped against the floor or a guest’s shoulder. Seren held her breath, waiting for Icarus to work his way through the list of witches in front of her.
“… Miss Heather Maefield… Miss Adaline Mankwood…”
Was she imagining things, or did his breath hitch at the next name on his lips?
“Miss Seren Marudas.”
Her stomach clenched tightly as she stepped down to begin her descent. Every eye in the room turned to her, and she felt that perhaps she was walking along a set of clouds when she captured Icarus’s cool gaze, the feel of it laden with a secret heaviness that burned its way across every exposed inch. Gracefully, her hand brushed along the soft material at her thigh, flicking away the magic that cloaked her true gown. It vanished with a silvery flourish—a constellation of stars that sparkled above her, basking her in their glow.
The crowd gasped and awed. Applause rang out, but it was nothing compared to the way Icarus watched her. The hungry way he swallowed as his eyes raked over her lithe form. When she reached the bottom, he held a hand out to help her down the final step and she took it, savoring the warm, rough feel, wishing it was more. Always wanting more. There was never enough of it. His touches were so sparing. Her mind flashed back to their night in the training arena. She couldn't think of a sweeter sensation or a feeling she craved more than his touch. The wanton heat that followed it could have consumed her right then and there, in front of a hall packed with people she didn’t care about.
But one blink from him as he turned his head, and the spell was broken, replaced by the hollow ache she’d come to fear and despise. He nodded her forward and her crestfallen heart could do nothing but comply. She moved into the crowd. Where once she might have savored the longing, lust-filled looks shot at her by wizards and witches alike, she now wished she could scrape the feel of such a thing from her skin. Only one wizard mattered, yet she’d done it for herself–and maybe a little for him. But what had she expected, really? It’s not like Icarus could have swept her off her feet in front of the whole room to lay a kiss on her lips. The hope for such a thing had been childish and was only asking for a disappointing night.
Regaining her composure, Seren straightened her shoulders and pushed through the crowd. Most parted for her, though a few wizards lingered close enough that she had to brush against them to get through. The feel of it made her skin crawl. Tables stretched along the boundary of the hall, laden with a feast worthy of royalty. The vestus had pulled out all the stops–roasted beef and chicken, braised lamb, honey-glazed carrots, bowls upon bowls of potatoes in every form. A tower of pies whose scent wafted across the room in a tantalizing aroma of pumpkin and fresh berries caught her attention. In the center of it all, a beautiful fountain poured wine of every color, with a pyramid of shining glasses stacked beside it.
Seren picked a clump of fat purple grapes from one table and chased the biggest one with a bite of savory cheese from another platter. Around her, guests continued to file in, the conversation swelling to a precipice and only quieting when it was announced that Professor Callahan would be reading off the Nestlings as they made their entrance.
As though summoned by the notion, Seren spotted Calder step from the grand archway and through the large wooden doors that led to the great hall. Behind him, his uncle was a bone-chilling shadow. Sensing her stare the older man turned to her and their eyes locked.
A feeling of absolute dread pooled in her stomach, dampening the magic that was always so potent in her veins. Seren gasped at the jarring sensation and the grapes slipped through her fingers. Quickly, she dipped off into the crowd, wanting to get as far away from the man as the hall would permit.
Headmistress Sinclair stood from the staff table to greet the headmaster and Seren did not envy her the task one bit. Briefly, she felt Calder’s eyes scan over her, but she pulled back into a shadowed corner and they slid away just as quickly. She knew he was already searching for dear Bella.
The second years had been announced and seated. At a group of tables clad in pristine maroon cloths, Seren spotted Lily and Roxie settle in next to each other, chattering happily though the sadness in Lily’s eyes made Seren’s brow furrow. Could it be the conversation from the pond was still weighing heavy on her mind? Seren hadn’t brought it up. Lily was her friend, but she knew that when it came down to it, Roxie would most certainly choose Bella. What if Lily, caught in the throes of a budding young love, followed Roxie into the fire that was her sister and Cal's influence?
Wrapping her arms around her chest, Seren suddenly realized how very alone she was. For a moment there had been a glimmer—a hope—that perhaps things would be different after all. That the relationship with her sister was mended. That she had a friend. That Icarus would come around and open himself up to her. But now, in her lonesome corner, that all felt very far away.
“Hi there,” a smooth voice echoed from behind her.
Stunned, Seren turned to find a tall wizard with sandy blond hair and clever sea-green eyes staring down at her. Dressed in a deep red suit, he had the crest of Crimson Hill stitched on the breast of his jacket. In each hand he held a stemmed glass filled with clear, bubbly liquid, offering one out.
Seren took it gratefully, bringing the rim to her lips for a tentative sip. She enjoyed the way the sweet liquid bubbled around her mouth and down her throat in a way she’d never experienced before.
“So,” he murmured before taking a sip from his own glass. His eyes trailed up and down the sheer fabric of her dress. “Do you have a name, or can I just call you mine?”
An unbidden snort escaped Seren. She had to slap a hand to her mouth to keep from spitting the sweet drink on him. Shaking her head, she coughed and set her glass on one of the trays that whisked past her, being carried by a vestus.
“I’m sorry.” She laughed, spelling the sticky liquid off her fingers with a gentle brush of magic. “But has that line actually worked on anyone?”
A small line formed between his brows, and he shifted his weight. “It’s worked on witches who know what’s good for them. How about a dance?”
Across the room, the string quartet picked up a haunting opening tune. A slow waltz that rose shivers on her arms. From the edge of the cleared floor, she spotted Arabella and Calder, all sweet smiles and graceful curtsies as they prepared to dance.
“So no one then? Got it. I think I'll pass. Good luck next time you use it, though I suggest trying something a little more . . .original.” Her eyes flashed before turning away when his impatient grasp found her arm, jerking her back so close that she could smell the overly sweet wine staining his breath.
