“Then they get a first-rate education. None the wiser.”
Isla hesitated, something tugging at her. “And the staff?”
Harold looked at her—reallylooked at her. A deep, measuring gaze that made her skin prickle. “If I can, I only employ those whose abilities are already awakened.”
Her voice was smaller now. “But ... I didn’t have any abilities. Mine weren’t awakened.”
“You,” he said quietly, “had the strongest emotional echo I’ve ever sensed in someone. Among other things.”
Something knotted in Isla’s stomach. “So that’s why I was hired?”
He shook his head, slow but not entirely convincing. “No. You are a genius, Isla. A brilliant mind. Your teaching is outstanding. Do not doubt that.”
“But younoticedme because of the echo.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He did look at Andrew again, and it made Isla stiffen.
Isla sat very still, unsure how to feel. Grateful? Deceived? Or just ... overwhelmed?
“It sounds like I have a lot to learn about the Aetheric Arts.”
“Yes, but let’s not overwhelm you tonight. You need food and rest.”
“But how do I know which Aetheric Art I’m associated with? And how do I know if am a basic user or you know ... advanced?”
She startled slightly when Andrew spoke; he’d been quiet for a while.
“Show me your wrist.”
She blinked at him, surprised. His voice was low, almost reverent, and he was staring at her like he was seeing something she couldn’t. Her breath caught. She wanted to be annoyed that he was ahead of her again, that he and Harold had a relationship through knowing about the Aetheric Arts before her, but curiosity won out. Slowly, she lifted her arm, awkward under the weight of both her own coat and Andrew’s jacket. She pushed back the sleeve, exposing the skin of her wrist.
Andrew moved closer, cradling it gently in both hands, his fingers warm. How could Ice Man have warm hands? She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Harold and Juliette watched in silence as he examined the mark.
“Most people only get one part of the mark. That means they’re destined to be Wielders of the Arts. On rare occasions, their mark can expand. However, there are already three parts to your Sigil,” Andrew said.
“You mean tattoo?”
“It’s not a tattoo,” he murmured. “More like a birthmark that arrives late.”
He traced a finger gently over the first symbol—a straight line anchored by two small bars.
“This means you’ve awakened your Aetheric Arts—the basic gift. A Wielder.”
He moved his finger to a circle crowning the top of the bar, his touch featherlight. “This circle means you’re capable of accessing the Advanced Arts, to become a Summoner.”
Then he paused.
His eyes met hers—no teasing, no smirk. Just something solemn, deep, and unreadable.
“Harold didn’t mention this, but there is potential for power even beyond the advanced users. This final part of your Sigil mark,” he said, running his finger gently over the final part of the design—twin swirls curling at the heart of the symbol—his voice barely above a whisper, “means you’re Fated.”
Chapter Three
Walking along the cloister, Isla let her eyes trace the arches as they framed the university’s central courtyard. The solid building on her right suddenly didn’t feel quite so solid anymore. What had always felt immovable now felt oddly fragile.
“Are you okay, Isla?”
