Page 39

Marigold

“Marigold, what’s up with you today?” Raven asked, squinting at me over the top of her textbook. “You’ve been smiling at nothing for like five minutes. Did you win the magical lottery and not tell us?”

“I’m not—” I cut myself off, feeling warmth creep up my neck. Damn it. I hadn’t even realized I was smiling.

“See? You’re doing it again.” Raven grinned and leaned in, her bracelets clinking softly on the table. “Come on. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” I said quickly, flipping through my notes for Magical Theory.

Scout shifted restlessly against my neck, sensing my discomfort.

I tried to focus on the diagrams in front of me, but my mind kept circling back to Keane—his rare, soft smiles, the way his fingers brushed mine during quiet moments in the library.

The intense way he kissed me like I was something he didn’t want to lose.

Raven wasn’t buying it. “Lucas, back me up. Something’s going on with her.”

Lucas glanced up from his meticulously organized notes. “She does seem… distracted.” He adjusted his glasses thoughtfully. “And unusually cheerful. Statistically abnormal.”

“I am not a statistic,” I muttered, shooting him a glare.

“Okay, fine. You don’t want to tell us who’s got you all dreamy-eyed. I get it. For now,” Raven teased. “But I’ll figure it out eventually.” She settled back into her chair, still smirking.

I sighed and buried my face in my hands.

This was exactly why I hadn’t said anything about Keane yet.

It wasn’t just that I didn’t want the rumors to start flying—dating a Council heir made you a target for gossip even if I technically was one too.

It was also… complicated. Keane and I had agreed to keep things quiet for now.

But part of me hated keeping it from Raven and Lucas. They were my friends. They wouldn’t judge me. At least, I didn’t think they would.

“Anyway,” I said, steering the conversation away from myself, “don’t you have something more important to focus on? Like the fact that Magical Theory is kicking our asses?”

“Don’t remind me,” Raven groaned, flipping through her textbook. “All this resonance and ley line crap makes my brain hurt. Why can’t magic just be simple for once?”

“It’s only complicated if you don’t understand the underlying principles,” Lucas said in his ever-patient tone. He tapped his notes. “Resonance, for example, is—”

“Blah, blah, magical nerd stuff,” Raven interrupted with a smirk. “We know, Lucas. We’re just here to make fun of you for explaining it.”

“Very mature,” he muttered, but there was a faint smile on his face.

Despite myself, I relaxed a little. They always managed to make me laugh when I needed it most.

Raven suddenly perked up, pointing to a section in her textbook. “Hey, check this out—’Historical Wellspring Interference.’ That sounds important.”

Lucas frowned and leaned over to read it. “Hmm. Yeah, it’s one of those old theories about how wellsprings can act independently under certain conditions. Supposedly, during times of magical instability, they can influence events—like trial outcomes or major battles.”

“Like they’re alive?” I asked, curiosity outweighing my earlier embarrassment.

“Not alive the way we are,” Lucas clarified, flipping to another reference. “But they’re deeply tied to ley lines, which are basically magical circulatory systems. Some historians think wellsprings can sense when those systems are threatened and respond accordingly.”

Raven snorted. “Magic with a built-in defense system. Sounds like a fantasy novel.”

I didn’t laugh. My mind was racing, connecting dots I hadn’t noticed before. The wellspring’s energy had surged during the trials, just like it had when I crossed Wickem’s wards. And then there was my father’s journal—

It had just appeared on my shelf after the trials. No one had entered my room. No one could enter my room.

But there it was, untouched by dust, waiting for me.

Scout shifted, claws pricking against my skin. He knew. He’d known the moment I picked it up.

“Marigold?” Lucas’s voice broke through my thoughts. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I shook my head, still trying to make sense of it all. “It’s just… I didn’t even apply to Wickem. They sent me a scholarship out of nowhere. Ms. Parker said the wellspring was involved, but I didn’t think it was literal.”

Raven leaned forward, eyes widening. “Wait, what? The wellspring sent for you?”

“I don’t know.” I hesitated, glancing between them.

This wasn’t something I’d talked about with anyone, not even Keane.

But Raven and Lucas weren’t like the heirs.

They wouldn’t twist this against me. “Ms. Parker said the wellspring ‘called me home.’ She made it sound like a legacy thing, because of my father. But now I’m not so sure. ”

I glanced down, brushing my thumb over the edge of the table, hesitating.

“After the trials… something weird happened. I found a journal on my shelf. I’d never seen it before, but it had my father’s name inside—his handwriting, his spells, his thoughts.

” My voice dropped. “No one could’ve put it there.

My room’s magically sealed. But it was just..

. there. Waiting. Like it had been placed for me. ”

Raven’s mouth parted slightly, eyes wide.

Lucas leaned forward, curiosity flickering before his expression turned serious. “If your room is warded, and no one else could’ve gotten in…” He paused, thinking. “If the wellspring really did call you home—then maybe it didn’t just summon you. Maybe it’s… guiding you. Giving you tools.”

He tapped his textbook, voice picking up speed.

“There are records of wellsprings calling witches during times of instability. It’s rare, but not unheard of.

If the wellspring sensed danger or corruption, it might’ve reached out to you not just because of your necromancy—but because it wants you to do something about it. ”

“Your dad’s legacy might have something to do with it too,” Raven added.

The mention of my father made my stomach twist. I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the cold weight of the ring beneath my shirt. The dead things stirred softly in the walls, their whispers laced with unease.

“That would explain the weirdness in the trials,” Lucas continued. “If the wellspring’s corruption is affecting magical stability, it could be why your magic’s been acting up—and why Keane’s portals have been… off.”

I flinched at the mention of Keane’s magic. They didn’t know about us, but Lucas had hit closer to the truth than he realized.

Keane’s magic hadn’t felt right for weeks, but after the trials, I could no longer convince myself it was just stress. His uncle had called him away, and when he came back, it was worse. Something was being done to him.

“So, what do we do?” I asked quietly.

“We keep digging,” Raven said. “There’s gotta be more info on this in the archives. Maybe even something about your dad’s connection to the wellspring.”

Lucas nodded. “Agreed. If the Council’s hiding something, we need to find out what.”

A spark of determination flared in my chest. I wasn’t facing this alone. Raven and Lucas had my back. Together, we’d uncover the truth—no matter how deep the corruption ran.

The lecture hall’s curved ceiling reflected the dim afternoon light filtering through Wickem’s enchanted windows, giving the space a muted, overcast glow.

I settled into my usual seat near the back as Scout clicked quietly on my shoulder, his small claws pressing into my uniform as if sensing my tension.

Raven and Lucas flanked me, their notebooks already open, ready to dig into whatever information we could find.

“Think this’ll help with your dad’s diary?” Raven whispered, pretending to scribble notes.

“Maybe.” I twisted the ring around my neck. “That letter he left was vague, but if there’s anything about wellsprings or old Council politics, I might get more context.”

Lucas adjusted his glasses, scanning the syllabus. “History tends to repeat itself. The trick is recognizing the patterns.”

“Which is easier when you aren’t relying on a Council-approved version of events,” Raven muttered. I snorted, but didn’t disagree.

Professor Halloway entered, setting down a stack of books before addressing the class. “Today, we’re continuing our discussion on ley lines and magical stabilization. Turn to chapter seven.”

The sound of pages turning filled the hall. I flipped to the section, my pulse kicking up at the title: The Era of Broken Lines.

“The period following the Great Accord saw one of the largest recorded instances of ley line destabilization,” Halloway said.

“For decades, magical scholars debated the cause, but the leading theory suggests a combination of overuse, unregulated wellspring manipulation, and external magical pressures.”

My fingers tightened around the edge of my book. Unregulated wellspring manipulation? That sounded eerily familiar.

“During this time, wellsprings across multiple continents experienced surges that altered their behavior. Certain spells failed outright, while others—necromantic spells, in particular—became dangerously amplified.”

A ripple of interest passed through the students, and I felt more than saw Elio shift slightly in his seat.

Across the room, Keane sat perfectly still, his posture measured.

He wasn’t looking at me. Wasn’t reacting.

But I knew him well enough now to see the tension in the way his hands rested on his desk, too still, too precise.

“This era also saw the emergence of factions who sought to control or redirect ley line energy for political gain,” Halloway continued, carefully neutral. “While the official records cite natural causes, some evidence suggests more deliberate interference.”

A silence settled over the room, thick with unspoken thoughts.

“Are you implying someone caused the instability?” A student near the front asked, frowning.

“The records we have suggest multiple possibilities,” Halloway answered smoothly. “It’s always important to examine historical trends with a critical lens.”

Raven nudged me, her expression gleeful. See? she mouthed.

At the front of the room, Cyrus made a low sound—almost a scoff, but not quite. His arms were crossed, Ember preening irritably on his shoulder. “If instability like that happened again, it would be handled,” he said, his voice level.

“Handled?” Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow. “By who?”

Cyrus’s jaw tensed. “By those who understand how to maintain balance.”

He wasn’t as sharp about it as he usually would have been. I noticed the way his fingers tapped absently against his knee. He was doubting something.

Keane, beside him, finally spoke, though his voice was quieter than usual. “You’re assuming we’d notice the instability in time to stop it.”

The shift in the room was nearly imperceptible, but I caught it. The heirs were usually forceful about defending the Council. Today, they weren’t arguing outright. They were choosing their words carefully.

Professor Halloway cleared her throat. “The important takeaway is that magical systems, even those maintained by the most powerful institutions, are not infallible. History has proven that time and time again.”

My pulse picked up. That was the closest thing to a warning I’d heard from any professor here.

Lucas leaned toward me. “This fits with what we found yesterday,” he murmured. “And if the wellspring is reacting now—”

“We don’t know that,” I whispered back, but the words felt hollow even as I said them.

I thought of my father’s journal appearing in my room, untouched by dust. Thought of the way the wellspring’s energy had surged during the trials. Thought of the feeling I’d had since stepping onto Wickem’s grounds—that something unseen was watching. Waiting.

Cyrus shifted again, exhaling sharply. “Speculation isn’t useful. The Council has safeguards in place for a reason.”

For once, no one challenged him.

“This period of instability,” Halloway continued, “coincided with the first major vampire wars. As wellsprings weakened, vampires grew bolder, attacking regions where ley line disruption had compromised magical defenses.”

I felt Cyrus tense at the mention of vampires. Everyone knew about his mother’s death, but now I wondered—had she been investigating these same patterns?

“The correlation between wellspring corruption and vampire aggression remains a subject of debate,” Halloway said carefully. “Though historical records show vampires consistently target areas where magical energy has been… altered.”

“You mean where they can break through the wards more easily,” Cyrus said, his voice tight. Ember’s feathers flickered with barely contained flame.

“That’s one interpretation.” Halloway’s measured tone suggested there was more she wasn’t saying. “What’s clear is that wellspring stability and vampire containment have always been… intimately connected.”

Professor Halloway let the silence sit for a moment before moving on to ley line theory. But I barely heard her. My mind was spinning.

If the wellspring wasn’t just responding to corruption—but actively choosing new protectors—then everything I thought I understood about magic, about my father’s place in this, was even more tangled than I’d feared.

And worse, I wasn’t the only one starting to ask questions.