Page 12

Alina

“WHAT DO YOU THINK DIVINATION is?” Professor Silvermoon asks the class. She walks slowly through our assembled desks, her long silver hair pulled back into a single braid.

A student at the right of the classroom speaks up. “I’m not totally sure, but I think it’s using symbols or tools to understand what’s going to happen in the future.”

“Good,” Professor Silvermoon says. “Anyone else?” Her dark blue eyes slide to my desk, where I’m seated beside Poppy. “Ms. Waverly? What does divination mean to you?”

Poppy sits up a bit straighter and pushes her round glasses farther up the bridge of her nose. “It’s... It’s a way to bring unconscious knowledge into conscious awareness,” she says, her voice soft.

Professor Silvermoon makes a gentle humming sound as she moves toward the front of the classroom. A crystal ball sits on her desk, and a stick of incense smolders, sending a thin tendril of sage-scented smoke throughout the room. “Can you expand on that?” she asks.

Poppy clears her throat and adjusts in her seat. “Well... I think a lot of the time, we already know the answers we’re looking for—we just don’t know that we know them. Divination tools, like tarot or pendulums, help us access that inner knowing by giving it form through symbols or patterns. When we look at a card or symbol, it triggers something inside us—a memory, a feeling, a realization—that we might not have noticed otherwise. So, in a way, we’re not predicting the future so much as uncovering hidden layers of the present or ourselves.”

Professor Silvermoon tips her head. “Very good, Ms. Waverly. You have a dream-magic affinity, yes?”

Poppy’s cheeks go a touch pink as all the students turn to look at her. She nods once. “That’s right.”

“It suits you.” Professor Silvermoon gives Poppy a smile, then turns to regard the class. “Divination means many things to many different practitioners. But in this class, we treat divination as a reflective practice—a way to ask better questions, not just get easy answers. Whether you view it as a spiritual connection, a psychological mirror, or an art form, it’s ultimately about empowering you to know yourself more deeply.” She looks around the classroom. “Now, please pull out your tarot cards, and we’ll get started with a daily pull and reflection.”

When her eyes meet mine, a little tingle goes down my spine. Professor Silvermoon has a way of looking into you, like she can see right through all your layers and to the core of your soul .

I reach into my bookbag and pull out my satin card bag. It’s a rich blue with little moons and stars embroidered on it with silver thread. Sliding the cards carefully from the bag, I set them on the desk in front of me.

Professor Silvermoon guides us through grounding ourselves, setting an intention, and asking a question. As Poppy gets to work beside me, pulling three cards for her reading, I close my eyes and focus on my question.

What’s the potential lesson to be learned in the new opportunities I’m about to encounter?

I repeat the question as I skim my hands over the arc of glossy cards. A slight tingle in my fingertips draws my hand down, and I trust my gut as I pull a card and slowly flip it over to reveal it.

The card is reversed, which will affect my reading, and it depicts a moon suspended over a blue sky and deeper blue body of water, with a small island dotted with trees cradled within the moon’s crescent.

I’ve not practiced much tarot or divination, so I reach for my tarot textbook and flip it open to the chapter on The Moon.

Slowly, I trace the paragraphs with one finger, brow furrowing as I read.

The Moon card reversed may indicate the possibility of self-deception, where you may be amplifying or distorting the reality of a situation. It’s a reminder to examine whether you’re caught in an emotional, dramatic retelling of events instead of sticking to clear facts .

While it’s natural to get swept up in emotional or intuitive waves, doing so won’t bring you the clarity or stability you need in times of uncertainty. It’s important to anchor yourself and seek truth, even if it means confronting discomfort or illusions.

I sit back from the desk and stare at the words a while longer, then back at the upside-down card.

Self-deception? Amplifying or distorting a situation?

At first, I have the desire the slide the card back into the deck and pick another—hopefully one that’s easier to interpret. I glance at Poppy. She’s smiling a bit to herself, using her quill and ink to jot notes into a small brown notebook. Professor Silvermoon is drifting through the room, long skirt swishing across the stone floor. She stops to help a student with their interpretation.

I think to raise my hand and ask for her help.

But then Raelan’s face flashes into my mind. I briefly recall our argument in the astronomy tower, then all those that followed. I remember how he held his cloak over my head in the gardens, trying to protect me from the rain. Then I see his sharp cheekbones, his dark eyes, the gleam of the chain that hides beneath his tunics, only visible every so often when he shifts and the light hits it just right.

And in my belly, a little ember of heat flares to life. This is the same flicker of heat I’ve been trying to ignore, to shove down and douse with ice. But no matter what I do, it always flares back to life .

Slowly, my gaze slides toward the classroom door. I know Raelan is standing right on the other side, waiting for me.

The ember burns a bit hotter.

Until someone steps directly into my line of sight, impeding my view of the door.

It’s a boy with a mop of brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He smiles easily and holds his card up to me. “You having any luck?” he asks. “I’m kind of confused about mine.”

I blink, trying to wipe thoughts of Raelan from my mind, then give the boy a smile. “I’m struggling a bit too,” I say, because surely I’m not self-deceiving in regard to Raelan. There must be another interpretation I’m missing. I flick my gaze to Poppy. “Hey, Poppy, think you might be able to give us some tips?”

She looks up from her notebook, glances between me and the boy, and nods. “Yeah, sure. Which card did you pull?”

The boy places his card down on the table: the Nine of Wands. I have no idea what it means, but Poppy scrunches her nose a bit.

“I’m Tristan, by the way,” he says.

“I’m Alina. This is my roommate, Poppy.”

“Nice to meet you both.” He smiles quickly and easily, then pulls up an empty chair and sits at our desk with us. “So, what do you think?” He regards Poppy with a tilt of his head. “Does it foretell my untimely death?”

Though it was clearly a joke, Poppy doesn’t seem to take it as one. She gives a sharp shake of her head, then points at the card and begins explaining the different elements to us: the man holding a wand; the bandages covering the man’s obvious injuries; eight other wands standing behind him.

The boy, Tristan, nods along, listening intently while Poppy explains the card to him. Meanwhile, my gaze slides to the door again.

And though I’d like to convince myself otherwise, I get the feeling I did read my card right. Now I just have to figure out what to do about it.