Page 54

Leander’s hesitation finally cracked. His brow furrowed, lips tugging into a crooked smile. “Alright. We learn the ward together. Then we find that room. Silent as ghosts.”

“Maximort would be so proud,” Bethany said with a grin. “Rule-breaking and advanced enchantments. Everything he loves.”

“Coldwell always says magical combat reveals character,” I added, dryly. “Apparently, it also breeds rebels.”

Lydia let out a quiet snort. “Let’s hope it doesn’t breed detention.”

The mood in the chamber lightened tangibly, the earlier despair melting into resolve. Above us, the candlelight swayed, casting dancing bands of light and shadow across Cordelia’s portrait. For a heartbeat, I imagined the painted woman’s lips curve in approval.

Lydia was already clearing a space on the floor, pushing books aside to give us room to draw the ward.

"We should do a quick trial run now," she suggested, ever pragmatic.

"Better to find out here if we can manage it, rather than out there under pressure."

She handed each of us a small stub of chalky rune-stone. Bethany agreed to sit back and observe, her green eyes glinting with excitement.

We scooted back to form a rough circle and began sketching the Silencing sigil on the floor between us, copying the pattern we had memorized in class.

I drew one curling line, then another, watching as our four separate portions connected into one continuous design. The chalk squeaked faintly against the stone, the sound sharp in the otherwise still chamber.

I held my breath.

All at once, the sounds of the room dimmed—first the distant drip of water, then the crackle of the lamp flame—until all I could hear was a gentle, high-pitched whine of utter silence pressing in.

Bethany’s lips parted in surprise. She clapped her hands experimentally, and I saw the motion—but heard nothing at all. We shared a wide-eyed look. It was eerie, unsettling not to hear the familiar sound, but it worked.

Leander was grinning broadly, giving us a thumbs-up.

In the absolute quiet, our elated breaths and rapid heartbeats seemed impossibly loud inside our own bodies.

A dizzying sensation swept over me—the sense that we had peeled away the world’s noise, leaving only ourselves floating inside a fragile bubble of magic.

After a few more seconds, the ward’s energy ebbed and the regular sounds of the room rushed back in: the faint drip, the lamp’s steady crackle, the soft shuffle of our movements.

The four of us broke into quiet giggles, like children who had pulled off a splendid prank.

The success was a balm on our ragged nerves.

"We’ve got this," I said, my voice brimming with a confidence I hadn’t felt all day. I hadn’t realized just how much doubt and tension I was carrying—about our investigation, about myself—until this small victory lifted it slightly.

Leander leaned forward, placing his hand palm-up in the center of our little circle.

"So, tomorrow night?" he said, arching an eyebrow. "We meet in the library after lights-out. We cast the ward, and we find that doorway. Once and for all."

Lydia placed her hand atop his, her delicate fingers contrasting with his ink-stained ones.

"Tomorrow night," she agreed, determination shining in her eyes.

Bethany’s hand joined, a grin curving her lips. "Time to outfox a castle full of nosy professors and vengeful spirits. I’m in."

They all looked to me. I hesitated only a second, thinking of all that could go wrong—and all that could go right. Then I added my hand to the pile, feeling the warmth of my friends’ skin and the strength in this small collective gesture.

"Tomorrow night," I echoed.

In that single moment, bound by our overlapping hands and our shared resolve, I felt the last vestiges of doubt fade.

This was my true victory today—more than any duel in class.

This moment of loyalty, of trust, of choosing to face the unknown together.

We released our hands and began tidying up the evidence of our practice—smudging out the chalk ward and re-stacking the books into haphazard towers.

It was getting late, and we would need to slip back into our dormitories without raising suspicion.

As Bethany quietly snuffed the cluster of candles and Leander capped the lamp, I took one last look around the secret chamber.

The walls were lined with Cordelia’s scribbled notes and maps pinned in place; our breath had stirred the dust into a dreamy haze; the echoes of our hopes seemed to linger in the air, clinging like the scent of ancient ink and candle smoke.

As we crept down the corridor together, cloaked in shadows and the comforting company of each other, I reflected on the strange duality of this day.

I had faced an opponent under a spotlight of roaring magic and managed to prevail, and now, with that same determination, I was preparing to step into silence to seek answers in the dark.

My body was bone-tired, and the dull ache of blossoming bruises reminded me of every strike Vivienne had landed—but my mind sparked with resolve.

We stepped out into the courtyard, and winter met us like an old secret.

The wintry night air stung our cheeks, sharp and clean, carrying the faint scent of frost and pine.

Snow blanketed the ground in a smooth, unbroken sheet, muffling our footsteps as we moved.

Our boots left crisp prints across the cobblestones, the only sign of life in the silver hush of the night.

Moonlight glinted off the snow's surface, casting a quiet brilliance that turned the courtyard into a frozen dreamscape.

The stars above shimmered with cold clarity, distant and watchful.

As we neared the edge of the courtyard, the group began to disperse, each of us peeling away in silence, heading toward the sanctuary of our dorms.

Our shared mission lay ahead, but for now, rest called us back into the warmth of our separate spaces.

Lydia and I continued together, our steps synchronized, the snow crunching softly beneath us as we approached Sapphire House.

Once we reached the top of the spiral staircase, Lydia paused. Her gloved hand found mine in a quiet moment of solidarity.

"Get some rest, Elle," she whispered. "Tomorrow, we make our own silence."

Her smile was small, but it held a fire of certainty, a flicker of what’s to come.

I nodded, clutching my satchel a little tighter.

We exchanged a look that said everything words couldn’t—trust, determination, hope—and then parted ways.

When I reached my door, I eased it open and slipped inside, the warmth of my room wrapping around me like a soft cloak.

The door closed gently behind me, muting the world outside.

I peeled off my boots, brushing snow from my fleece stockings, and glanced once out the window.

The Blackbloom Library below glistened in the moonlight, a fortress of secrets waiting to be unlocked.

I smiled faintly.

Tomorrow held promise, and tonight—for the first time in days—I felt at peace.

Tomorrow, we would go to Mistholm.

The thought curled in my mind like the rising steam from a kettle: an adventure away from the Academy, a breath of freedom, a thousand glittering shops waiting to be explored.

The floor was cold against my feet as I crossed the room.

I gathered a towel, a fresh set of sleep clothes, and slipped into the small bathroom tucked into the corner of my dorm.

The brass fixtures groaned softly as I turned the knobs, hot water sputtering to life before it steadied into a comforting stream.

I stepped beneath it, and the world narrowed to warmth, water, and breath.

The heat seeped into my bones, chasing out the last traces of chill that had settled in my joints.

I tilted my head back, eyes closing as the spray beat gently against my skin.

My muscles ached from the duel—sore and stretched—but the water eased the tension, softened the bruises.

The scent of lavender filled the air as I lathered soap over my shoulders, the familiar floral notes grounding me, wrapping around me like memory.

Tomorrow, Mistholm.

And only two days until the Winter Solstice.

I pressed my palms to the tiled wall, letting the water run over them.

There was a weight in the days ahead, a sense that things were shifting beneath the surface—like the last crack in the ice before it breaks.

When I finally stepped out, steam clouded the mirror and rolled across the walls like fog.

I dried off slowly, methodically, my limbs loose and heavy with warmth.

The comfort of my sleep clothes—soft, silky fabric in pale slate blue—brushed over my skin like a whisper.

I pulled my hair into a loose braid and padded back into the room, feeling the slight chill in the air prick against the freshly warmed skin of my shoulders.

The room was still, the candle on my nightstand flickering gently.

I crossed toward my bed, ready to sink into rest—

Knock knock.

I froze.

The knock was soft, careful.

Not urgent, but purposeful.

I glanced at the clock on the wall—late.

Too late for idle visits.

Cautiously, I moved toward the door, the floor cold under my bare feet.

I hesitated only a heartbeat before unlocking it and easing it open.

Samael stood on the other side.

Snow clung to his coat, scattered along his shoulders and in the tousled black of his hair.

His eyes—dark and unreadable—met mine instantly, searching.

Something in his expression faltered, just for a moment, like a wall he normally kept so well-fortified had cracked in the cold.

His gaze drifted over me—barefoot, bathed in candlelight, the soft fabric of my camisole tracing the curve of my body.

For a long breath, neither of us spoke.

Then he said, voice low and quiet enough to get lost in the stillness of the corridor,

"Can I come in?"