He studied her a moment, then nodded. “Very well. I am authorized to do so, and with your permission I will. Do you trust me?”
“I do,” she said simply.
A subtle warmth spread through the air—not commanding or invasive, but gentle. It felt like a blanket being drawn around her shoulders, a hot cup of peppermint tea after a long night. The tightness in her chest eased. She felt less burdened, her mind more relaxed.
When he withdrew the sensation, the loss was like a cool breeze after sunlight, but her mind felt better for it.
“I think after that,” Isla murmured, “I could take a nap.”
Harold chuckled. “Then do so. And when you wake, get to work.”
She smiled. He always knew how to balance kindness with a nudge forward.
Chapter Twenty-Three
November 3rd
The last couple of days had been long and taxing, but Isla knew she could not afford to rest—not when her abilities still needed so much development.
Yesterday, Isla had been practicing in the university’s herbarium with Professor Willowmere, a Terra Summoner, as she taught her students. They had spent the morning in a room filled with the scent of pressed plants, every cabinet lined with centuries of botanical history. She had tried to infuse a dying seed with energy, but instead the entire collection—delicate leaves, ancient roots, and carefully labeled blossoms—had begun to decay, crumbling into dust before her eyes. She had been mortified, the botanist Professor, failing in class.
The day before that, she had collapsed trying to revive a withered tree, pouring too much of herself into the task. Each attempt left her drained, her confidence faltering.
Through it all, Andrew had remained steadfast. When he was with her, he never mocked her missteps or offered pity—only quiet encouragement. He’d hold her hand when frustration took hold, lend his calm when her fear threatened to rise, and listen when she doubted herself.
She’d had some success this morning in the hospital. She had healed a small gash a student had sustained during one of her Aetheric Arts lectures—and to her astonishment, the tissue had knitted properly beneath her hands. Andrew had spun heraround in celebration. Apparently, cuts were one of the easier lessons to learn, but she felt pleased with her progress.
Through exhaustion, laughter, and the sting of failure, her feelings for Andrew had grown—and the fragile beginnings of romance was starting to grow into something quietly beautiful.
Now, however, Isla felt rather put out. She stared at the target, then shot Andrew a withering glare. The university boasted an impressively old archery range. Historically, archery had been a compulsory subject for the students; now it was relegated to a sport. Harold had allowed the group the use of it, assuring her that no one could see them in this secluded part of the campus. Isla had hoped that today she would understand her new gifts even better.
Tucked away like a secret garden, the grounds were framed with high hedges and mossy stone walls, shielding them from the outside world. They had used an old ornate key to enter. Isla couldn’t help but wonder if other Aetherians trained here under the guise of “sport,” archery being nothing more than a polite pretense for abilities far stranger than bows and arrows.
“You’re telling me,” Isla said, incredulous, “that Edmund gets to practice throwing his lightning bolts, Juliette gets fireballs, you get razor-sharp ice—and I’m going to be lobbing mud pies at a target?”
Andrew opened his mouth to reply, but another voice cut in first. George limped toward her, a boyish, playful smile tugging at his lips.
“I assure you, Isla,” George said lightly, “by the time we’re finished, you’ll see that earth can be pretty powerful.”
He held out his hands and a green mist swirled faintly. Then, as if drawn by his will alone, a compact clump of earthmaterialized between his palms. With a swift, controlled motion, he flung it at the target. It struck with a heavythunk, rattling the board and leaving a deep indentation that made Isla instinctively step back.
“You see?” he said with a grin. “Even a small amount can hit harder than you expect.”
“Golly, would you look at that,” Juliette said.
Ah,” Edmund piped up, “now he’s just showing off.”
Isla noticed the rare sparkle of mischief in the detective’s eyes. He was becoming more comfortable around them—almost relaxed.
“Oh, I’m not showing off,” George replied, his grin broad. “I’m simply demonstrating that Terras are the superior power.” He gestured proudly toward the bullseye. “And by the look of that, I’d say my point’s been proven.”
Edmund raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his mouth. A sharpcracksplit the air as a bolt of lightning struck the target, slicing a perfect, smoking line through George’s mud splat. “Hmm,” he said mildly, “looks like I’ve bested your ‘superior power’ a touch.”
George summoned another mud ball, tossing it lazily between his hands. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” The gauntlet had been thrown down. He hurled it—only for a flash of ice to streak through the air, shattering the mud projectile mid-flight.
Isla turned and caught Andrew lowering his hand, his expression the picture of innocence. He adjusted his glasses and said with mock solemnity, “You two really have no grasp of subtlety.”
The three men jostled and elbowed each other like schoolboys, laughing under their breath, throwing insults toeach other’s Aetheric abilities. Isla half excepted them to give each other childish knuckle rubs next.
