Page 20

Marigold

Monday morning, I woke to sunlight streaming through the tall windows and Scout chittering urgently from my nightstand.

After almost a week in the royal tower, I’d started to grow used to the dead things’ whispers, but today they felt sharper—more insistent.

They picked up on the tension winding through my body, the unease coiling in my stomach.

The Cauldron hadn’t just been another fight. It had been a warning. A lesson in exactly where I stood. And I refused to let it break me.

Their words still echoed in my head—Elio’s cruel taunts, Cyrus’s burning scrutiny, the way they had stripped me down to something small and dirty and unworthy. But worst of all was Keane’s silence. His careful inaction, as if watching from the shadows absolved him of any guilt.

I sat up, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes.

“I know, I know,” I muttered to Scout as he clicked his skeletal feet impatiently. “Everything changes today.”

But really, everything had already changed. In my talks with Mom over the weekend, I’d been careful to be circumspect. Everything was fine, and I was adapting well. I didn’t want her to worry, but I was worried. Would I ever find my place here?

I yanked on my jeans, fingers clenching the fabric. A week of their relentless cruelty, and I was still here. Still trying. Like an idiot.

The silver band of my father’s ring was cool against my chest, a weight I wasn’t sure how to bear. Had he truly been a traitor? Had I inherited that stain? It felt like the entire world had already made up its mind.

By the time I emerged into the common room, breakfast was already in full swing.

The oversized dining table groaned under enough food to feed twenty people, though only four of us sat there.

Or rather, four heirs and their familiars.

Scout shrank against my wrist, clearly sensing the tension in the air.

Cyrus sat at his usual spot by the fireplace, his fire wards pulsing in slow, controlled waves as he read over a Trial prep book. But the temperature in the room spiked the moment I entered. Ember preened from his perch, sending tiny sparks toward Scout—more aggressive than usual. A warning.

Elio occupied the window seat, his long fingers lazily flipping through his own notes.

At first glance, he looked the same as always, perfectly poised and unbothered, but I noticed the slight tension in his shoulders, the way Echo’s pastel scales remained duller than usual.

He was watching me without watching me, and I hated that I noticed.

Keane was in his usual place, buried in a book, his dark hair falling forward to obscure his expression. He didn’t glance up. Didn’t acknowledge me. He was just… letting it all happen. Again.

The silence felt too heavy, thick with the ghosts of Saturday night.

“Late again, darling?” Elio drawled, breaking it. He didn’t look up, but there was something off about his tone—something between mockery and I didn’t know what.

I glanced at the ornate clock. 8:17. Late, as usual. Some habits were hard to break when you’d spent years eating when you could, not when the clock told you it was time.

A portal flickered beside my plate, dropping off my now-customary morning coffee.

The edges of the magic wavered—not wrong, just…

uncertain. I flicked my gaze toward Keane.

His fingers twitched against the page, hesitating before he finally turned it.

Like he wanted to say something. Like he knew it wouldn’t matter.

The dead things whispered, unsettled.

Cyrus turned a page, his grip too tight. As I reached for the pastry tray, heat curled through the silverware—not scalding, just enough to make me notice. A test. His magic flickered unsteadily, like even it wasn’t sure how far to push me anymore.

I kept my grip light. I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing my hands shake.

I was studying my class schedule when another kind of warmth bloomed against my back. I froze. The scent of expensive cologne, dark and spiced, curled around me.

Elio.

Elio leaned in, his breath warm against my skin, and I hated the way my pulse jumped. Not because of him. Because my body was a traitor.

“I’m sure someone of your… background will have no trouble finding your way,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “The Academic Building is quite impossible to miss. It’s the large one. With the doors.”

I made my voice flat, unimpressed. Let him think I didn’t care. “I’ll manage.”

His magic shimmered between us, subtle, meant only for me to see. There was something different about it now, though—less playful cruelty, more uncertainty. Like the Cauldron incident had left cracks in both of us, and neither of us knew what to do with them.

I stepped away from his warmth, ignoring the flicker of irritation—and something else—that crossed his face. Echo’s scales rippled in confusion, as if reflecting emotions Elio himself wasn’t ready to admit.

A tiny portal winked open next to my coffee cup, breaking the moment.

A note drifted through, Keane’s familiar handwriting scrawled across it: Take the path by the normal dorms, enter through the south entrance.

Room 204 is on the second floor. The staircase by the campus store is usually less crowded.

A small, quiet act of help. Too small. Too late.

I glanced toward Keane, but he still didn’t look at me, his face carefully neutral as he flipped another page. Like nothing had happened. Like I wasn’t still standing in the fallout of it all, drowning in it.

The weight of my father’s ring pressed against my skin. A reminder of the things I couldn’t change, the past I couldn’t outrun.

I grabbed my coffee, standing taller even as exhaustion gnawed at me. As I turned toward the door, I made sure to move slowly, deliberately, forcing them to sit with my presence. The flames in the hearth flickered lower as I passed. Even their magic seemed to hesitate.

Ten minutes later, I was caught in the flood of students rushing to their first class.

They all seemed to know exactly where they were going, their spells precise and controlled as they levitated books or conjured forgotten supplies.

Scout pressed closer, overwhelmed by the chaotic swirl of magical signatures.

“Is that her?” A girl’s voice rose above the clamor—low, but loud enough for me to catch.

I knew exactly who they meant. The whispers followed me like static into the academic building.

“Yeah. That’s Grimley’s kid. The necromancer.”

“I heard her father tried to destroy the Council.”

“Didn’t he kill someone?”

“Why did they even let her in here?”

“Because the wellspring sent for her, or something. Creepy, right?”

The words cut deeper than they should have.

After the Cauldron disaster, my defenses were already hanging by a thread.

I kept my head down and pushed through the crowd, my stomach twisting with every hushed voice that carried my name.

Saturday night had turned me into the latest gossip, like those celebrity meltdowns people share on social media.

Now I wasn’t just the cleaning lady’s daughter playing at being an heir—I was a traitor’s daughter who’d totally lost it and ran away.

Great. Nothing says “I belong here” like having a magical breakdown in front of everyone.

Mom always said “hold your head high,” but right now, I just wanted to disappear.

“Mari! Over here!” Raven’s voice cut through the noise, a lifeline pulling me back. She stood with Lucas by the stairs, her protective charms clinking as she waved me over.

“Thank god,” I breathed, hurrying to them. “I was starting to think I’d never find it.”

“The building’s layout takes some getting used to,” Lucas said, his British accent somehow making everything sound more reasonable. “But there’s actually quite a logical pattern to the room numberings based on historical—”

“Less history, more walking,” Raven interrupted. “We’ve got two minutes before Cribley closes the door.”

We made it with seconds to spare, sliding into seats near the back of the Basic Magical Theory classroom. Lucas immediately pulled out three different notebooks, while Raven’s skeletal beetle Boris scuttled over to greet Scout.

The classroom was overwhelming in ways I hadn’t expected—not just the soaring windows or the ancient runes carved into the stone walls, but the magic itself. It moved through the space like a living current, charged with the lingering presence of generations of witches who’d mastered it.

Professor Cribley swept in, her silver-beaded braids catching the morning light.

“Welcome to Basic Magical Theory,” she began, her warm voice carrying effortlessly through the room.

“We’ll begin with something fundamental—illumination magic.

Please take a few minutes to review the basic forms in chapter one, then we’ll all practice together. ”

My stomach dropped.

Illumination magic. The spell Elio had mocked me for in remedial class. The spell I had failed at, over and over, under his careful, amused scrutiny. My fingers curled into fists beneath my desk.

I quickly opened my textbook, flipping to the chapter on basic illumination.

The diagrams showed proper hand positions and energy flows, but something about the illustrations caught my eye—there seemed to be a pattern to how the magic moved.

I tried to focus on that instead of the memory of Elio’s smirk, of how effortlessly he had conjured perfect spheres of light while I fumbled beside him.

Professor Cribley demonstrated with a casual wave of her hand. A perfect sphere of golden light appeared above her palm. “The light orb is foundational magic,” she explained. “Take a moment to study the energy flow, then try creating your own at your own pace.”

She paused, her expression serious. “And remember, illumination magic is not just about convenience. It is a vital defense against vampires, whose abilities thrive in darkness. Learning to wield light effectively could mean the difference between survival and being caught unprepared.”

All around me, orbs of light bloomed like stars. Lucas produced three at once, setting them spinning in a complex formation while consulting his ever-present notebook. Raven’s glowed with a slightly purple tinge that matched her hair, her magic steady and focused.

“Here,” Raven whispered, tilting her book so I could see her notes. “Try thinking of it like… collecting sunlight in your palm. And not the way Elio was teaching you before. That was all wrong on purpose. This is the right way.”

I tried. I really did. But the moment I reached for power, my magic hesitated.

My father’s ring felt like a weight around my neck, cold against my skin. The dead things stirred, responding to my need—but that wasn’t what I was supposed to be using. I needed warmth. Light. The opposite of what came naturally.

Nothing happened.

“It’s okay,” Lucas murmured, pausing his light show. “Try breaking down the components. Energy gathering first, then containment, then illumination…”

I forced myself to follow his steps, pulling at the magic in the way he suggested. This time, something responded—but not how I intended. The shadows around my desk deepened, pooling unnaturally beneath my fingers as the dead things reached toward me. A chill ran through the room.

“Of course she can’t even manage a light orb,” someone muttered from across the room.

Another voice snickered. “Well, necromancers aren’t exactly known for being warm and fuzzy, are they?”

Scout tensed against my neck. My jaw clenched. I willed the shadows back, forcing my magic into submission, but it was too late. The moment had already passed, and I had failed. Again.

The rest of class passed in a blur of frustrated attempts and careful notes. My hand ached from copying diagrams, and my head throbbed from trying to force my necromantic power into unfamiliar patterns. I hadn’t given up, but I also hadn’t succeeded.

After class, Raven gave me a sympathetic look as we packed up. “Don’t worry. We’ll practice together later. You’ll get it.”

“Thanks,” I managed, grateful for their support but needing some time alone.

Instead of heading to lunch, I slipped away to one of the small courtyards behind the academic building.

Ancient trees cast dappled shadows across stone benches, and the dead things whispered quietly in the walls.

It felt private enough to practice without an audience—and right now, I couldn’t handle anyone else watching me fail.

I exhaled slowly, holding out my hand. Just light, I told myself. Just warmth. No shadows. No dead things.

A flicker of something glowed at my fingertips.

For half a second, I thought I had it. Then it sputtered out, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake.