Corvin is the first friend I’ve had who is happy to serve our country from the bottom, doing the hard work inside the mines that produce the crystals we harness our magic from and turn into weapons. But he’s also myonlyfriend, so while I don’t feel the same way as him, I decide to drop the subject and support his decision.
As we finish our tea, I can tell Corvin’s energy is fading, so I pack up, dreading the walk home already. Will my father be back? Will he be in a foul mood? Will I be able to get upstairs to my room before he spots me?
Corvin offers to come with me, as he doesn’t like me walking through the city alone, especially when the sun is setting. But he sways on his feet as he’s reaching for his winter coat, and I practically have to force him to sit the hell down. I reassure him that I’ll be fine and go so far as presenting the four-inch knife that I keep in my satchel, just in case.
‘You go straight home, stick to the main streets and donottalk to anyone,’ he calls out to me as I’m closing his front door.
‘Yes, Mother!’ I call back. I’ve made the trip a hundred times without running into trouble. And if I did, my brother has taught me well enough how to defend myself.
The walk is long and cold but uneventful. By the time I make it home, my nose is running from the wind, and I think if I tried to smile, my lips would bleed. I scuff my snow-covered boots on the mat outside the front door, looking over my shoulder to find the carriage hidden among the shadows of the trees on the other side of the house.
I brace myself, exhaling heavily and watching my breath cloud in front of my face before walking inside. The second I do, I can tell something is wrong. A charged energy fills the entryway, licking at my skin and making me shiver. I take several cautious steps deeper into the house, and that’s when I hear it.
Crying.
No, not just crying. This is a keening wail like an animal that’s been hurt.
My feet carry me forward, down the corridor toward the pained cry.
‘Mom?’ I shout, my heart racing in my chest as I start to run.
I skid to a stop when I find her on the floor of our living room. Her bare feet poke out of her beige skirt as she lays almost lifeless in my father’s arms. He’s still wearing his shoes and formal jacket.
‘Mom?’ My voice comes out hushed and wary, cracking upon seeing her eyes red and face streaked with tears.
She isn’t the one who answers me, though. My father speaks and the words that fall from his mouth have my legs buckling beneath me.
‘Your brother is dead.’
TWO
Four Months Later
I’ve heard many stories about Valmora Academy. My parents told me a few if I caught them in a talkative mood, but most came from my brother during the two years he studied there. Each time he came home for a visit, I’d bombard him with questions, pelting him for as much information as possible, then I’d close my eyes at night and dream of the day I could experience it myself.
Finally, that time has come. But the stories I once loved are now tainted and twisted into something that tastes sour.
I stand, trance-like, in my pale grey ceremonial robes looking up – and up – at the colossal structure before me. The glow of the full moon casts silver light on the magnificent building, illuminating pockets of finer details. The academy is made entirely out of pale limestone, weathered from the winds of the ocean below the cliffs to the west. Four towering spires reach toward the moon like talons; nestled in between them is the domed rooftop of the Grand Hall.
While I want to feel detached from it all – from the place that took my brother from me – I cannot ignore the sensation that I am in the midst of something so much bigger than I ever could have dreamed of. As if some ancient power resides within the stone walls, calling to whatever magic lays dormant inside of me.
I force my wide-eyed gaze into a glare and scowl up at the building. The hood concealing most of my face threatens to slip off my head as I crane my neck, squinting to see the very top of the Grand Hall’s domed roof, searching for the opening in the ceiling my brother once told me about. The moon has almost made its way to its apex, right above the opening, informing me that I need to get inside – the ceremony will begin soon.
My feet feel heavy, threatening to keep me rooted to the spot.
I lower my head and tug my hood back into place, over hair almost as pale as the moon above me. A small group of first years make their way past me; chattering quietly as they walk the cobbled path to the front entrance. The shortest of the group, a girl with curly dark hair and a deep complexion, pauses, letting the rest of them carry on without her before she turns to glance over her shoulder, as if I called her name. Her eyes find mine.
Time seems to stand still as I hold my breath.
Just turn around and keep walking, I silently plead. I’ve come this far without being recognised. I’d hoped to at least make itintothe building before my identity was revealed, before students begin to curse my name like they do my brother’s.
Murderer. Traitor. Filth.
I heard it all as I walked among them earlier, as students ascended the steep winding path after saying farewell to their families at the drop-off point at the gates to the mountain. My head was down with the hood covering my face, but my ears pricked at the mention ofLukas Nocthare. The second-year Malachite student that killed four others in an attempt at dark magic. Gossip like that doesn’t wash away after a handful months. Much to my dismay.
I’d left my father behind without a second glance. I’m positive he only accompanied me to the gates in our carriage so he could reprimand me the entire journey. Remind me of how hard he fought to secure me a spot within the academy. Ensure that I knew I wouldn’t have been accepted withouthimand the gold he paid, since Lukas hadruined our family’s reputation. I’d stared out the small window of the carriage, wishing I could open the door and roll out of it as his harsh words landed like physical blows.
This is your final chance to prove yourself, Arianell. After everything your mother and I have endured these past months, don’t screw this up.
