Page 36

Silence Lies

T he flickering candlelight created dancing shadows over the ancient texts scattered throughout Cordelia’s secret chamber. The air was heavy with the musty aroma of old parchment and ink, intertwined with a subtle, almost electric hint of magic that seemed to cling to the hidden room.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, a worn manuscript resting in my lap.

My focus wavered between the fragile pages and the man who had been occupying my thoughts every night for the last month.

I couldn't decide whether to lose myself in the words before me or wrestle with the emotions he stirred within me.

Lydia bent over a sprawling map, her finger delicately tracing the intricate lines as she studied every curve and detail.

Bethany, perched on a low stool, thumbed through an aging tome, muttering to herself as she absorbed the dense text.

Across from me, Leander exhaled sharply, tossing a book aside with a dull thud.

“If we’re going to find anything useful on the Umbra Gate, it’s definitely not in this one,” Leander muttered, rubbing at his temples. “Half of it reads like a conspiracy theory scrawled by a drunk historian.”

“Still better than nothing,” Bethany murmured, eyes skimming the brittle pages. “Cordelia wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of hiding these if they didn’t matter.”

Her voice barely registered. My thoughts had drifted elsewhere—back to the arena, to the duel, to the way Samael moved with such deadly, calculated grace. My fingers curled tighter around the spine of the book in my lap.

“Samael and his little court,” Lydia mused, her tone light but probing—as if she’d plucked the thought straight from my mind. “They do make an interesting group.”

“Interesting?” Leander snorted. “Try insufferable. Edric treats everything like a game, Julian just parrots whoever’s loudest, and Vivienne—” he smirked, “Vivienne’s one dramatic sigh away from chaining herself to Samael’s desk.”

Bethany gave a noncommittal hum, flipping to the next page. “I heard she threw an actual tantrum in Magical Combat this morning. You’d think Coldwell had cursed her by making Samael duel someone else.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

My thoughts spiraled back to the illusions he’d cast—how fluid, how real they had felt. Even I’d struggled to tell where truth ended and trick began. His control was… undeniable.

And so was the way it pulled at me, no matter how much I wanted to ignore it.

“They’re powerful,” I said at last, keeping my voice even. “And they know it.”

Lydia looked up from the map, her amber eyes catching the candlelight. “You almost sound impressed.”

I held her gaze. “Acknowledging skill isn’t the same as admiration.”

Leander snorted. “Try explaining that to Vivienne.”

A beat of silence followed—broken only by the rustle of parchment and the steady hiss of candle flame. Still, the weight of it lingered between us.

This rivalry… it wasn’t just academic anymore. The tension between us and them pulsed with something deeper—like a current just beneath the surface. Unspoken. Electric.

And far more dangerous than anyone wanted to admit.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only just beginning.

The silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring, until Lydia suddenly straightened, her amber eyes widening behind her glasses.

“Wait—look at this.”

Lydia slid the map toward the center of our circle, her finger tapping near the edge of a faded section with barely contained urgency. “There’s a notation here I didn’t catch before. It’s faint—almost invisible—but there’s definitely something written in the margin.”

I leaned forward, the manuscript forgotten in my lap. Candlelight danced across the aged parchment as I squinted at the script—so fine it might’ve vanished altogether if not for the sharpness of Lydia’s eye.

The handwriting was delicate, almost intentional in its obscurity. As if the author had meant to hide their words… to keep them buried for all but the most determined.

Or the most desperate.

‘Not locked, nor sealed, yet seldom revealed,

A doorway waits in a room unseen.

To find the path, let silence fall—

Speak a word, and all’s in vain.’

“It’s a riddle,” I breathed, tracing the faded ink with the pad of my finger. The parchment felt warm beneath my touch, as if it had been waiting— listening.

A low vibration stirred under my skin. Not quite sound, not quite magic. Just presence.

Bethany pushed her tome aside and crawled closer, her brows drawing together as she leaned in.

“‘Not locked, nor sealed’…” she murmured. “A doorway that doesn’t look like a doorway, maybe?”

“Or one hidden in plain sight,” Leander offered, the earlier irritation in his voice replaced by growing curiosity. “But what’s this part—‘Speak a word, and all’s in vain’?”

He glanced around the circle.

“Sounds like we need to stay quiet to even see it.”

Then—

A whisper.

Soft, silvery, and unmistakably near.

Right at my ear.

Only for me.

A laugh—faint, almost delicate.

But it curved around my spine like smoke.

“The clever ones always hide their treasures in silence, don't they, Elvana?” Raven's Echo murmured, its voice curling through my consciousness like smoke. “Some doors prefer the language of stillness.”

I suppressed a shiver, gripping the amulet at the base of my neck.

“I think it’s referring to a room where sound disrupts the magic,” Bethany said, piecing it together aloud. “Somewhere in the academy where speaking out loud would… what? Collapse the entrance? Trigger a ward?”

Lydia tapped a finger to her chin, deep in thought.

“The eastern wing of the library has those sound-dampening enchantments,” she offered. “Professor Crowe once said they predate even the founding of Drakestone.”

Bethany’s eyes lit up. “The alcove behind the astronomy section—the one with the mosaic floor? The tiles shift depending on the angle of light.”

Leander straightened, eyes wide with recognition. “I’ve seen that. I thought it was just an optical illusion.”

A breath escaped my lips—half relief, half wonder.

“The library,” I said, “is definitely the place to search for silence.”

A chill curled up my spine, not unwelcome. For the first time in days, it felt like we weren’t chasing shadows—we were following a thread.

“We should go tonight,” I added, the decision crystallizing the moment the words left my mouth. “After curfew, when most students are asleep.”

Leander shifted uneasily. “Last time we went to the Blackbloom that late, Norwood and his shadow were already snooping around. If they catch us—”

“They won’t,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

Samael’s smirk flashed in my mind, unwanted and vivid.

“Besides,” I added, voice steadier, “I’d rather deal with them than whatever took Melanie. Or Liam.”

I began gathering the scattered papers, the fire in my chest cutting clean through my earlier hesitation.

“Meet me at the old clocktower. Midnight. Bring only what you need—nothing that jingles, nothing that makes noise.”

Lydia and I eased out of the Sapphire stairwell of our dormitory, our steps barely audible against the velvety silence of eager anticipation.

The corridor beyond was draped in the quiet of midnight, with the faint glow of distant lamps casting weak, golden halos that shimmered across the cold stone floor.

We picked up our pace, the rhythm of our hearts matching the excitement that tingled in the air.

As we swung the heavy door open to the courtyard, the crisp night air brushed our cheeks, and the moonlight spilled generously over the pristine blanket of snow, making it glisten like a sea of tiny diamonds.

At the center of the courtyard, the old clock tower loomed in stately silence—a timeless statue against the star-flecked sky. Leander and Bethany were already waiting there, their faces half-hidden in shadow, the glow of the tower’s faint light casting long, mysterious shapes on the cobblestones.

As we approached, Bethany offered a quick, conspiratorial nod, her eyes shining with excitement and a hint of defiance.

Leander’s gaze flickered nervously to the darkened paths that wove around the academy, as if recalling their last perilous incursion.

Yet tonight, there was a steely determination in his posture, a silent vow that nothing would bar our course.

Lydia leaned in, her breath warm against the chill night air. “We need to be swift. Silent. ” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “One sound out of place, and it’s over.”

I nodded, the weight of the Raven’s Echo pressing against my skin like a heartbeat I couldn’t ignore. A constant reminder of everything we carried—and everything we might lose.

“We go straight to the eastern wing,” I said, forcing steadiness into my tone despite the tight flutter in my chest. “The mosaic alcove in Astronomy. It’s our only lead.”

In that moment, the old clock tower chimed softly, its deep, resonant note merging with the cool night air.

We exchanged one last look—each of us aware of the stakes, of the dangers that lurked beyond the well-trodden paths of the academy.

Then, as if in unison, we moved as one unit into the shadowed labyrinth of stone and silence, leaving behind the familiar comfort of our dormitory for the promise of answers hidden in the quiet corridors of the library.

The massive doors of the Blackbloom Library yielded to our gentle push, their ancient hinges mercifully silent.

We slipped inside like shadows, breathing in the familiar perfume of aged leather bindings, preserved parchment, and the faint, metallic tang of ink that had marked these tomes for centuries.

Moonlight filtered through the tall, arched windows, casting elongated silver patterns across the marble floor and illuminating dust motes that danced in the still air like miniature constellations.

“Remember,” I whispered, my voice barely audible even to my own ears, “once we near the eastern corridor we must be absolutely silent.”