The powder catches the light strangely. Colors seem to shift like tiny trapped rainbows. There’s something familiar about that unique iridescence—similar to the powder from the crystals of the Drowned Mines used to ink Cups, but notquitethe same…Yet I can’t place where I’ve seen it before.
I bring it with me as I return to Arina’s room and settle in, taking tonight’s shift from Gregor, ready to spend the rest of my evening picking apart this mysterious powder.
I barely manage an hour of sleep before class. Yet, somehow, even in that short span of time, I dream of Kaelis. Of having gone to him each night since he asked. I dream of him, of his hands on me. Of his mouth, hot and sweet and full of tender words.
I love you,he whispers in my ear. I love you in this world, in the next. I love you until the stars burn out and history is nothing but faded ink on the pages of books that will never be read again.
His voice shifts, deepening. You are mine. You, Wheel of Fate, are the only thing that can turn my destiny around…
Come morning, the words are distant. They disappear with the first light, like dew off leaves. Pulling on my professorial clothes feels like donning a second skin. By day, I am Sophie Veillgar.
Clara returns at night. As the stars bloom, I fill pages upon pages with sketches of what Mother taught me—diving deep into my memories. Refining and perfecting.
But all my confidence the night before evaporates into nothingness as I stare at my sketches.
Wrong…Wrong…Wrong…
It’s still wrong.
What am I missing? What good will the ink be if I can’t even remember the design of the vessel?
The Worldkeepers think I’m useful for only these two reasons. I have sway with them only because of this. If I lose it, I can bid any benefit I might gain from them farewell alongside my hope of ever casting the World.
When I can no longer stand trying to remember the design Mother taught me, I switch to investigating the powders. The strange, glistening dust I’m picking up from the powdered ink is the same for every color. Oddly familiar, but I can’t place it.
I agonize for hours on end.
I push through the morning lessons, time and again.
The Selection Soiree looms on the horizon. I do my best to help prepare the students for All Coins Day so they can secure the mostadvantageous placements possible—even though I know, deep down, that some of them will inevitably end up at the least favorable clans. They know it, too. And as the days pass, they prepare even harder for what’s to come, the weight becoming nearly oppressive.
As a result of my general warmth, passion for their preparation, and open-door policy after class, no one finds it odd when Sorza becomes a regular fixture in the afternoons. To everyone else, we’re just a teacher and an eager student. But behind the closed classroom door, we’re simply friends and peers again.
Sorza tells me of the current dynamics of the Majors—of the space left behind by Myrion and Elorin. I tell her of meeting Elorin in Fate Hearth and of the Majors’ collective dislike of Naethor there. It seems to reassure her some.
“What about Thal?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Still working on it,” she repeats her common refrain.
I try to alternate between nights in my room and nights with Arina. The other professors have learned I keep odd hours, so they don’t question my comings and goings. They make remarks at breakfast at first—sometimes to my face and sometimes not. But eventually, when nothing scandalous arises from it, they grow bored of commenting onit.
I continue to research and scour my memories of what Mother taught me. While there are no major breakthroughs, I seem to be making slow progress. Until one night when Gregor emerges from Arina’s room the moment I enter her chambers.
“What is it?” I ask, noting the tension in his shoulders.
“She’s acting different.”
My heart skips. “Different how?”
“Restless. Twitchy.” Gregor’s eyes dart from me to inside the room. “She’s been pacing for the last two hours. I can’t get her to stop, and I’ve tried everything I could think of…” He trails off and shakes hishead, staring into a corner for a moment with an expression of utter despair. I know how hard it is for him to want to help and then not be able to. Gregor returns his attention to me. “She won’t sit, she won’t eat, she doesn’t say anything.”
I set down the fresh batch of books I brought and push past him into her room. Arina is just as he said, pacing, movements sharp and agitated. Her eyes dart around the room. Her hands twitch at her sides. No part of her settles in any one position for very long.
“Arina?” I approach slowly, hands outstretched, bracing and filled with futile hope.
Chapter 36
“It’s me, Clara, your sister. Remember? I look different now. But it’s me.”
