Page 147 of The Alchemists

More than anything, Lily wanted Seb to wake up. More than anything, she dreaded it, because then she’d have to tell him, recount the facts yet again. Over and over, she practiced in her head, trying to decide what she could spare him.

The facts were this:

After watching Seb hightail it to the library, Gemma followed the bad feeling in her own stomach to campus security. There, she alerted them to a possible fight before running after Sebastian herself.

After Conrad’s beam had gone sideways, killing Braithwhite—or at least hurling him to his death in front of the crowd of spectators that had gathered as Ætheric attacks lit up the library tower and broke windows—Gemma had used her powerful Fraudulent Counsel⁠* to subdue Hawleyhurst and freeze him in place until Chant arrived.

After his magic had thrown out a shield to protect them, Seb had fallen unconscious, and Lily—she didn’t remember this part—had gone slightly insane, screaming for him to wake up. She would not relay this information.

After Chant arrived, sliding neatly down the roof, he’d replaced Gemma’s illegal use of Fraudulent Counsel with his own legitimate one⁠*. He’d crouched behind Lily, forcing her to let go of Sebastian, and rocked her tightly against his chest while her forehead gash bled freely onto his tuxedo shirt, until help arrived.

Lily had been sedated for the rest of it. She had not seen the sack of Braithwhite’s body, crushed upon the stairs. She had not seen Conrad Hawleyhurst dragged away screaming by security.

She had been awake, listening numbly, as Chant, flanked by Seb’s therapist, told her that Hawleyhurst was having his magic stripped and his name stricken from the Covenant for crimes against the community before being handed over to the authorities.

When Dr. Metcalf had asked her, trying to make eye contact that Lily ignored, if there was anything Lily had wanted to add, she had said only, voice small, “Please don’t let them curse him.”

“Is now a good time, Lily?” Dean Meade, in all her steely glory, stood in the doorway.

Lily glanced at Seb. His eyes were soft and dull, meaning that the latest drugs and spells were working. This was as good as it was getting. In response, she swept up the game of Tarot that neither of them had touched and moved the muffins her Gran had brought. Normally mundane individuals weren’t allowed in any actively magical areas of Windermere, but the dean had made an exception for Gran, since Lily’s mother was permanently warded from campus.

This was the second time Dean Meade had stopped by. The first time, Lily had sent her away, saying that she didn’t want to discuss the Elumnara until Sebastian was awake. She didn’t want to discuss it ever. She wanted to hurl the Chalice, still stained rusty with her blood—it wouldn’t come out, no matter how hard she scrubbed—into the Hudson.

She and Seb had barely talked since he’d woken up days ago. Part of their not-talking was the pain. The trade-off for faster healing was that the process was excruciating. He’d woken up crying, mewling, really—a hoarse sound choked with tears—and it had been awful. As she, Chant, and Dr. Metcalf had explained what had happened and the subsequent fallout, she’d seen the shock settle on his face. Then he’d retreated into himself.

Dr. Metcalf visited him twice a day. It didn’t seem like much talking happened. There were so many things Lily wanted to ask him, so many things she wanted to say, but she kept her mouth closed and held his hand when he let her.

Dean Meade entered, followed by Chant. He looked exhausted. They pulled up chairs and sat, looking at Lily, in case she wanted to say anything. Seb looked straight ahead, his eyes unfocused.

“How are you both feeling?” Dean Meade asked.

“Fine,” she said. Seb said nothing.

Dean Meade swallowed. “I want to extend my apologies once more that you were subject to such violence in pursuit of the Elumnara. After the events of this year, the trustees have decided that the tradition will not continue.” Lily was both surprised and not surprised at all. “If there’s anything we can do to make the remainder of your school year easier, we’re at your service.”

Lily almost laughed. She and Seb had already been exempted from deadlines on all schoolwork. The last quarter of their year was a joke.

When neither of them responded, Dean Meade pressed on. “Lily, it’s time I offer you my official congratulations as the winner of the three hundredth Elumnara. Beyond the prestige, there are many legal matters to attend to regarding confirming and cementing your status as Cornelius Windermere’s heir.”

Lily blinked. “Sorry?”

Seb’s blank face momentarily became slightly less blank.

Dean Meade looked confused and glanced at Chant as she spoke, “Was there not⁠—”

Chant cut in. “Lily, was there anything with the Chalice when you found it?”

In the intervening days between the darkness in the catacombs and everything that had happened after, Lily had completely forgotten that she’d taken two things from the marble sarcophagus.

“I’ll be right back.”

Chant made to help her as she pushed herself to her feet and limped out of the room, returning with the adventuring backpack. Its nylon was stained brown with blood, and the fabric crunched horribly as Lily unzipped it and fished out the wooden box. She tipped its contents gently onto the bed next to Seb’s legs, and even he couldn’t feign disinterest.

Multiple items disgorged themselves: several sheaves of folded paper bound with ribbon, a faded journal, a silver locket with a bit of hair poking out, and a small scroll tube. She opened the tube, and a rolled piece of parchment, sealed in wax bearing Windermere’s crest, fell out.

She looked at the wax seal and then at Chant. He accepted it when she offered and ran his hand over the seal. It dislodged itself from the parchment without blemishing either. Her hands shook as she accepted it, rolling it open so Seb could also see Windermere’s awful but now familiar cursive.

They read it together, Lily in shock, and Seb out of the corner of his eye: