The addition of seeds was a puzzle that was easily rectified. Often the simplest solutions were the best.
Selene had always accepted that as fact, never worrying too much about the mechanics. Idly, she pondered more deeply. Where did the magic come from? How did it channel through the magician to transform into something other? And why hadn’t she wanted to know this before? Perhaps it was unknown. She’d read all the books in the library and knew the answers were not contained there. The power centered around Priya. A roar ripped through the air, loud enough to drown out even Priya’s voice. Vines burst from her palms. Sweet autumn clematis, based on the shape of the leaves and the structure of the buds. That was a mistake. No one cared about clematis or baby’s breath or lilacs. They wanted drama and passion. They wanted sunflowers and lilies and roses, flowers thatmeantsomething.
Priya didn’t have a handle on this magic. She closed her eyes, her song changing shape. The vines twisted and rolled into the orchestra pit. Half the orchestra cut out, tangled in vines, trying to save their instruments and sheet music.
Priya kept singing. Her face reddened with frustration.
The flowers didn’t bloom.
Selene didn’t even try to fight the growing sense of glee. Priya was power, not finesse. Flowers were a delicate work. They needed the right breath, coaxing, and shaping. Raw power wasn’t enough. But Priya—always the performer—ended her piece with flair, grinning as if she’d meant the vines to go unbloomed, meant for them to fall into the orchestra and disrupt the music. She bowed and strode away with false triumph.
Monsieur Fenrir’s mouth tightened. The palace representative didn’t seem displeased. He clearly didn’t know any better.
Madame cast Priya off with a look. There was something smug in the corners of her mouth. She burned the vines and sang a gust of wind to sweep away the ash.
Priya sat down and entwined herself in Revelio. “At least all the statues are intact.”
Selene didn’t feel the need to rise to the occasion. She may have wrought destruction, but at least she haddonesomething.
Madame drew Cameron’s card next. He was another legacy competitor, though his mother hadn’t won and had instead used her knowledge to put on parties instead of real magic. His piece was entertaining—a play on court drama, with deference to the royal family. He was precise and thoughtful, if a little bland. He bowed and stepped off the stage.
Cecile came after. Like Priya, she wanted flowers. With less subtlety than needed, she scattered them over the stage. Her aria was a lament for beautiful things, each of the flowers bursting from buds to bloom around her. She’d woven in the motif for fire, no doubt intending on igniting each of the flowers and setting the stage ablaze.
But her flowers were too green and she didn’t put enough power behind her fire. Instead of flames, plumes of white smoke formed around her. This was a pretty mistake, allowing her to keep the artistry of the flowers with the drama of the smoke. But Selene had known Cecile for long enough to know that she wouldn’t play it off like a choice, as Priya had. Cecile’s eyes went wide. She breathed in deeply in preparation for the coda—the worst mistake. The smoke filled her lungs, leaving her gasping and choking. She cut off her aria with a quick bow, eyes streaming as she coughed her way offstage.
And it was wrong of Selene to feel the elation at Cecile’s failure, selfish and unkind. But it was the truest emotion: petty and ugly and honest. Selene needed her fellows to be mediocre so she could have the chance to show the world her greatness.
Carefully, Madame shuffled her deck. She held the card up to the light.
Selene felt a bubble of rage rise up inside of her. It was a little girl dressing up in her mother’s costumes and ballet slippers. If the card had been a knife, it would have hurt Gigi less. Judging by Madame’s gaze, Selene knew what she expected. It was hard to imagine a mother being so cruel to her own daughter.
“Show her,” Selene said.
Benson took Gigi’s hand and kissed it. “Be everything I know you can be.”
Gigi took first position in the center of the stage. She was up on relevé, arms extended. Her mouth moved almost imperceptibly. Her voice was barely audible above the orchestra, but Selene knew what to listen for. If Gigi had been anyone else, she would have gone home years ago. But she—like Selene—was relentless. And she had found a way.
Selene could see the notes on the page—written in her own hand—as Gigi moved through the pas de quatre with three versions of herself. Turning pirouettes before moving in step. So perfect, it was hard to tell who was Gigi and who was imitation. Gigi started a series of fouettés. The imitations spun with her, moving closer and closer until theywereher. Toes pointed, ballet slippers a perfect extension of Gigi’s long, dark legs. The magic moved into the clarinet. Gigi chasséd across the stage, grace and power and beauty.
Selene held her breath, ready for this next part. She didn’t watch the stage—already knowing the way Gigi would spread her wings and fly. Instead, she watched the audience—especially Madame Giroux—for the collective intake of breath, eyes dazzled with delight. It was nothing they’d ever seen before. A complete reimagining of how music and magic could intersect.
Magic asmore.
The wings fluttered on Gigi’s descent. Gigi had done it. She’d pulled off a flawless routine. Madame Giroux’s face rippled with horror before she settled into dubious approval. She brought her hands together in the same polite applause she’d offered every other student. But there was something behind her eyes. Selene wanted to believe that it was pride and love for her daughter. What else could it be?
Chapter 13
“I’m having cake tonight.” Gigi practically leapt through the threshold.
Mikael and Hugo had followed Gigi’s audition. Mikael’s had been passable—he’d darkened the auditorium with illusion and grown forests, delighting the senses with scent and sound—but it was nothing compared to Gigi’s wings. Hugo’s nerves had gotten the better of him and he’d brought in a wind so powerful that it whipped the curtains and nearly knocked him into the pit. Madame had ended the auditions after that. Truthfully, she should have ended after Gigi. Anything following that triumph would appear as failure.
Which was why Selene had not burst onto the stage and taken her audition back. This was Gigi’s moment. Besides, Selene needed more time to consider the aria. It felt dull to use the tempest aria again, but perhaps that was the best choice. She could show exactly what she intended to do and get it right.
Selene offered a genuine smile. She was happy for Gigi, despite the way her stomach ached and her fingers curled. This was the razor’s edge between being a good friend and a good competitor.
“Please, it’s not like she’ll win. She barely sings.” Priya was holding court around the corner.
“And you barely do magic,” Selene snapped. “How does your garden grow?”
