“It sure is,” George said softly.
His declaration seemed to snap Juliette out of a staring contest with Edmund. “Are you in love with someone?” Juliette asked—clearly, her friend had no boundaries.
George had a soft, sad smile on his face. “I’ve loved my childhood sweetheart for a long time, but love cannot always find a way, even when one is Fated.”
Juliette’s face looked crestfallen at the idea that love wouldn’t always win out.
“So, just because you have the Sigil mark of the Fated, it doesn’t guarantee a happily ever after?” Isla asked, despite her better judgment.
“No, not always,” George said, his eyes a little haunted.
Isla felt uneasy. She avoided love—why was she panicking? She didn’t want a relationship, did she? But what if, despite her mark, she was still destined to be alone? What if no one wanted her? Had her mark given her a tiny bit of hope? What if someday she did want love and never found the one she was Fated to be with?
A sudden surge of force from Isla’s fears rushed through her—finished clay pots exploded from the shelves, shards spinning like shrapnel. A sharp cry echoed as one fragment nicked George’s arm, drawing a line of blood across his skin.
A loud crash filled the room as all the pots hit the floor, and then all was quiet.
Isla felt faint as she stared at George’s bloodied arm and then down at her glowing green hands. It had all happened so quickly. Her eyes took in the destruction she had created around the studio; she saw Edmund had shielded Juliette. Her eyes shifted back to George’s arm, blood dripping down onto the hard floor. Then her world went black as she also collapsed to the floor, Andrew calling her name as she fell.
Chapter Fifteen
Isla’s eyes blinked up at him as he cradled her head in his lap. Andrew moved some of the hair away from her face as she came around, hoping to make her more comfortable.
The energy she had expelled while attempting to wield throughout the evening, combined with the surge she had just unleashed, had left her collapsed. It wasn’t uncommon for Aetherians to tire, especially early on when they were still unaccustomed to the strain; the body had its physical limitations.
Channeling Aether by drawing upon bioenergetic reserves required stamina and neural focus. Overuse could lead to exhaustion, migraines, fainting, or even temporary burnout, a brief loss of their abilities. The body acted more as a conduit than a battery, and no amount of willpower could escape the strain it placed on the user.
Juliette had walked with George to the medical wing. He was going to need to see an Aetherian doctor or get stitches, as Terras couldn’t heal themselves. Before leaving, George had checked on Isla—reluctant to go in case his healing might be needed for her. Once he was reassured she would be all right, he’d finally gone. Andrew thought about his kind friend for a moment. He had never heard George mention being in love before; perhaps they could commiserate over their lack of success wooing their fair ladies later.
The rhythmic scrape of a broom filled the quiet as Edmund swept away the shards of pottery. Isla stirred, her brow furrowing as she tried to sit up. Andrew slipped a hand behind her shoulders, steadying her.
“Oh my,” she breathed, looking around, her eyes wide as the destruction came into focus. “I can’t believe I did this.”
Her voice was quiet, shaken. He wanted to pull her toward him to reassure her but found himself smiling and trying to joke amidst the chaos so she wouldn’t see how much he wanted to keep her close. “Well,” he said, “you certainly made an impression. Not everyone can claim their first class ended with a bang.”
She turned and scowled at him, putting some distance between them. Maybe not the best approach. Hindsight really was a smug little beast.
“It’s okay, Isla, truly. We all have mishap stories.”
“It’s true,” Edmund agreed as he worked close by, a smile tugging at his mouth. “I once tried to summon a gentle breeze during a garden luncheon—accidentally sent my uncle’s toupee sailing into the trifle.”
Andrew chuckled. “Would you look at that,” he murmured to Isla. “Didn’t think the man capable of a joke.”
“Hey,” Edmund said, his tone perfectly serious. “Icanbe funny.”
He said it with such a straight face that it had Isla laughing softly.
Andrew called that a win. He caught Edmund’s eye, and the faintest glimmer of amusement there told him it had been the man’s intention all along.
Standing, Andrew brushed the dust and bits of clay from his trousers and jumper. He offered Isla his hand, holding hisbreath; for a moment, he worried she might refuse—but then her fingers slipped into his, soft and warm, and his heart gave a lurch.
As he helped her to her feet, she swayed slightly, still pale from the strain. He caught her instinctively, a steady hand at her elbow keeping her upright.
“Steady on,”he said quietly. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat. You’ll feel better after that.”
He looked over at Edmund, who was sweeping the last of the shattered clay into a neat pile.
“I’ll stay and finish up,” Edmund said. “You get Isla home and make sure she’s all right.”
