Page 65

Only in Silence

T he clocktower chimed midnight.

Its low, sonorous peal echoed across the Academy grounds, deep and resonant, like the heartbeat of something ancient stirring in its sleep. From within the high walls of the Divination Tower, the sound felt distant—muffled by stone and time—but unmistakable.

The Winter Solstice Ball would end in an hour.

Yet neither of us moved right away.

I sat curled in Samael’s arms, my head resting against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. There was no need for words, no rush to break the spell that still clung to us like soft snowfall. Though eventually, reality tapped gently at the edges of our shared stillness.

He shifted first, his lips brushing my temple. “We should go,” he murmured.

I nodded.

Reluctantly, I eased myself from his lap and smoothed the fabric of my gown.

Samael bent to retrieve the dark stiletto heels I’d kicked off earlier—now dangling from his fingers like prized spoils of a stolen night.

The sight of him holding them, shirt still half-unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and hair tousled by my hands, sent a flutter of warmth through my chest.

We stepped out of the tower and into the corridor below, the quiet wrapping around us like a second skin.

No words passed between us as we walked.

His fingers laced with mine, but we didn’t speak—not because there was nothing to say, but because we were still wrapped in the cocoon of what had happened. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was golden. Whole.

The corridor was long and dimly lit, the stone walls bathed in soft moonlight from narrow windows. Our footsteps muffled against the ancient rugs that lined the floor, and the hush of the tower seemed to breathe around us, settling into the spaces left by our stillness.

Samael walked just a step ahead of me, the heels swinging lightly from his grip, his posture relaxed. I watched him, memorizing the shape of his silhouette against the pale light, feeling the afterglow of our closeness thrum quietly beneath my skin.

And then—I saw it.

I stopped so abruptly that Samael took several more steps before realizing I wasn’t beside him anymore.

There, halfway down the wall to our left, the stones shimmered—faint, but there. A ripple in the air, like light bending in water.

The corridor.

The hidden corridor.

Exactly where I had seen it once before, the day Samael had found me alone outside the tower.

My breath caught in my throat.

For a moment, I didn’t dare speak. Didn’t dare move. I only stared at the place where stone blurred and reality wavered.

Then, softly—so soft I thought I might’ve imagined it—the Raven’s Echo stirred.

A whisper coiled through my thoughts like a breeze through dry leaves, “Only in silence will the unseen reveal itself.”

The words slithered across my mind, not cruel this time—but coaxing. Knowing.

My chest tightened.

I was alone that day, I thought. Completely alone. Until Samael spoke, and then it vanished.

I didn’t speak the realization aloud. I didn’t look at him. Something told me I couldn’t—not yet. The corridor had responded to something—not just silence, but complete silence. Not merely the absence of noise, but the absence of presence. Of disruption.

Of being seen.

The corridor had revealed itself when I had been truly, undeniably alone.

Only now—now it flickered again in the periphery of my vision—subtle, like heat rippling off stone. The wall ahead wavered, and the edges of a narrow corridor, hidden between seams of ancient stone, revealed themselves in a shimmer of distortion. A secret path, waiting.

I stopped; breath caught in my throat.

Beside me, Samael followed my gaze and saw it too.

“What the—” he began, stepping forward. “Is that—?”

Yet the moment the sound of his voice touched the air, the shimmer collapsed.

Like mist disturbed by wind, the corridor vanished. Folded back into the wall. Gone.

I didn’t move. I didn’t flinch. I simply watched the silence reclaim it.

Samael turned to me; brows furrowed in confusion. “Did you see that?”

I nodded once. “I did.”

“What was it?”

“Something I’ve seen before,” I said quietly. Then I looked at him— really looked. He was watching me with caution and curiosity, waiting for an answer I didn’t fully have, but what struck me most wasn’t the corridor’s disappearance.

It was that he didn’t press. He didn’t doubt me.

He’d seen it too.

When it vanished, he didn’t try to explain it away or question my judgment.

That told me more than any answer he could’ve given.

I took a slow breath, then reached for his hand. He laced his fingers through mine without hesitation.

“It only appears in silence,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Total silence. That’s why it vanished when you spoke. It’s not your fault. I didn’t know how to say it until now.”

Samael blinked, clearly turning the thought over in his mind. Then nodded, slowly.

“It’s like a warded veil,” he murmured. “Clever enchantment.”

I looked back at the empty stretch of stone. The Raven’s Echo had been right. Silence was the key. Now I knew. And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I was unraveling in the dark.

I felt steady.

And strangely, for the first time… I felt like I wasn’t walking this path alone.

“We should go back,” I said, more firmly now. “I need to tell the others, before the night is over.”

Samael glanced at me, searching my face. “You’re sure?”

I nodded. “I think we’re getting close. This corridor—it’s part of the trail Cordelia left behind.

I can feel it.” I glanced down the hall where Cordelia’s portrait hung encased on the wall.

It was right here all along, we were so close.

Professor Crowe was right, he knew of its existence, he knew I could find it again.

He paused for a moment, then asked, “What about Edric? Julian? Do you trust them?”

The question lingered between us, heavier than I expected.

Julian—always so calm, so watchful. And Edric—measured and quiet, every word he spoke weighed before it left his mouth. They were mystery and precision, wrapped in civility and charm.

Still, they were also Samael’s closest friends.

I hesitated.

“I—I don’t know.”

Samael’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the flicker of thought behind his eyes.

“They’ve always had my back,” he said carefully, “but they’re not like me. Not with you.”

“Exactly,” I replied, the word carrying more weight than I intended.

I felt the uncertainty stretch between us like a bridge we both hesitated to cross.

“I don’t want to doubt them, Sam. They haven’t said or done anything explicitly wrong.

Any logical person would see they were trustworthy, but they orbit you Sam, and me?

” I shook my head. “They haven’t gone out of their way to be on my side. Not once.”

He said nothing. Just watched me, the flicker of candlelight catching the sharp lines of his face.

I drew a breath, steadying myself. “That night in the library—the things I overheard, the things you said with Edric. I’ve tried to push it aside, pretend it didn’t mean what I think it did.” My voice wavered. “Still, I remember every word.”

An eddy of fear twisted in my chest, that old echo of doubt rearing up again. “There’s something about Edric that frightens me, and I think—I think you know more about him than you are willing to tell me.”

Samael’s expression didn’t shift. Not at first. But behind his eyes, I saw it—that flicker of guilt. Of something unfinished.

“You weren’t supposed to hear us,” he said finally, voice low and steady, “but what you did hear, was taken out of context.”

I remembered the look in his eyes that night—the hand at my throat, the way his voice had turned sharp and dangerous, like a blade pressed flat against skin. It hadn’t been a misunderstanding. He was furious when he had found me.

Yet, I still didn’t understand what I’d heard—what it meant.

He took a step toward me, not threatening—just deliberate. “Because I wasn’t sure what role you were going to play in all of this. That’s the truth.”

I stiffened.

He didn’t stop. “You were this mystery suddenly standing between everything we thought we understood. The amulet. The artifacts. The prophecy. You came out of nowhere, Vale blood humming with potential, and every time I looked at you…” He shook his head.

“It was like staring down the beginning of something I couldn’t control—and I don’t like not having control. ”

That stung more than I thought it would.

“So, you plotted in the dark with Edric instead?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “We prepared. Not plotted.” He exhaled, the sound heavy with regret. “Though I see now how it must have sounded to you. You didn’t hear plans. You heard betrayal. And I didn’t do a damn thing to stop you from thinking that.”

I swallowed hard, the ache of it catching me off guard. “Because that’s what it felt like. That I was never meant to know what was happening. That you were only ever going to let me close enough to be useful.”

Samael’s hand reached for mine, slow and measured.

“I never wanted to use you, Elvana,” he said. “I wanted to protect you. Something else is hunting your family’s relics, and the amulet around your neck could lead them right to the Umbra gate if they get it.”

My breath caught.

The words settled like stones in my chest—heavy, cold, undeniable.

I instinctively reached for the amulet, fingers brushing the smooth curve of the metal beneath the fabric of my dress. It had been silent tonight. No whispers, no warnings, but it was still warm against my skin, pulsing faintly like a second heartbeat.

“The Umbra Gate,” I echoed, the name tasting like starlight and ash on my tongue.

A chill ran through me despite the warmth of his proximity.

The Umbra Gate—the legendary portal sealed by my ancestors, the Vale sisters.

Everyone knew the bones of the tale: a door between worlds that had once threatened to swallow Mystral whole.

Yet what most didn’t know—what we were only now beginning to piece together—was that it had never been destroyed.

Only hidden.

I swallowed hard and turned to Samael, my voice low but steady. “That corridor we saw—it’s hiding something. I think it’s another portal.”

He arched a brow, intrigued. “Like Cordelia’s chamber?”

I nodded. “Exactly like that.” The realization had been crawling beneath my skin ever since the moment it vanished.

“The architecture, the enchantments—it all fits. That passage isn't just concealed. It’s protected. Which means it’s guarding something important, and I think it's another one of Elsbeth’s thresholds. ”

His eyes darkened with recognition. “Another relic?”

“Possibly,” I said. “We’ve been tracing clues—pieces hidden in Cordelia’s notes, scattered through old texts, even buried in paintings.” My voice quickened with urgency. “Lydia, Bethany, and I—we’ve already found one. We know there are more.”

Samael’s expression turned thoughtful. “And you think the others are hidden like this—beneath wards, behind silence?”

“My ancestors didn’t leave a map, Elsbeth never wanted them to be found,” I said. “Cordelia was searching for clues, we found a riddle, hinting at the location of a relic. I think each portal protects a part of the whole—pieces of the power needed to either protect or unlock the Umbra Gate.”

I glanced toward the spot where the corridor had shimmered and faded.

“We’re not just looking for relics anymore. We’re following her footsteps, and that corridor—” I exhaled. “That was one of them. I’m sure of it.”

Samael’s gaze was penetrating as he took a step toward me.

“If I’m right,” I said finally, voice tightening, “there’s a relic behind that wall. Maybe more than one, and whoever is hunting them—they’re getting closer.”

“Then we don’t have time to waste,” he said. “The corridor will open again, and when it does, we’ll be ready. We’ll find the rest of your family’s clues. We’ll get to the Gate first—and make sure it stays sealed.” Samael’s hands found mine again. “We do it together.”

I nodded. “After the ball, I’ll tell Lydia and Bethany. We start preparing. Quietly.”

He glanced toward the faint glow of the ballroom doors, the music drifting faintly beyond them.

“And the others?” he asked. “Edric? Julian?”

I hesitated.

“Not yet,” I said. “We keep the circle small. The more we know, the more dangerous this becomes. I want to trust them—I do, but I don’t know if I can.”

“Then we ensure they’re never in a position to do damage,” his voice was like steel wrapped in silk.

I met his gaze. “We do this carefully, but we do this.”

I wasn’t just searching for truth anymore.

I was preparing for war.