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Story: Ashes to Ashes

“Has anyone attempted it recently?” another student asks.

“Not recently, no. Though there are persistent rumors of trials being planned.” Finnian closes the ancient tome with deliberate care. “Academic interest, of course, rather than practical application.”

“Of course,” Miss Silverleaf agrees, though her eyes glitter with curiosity. “Though one wonders—if someone were foolish enough to attempt solo manifestation, would the guardians even know? Would they feel their treasures being called?”

“Another excellent question,” Finnian says, and his careful neutrality feels like barely contained panic. “The bonds between treasure and guardian are said to be... intimate. Painful to ignore when activated.”

My hands clench involuntarily as understanding crashes over me like arctic water. If someone tried to call the treasures during a public trial, the real guardians would know. Would feel it. Would have to choose between revealing themselves or watching the attempt fail catastrophically.

“How fascinating,” the Unseelie student murmurs. “A trial requiring four bonded souls, but no one knows who carries the treasures. It would be impossible to succeed.”

“Unless,” I say slowly, pieces clicking into place with horrible clarity, “the guardians are closer than anyone realizes.”

Finnian’s face goes carefully blank. “An intriguing theory, Miss Morgan.”

“That concludes today’s session,” Finnian announces with forced casualness. “Please review chapters twelve through fifteen before our next meeting. Miss Morgan, could you remain for a moment?”

The other students file out, murmuring among themselves about theoretical applications and historical precedents. I remain seated, mind racing through implications that feel increasingly personal.

When we’re alone, Finnian’s composure cracks completely.

“Ash,” he says urgently, “whatever you are thinking about trials and manifestation?—”

“You know something.” I study his face, reading guilt and fear in equal measure. “This was not theoretical instruction. This was preparation.”

“I cannot—” He stops, jaw clenching with obvious internal struggle. “There are things I wish to tell you, truths you need to understand about what approaches, but the walls themselves have ears now, and some knowledge becomes dangerous the moment it is spoken aloud.”

“But what, Finn? What’s happening that requires me to understand treasure bonding and magical backlash?”

His amber eyes hold mine with desperate intensity. “Promise me something. If you ever find yourself facing a choice between attempting something alone or waiting for help you are not sure exists—choose waiting.”

“That’s cryptic even for you.”

“Promise me, Ash. Some failures are survivable. Others...” He shakes his head grimly. “Others destroy everything you have become.”

Before I can respond, the classroom door opens with deliberate elegance. Lady Amarantha glides in wearing robes that shift between pearl and silver, and goosebumps rise along my arms despite the warm classroom.

“How educational,” she purrs, having clearly overheard our conversation. “Though I am afraid Miss Morgan’s academic pursuits must be temporarily suspended.”

“Lady Amarantha,” Finnian says carefully, rising from his chair with movements that seem deliberately controlled. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, I think you know perfectly well.” Her smile turns razor-sharp, revealing teeth too perfect to be natural. “The Trial of Power approaches, and as agreed, the candidate requires proper preparation in appropriate surroundings.”

The floor seems to tilt beneath my feet while my stomach lurches sideways. I’d hoped there might be more time, more chance to understand what I’m walking into. “In two days.”

“In two days, my dear. A formal test of your claimed royal abilities.” Amarantha’s voice carries false sweetness that makes my teeth ache. “The courts have decided that verification is... necessary.”

“I have not agreed to any trial,” I protest, but even as I say it, I’m remembering fragments from yesterday’s chaos. Agreements made while I was magically exhausted, political maneuvering I was too drained to fully process.

“Nevertheless, preparations must be made. The Seelie Court has arranged suitable accommodations to ensure you are properly rested and... focused for the proceedings.”

Finnian steps forward, amber eyes blazing with protective fury. “She is perfectly comfortable in her current quarters.”

“I am sure she is,” Amarantha agrees with poisonous politeness. “However, her safety requires more specialized attention. We have prepared chambers designed specifically for individuals carrying dangerous magical potential.”

“And if I refuse?” I ask, though I already know the answer from the six Seelie guards who file silently into the classroom.

“Oh, my dear child,” Amarantha laughs, the sound like breaking crystal. “You agreed to abide by inter-court protocols when you accepted Academy sanctuary. The trial is a formal court proceeding. Attendance is... mandatory.”

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