Page 45

Marigold

The next day, I was called to the auditorium.

The whole space felt wrong. Where the welcome ceremony had filled it with clean, natural magic, now something oily and corrupted seeped up through the floor.

The Council members sat in their formal chairs arranged before the stage—three powerful figures whose very presence made the magic currents twist and writhe.

Cyrus and Elio stood to either side of the doors like ornate statues—perfect heirs performing their roles.

But I caught the tiniest flicker of Cyrus’s fire magic responding to my presence and the way Echo’s scales shifted uneasily on Elio’s shoulder.

Even forced apart, our magic still reached for each other, still remembered how perfectly it had flowed during trials.

Lord Raynoff dominated the center, power radiating from him in controlled waves.

To his right, Lady Lightford sat with perfect poise, a mirror of Elio’s elegance.

To his left, Lord Alstone watched with a measured expression, but something lurked beneath it—an edge that hadn’t been there before.

The fourth chair—my father’s seat—stood empty, a silent reminder of the chaos they had worked so hard to contain.

“Miss Grimley.” Lord Raynoff’s voice carried easily in the acoustics designed for ceremonies. “Your recent behavior has become… concerning.”

“Particularly your unstructured approach to magical education,” Lady Lightford added. “Such unpredictable methods can be quite dangerous.”

The grand doors opened. Keane entered, moving with a grace that was wrong. Not stiff. Not unnatural. Just… deliberate. Too deliberate. His blue eyes slid past me too smoothly, looking through me rather than at me.

But then, for a fraction of a second, the barest hesitation, like he had to force himself to keep walking.

“Your father had similar theories about letting magic flow… naturally.” Lord Alstone’s voice held a carefully measured concern. He nodded to Keane. “Show her what unstable magic leads to.”

Keane’s hands moved in patterns that felt twisted, wrong. A corrupted portal opened, and through its darkness, I saw my father’s diary floating in that wrong space between spaces. The leather-bound book I had studied so carefully, trying to decode his secrets.

“When Keane told us about this,” Lord Raynoff said, his tone regretful but firm, “we recognized the same dangerous theories that led your father to nearly destabilize years of careful work.”

Lady Lightford lifted the diary with elegant fingers. “Such a shame. But we cannot risk these disruptions spreading. The next generation must understand the importance of proper magical structure.”

“Is this what Project Cornerstone is about?” I demanded, my voice raw. “Forcing magic into unnatural patterns?”

The Council exchanged glances. Lord Raynoff leaned forward, expression almost paternal. “You misunderstand, Miss Grimley. Project Cornerstone represents progress—proper regulation and control of magical power. Something your father unfortunately failed to grasp.”

“Then why does Keane’s magic feel wrong?” I pressed. “Why does it bleed darkness instead of flowing naturally?”

“Wrong?” Lord Alstone’s voice held genuine confusion mixed with irritation. “The stability sessions are helping him. Teaching him proper control, just as they’ve helped countless others.”

“Such dangerous ideas about ‘natural’ magic,” Lord Lightford drawled. “Really, this unstructured approach to power is precisely why we need more rigorous controls.”

“The wellspring itself shows—”

“The wellspring is a power source,” Lord Raynoff cut in firmly. “One that requires careful management and proper channeling. Your father’s theories about ‘natural’ magic flow nearly destabilized years of careful work. We cannot allow such chaos to spread again.”

“You’ve been in our world barely a moment, dear girl,” Lady Lightford added with artificial sweetness. “Don’t pretend you understand forces we’ve spent generations learning to properly direct.”

Lord Alstone stepped forward. “This goes beyond mere defiance. She’ll disrupt everything we’ve built. The stability we’ve maintained—”

“Peace, Lazlo.” Lord Raynoff raised a hand. A command, not a request.

For a breath, Alstone didn’t move. His jaw flexed. His fingers twitched, just barely, like he was resisting the urge to reach for something—to slam his hands against the table, to do something more than just stand here while Raynoff played the reasonable one.

But then, slowly, his shoulders eased back, his lips pressing into a thin, forced line. Obedient. For now.

Lady Lightford stepped forward, lifting the candle with graceful precision. “Consider this a necessary correction.” The flame touched the diary’s edge. “For your own protection.”

I lunged forward, but Cyrus’s flames erupted in a perfect circle, caging me. There was a delay—so small no one else might have noticed. A fraction of a second where he hesitated, where his fire should have moved instantly, but instead flickered like it was… considering.

It still burned blue where it met my magic.

His face was blank, but his fingers curled slightly at his sides. Tense. Frustrated. Like he was fighting something, though I couldn’t tell if it was me or himself.

Magic pressed against me, thick and heavy, like unseen hands forcing me to my knees. Not cruel—corrective. They truly believed they were helping, showing me the right way.

I caught Keane’s eyes across the flames. For a heartbeat, I saw silver light fighting through the corruption in his magic. “You told me to trust you,” I whispered. “Did you mean it?”

Then Lord Alstone’s hand clamped on his nephew’s shoulder, and the darkness swallowed that last glimpse of hope.

The diary crumbled to ash while they watched with calm, measured satisfaction.

All except one.

Alstone didn’t watch the book. He watched me. Still. Unblinking. Not satisfied.

The others had already dismissed me. To them, this was over. A lesson delivered. A warning given.

But I had the strange feeling that Alstone wasn’t done.

Beneath the floor, something stirred. A pulse of clean energy, natural and right. The pressure faltered for half a heartbeat.

“You see?” Lord Raynoff said softly. “Even now your magic resists proper control. But we can help you learn, as we’ve helped all our children learn.”

“Consider carefully,” Lady Lightford added. “None of us wish to see you follow your father’s tragic path.”

The magic released me suddenly. I sagged, catching myself before I hit the floor, trembling from the effort to stay upright.

“You are dismissed,” Lord Raynoff said. “Keane, escort Miss Grimley to her rooms. Ensure she has time to… reflect on today’s lesson.”

The Council swept from the room, their decision made, their guidance delivered. The heirs remained behind.

I refused to look at Keane. I couldn’t bear to see that mechanical emptiness again.

Instead, I looked toward Cyrus and Elio. Cyrus’ flames still tinged blue, but he didn’t meet my eyes. I didn’t expect sympathy from Elio. I didn’t expect anything at all.

And yet—he shifted. Just slightly. A half-step forward, too small to mean anything. Too small to be real. But he’d done it before he could stop himself.

Echo’s scales shimmered in rapid, uneasy pulses. Warning colors. A heartbeat of silent distress. Not for me. For him.

I didn’t give them the chance to speak. I turned and walked away.