Page 63

Up Toward the Full Moon

“ A re you even listening?”

“Of course.”

“Then what did I just say?”

I meet Fax’s piercing gaze. Acranta is hanging off his back, arms draped loosely around his neck. She’s grinning, her black hair pressed against his cheek.

We’re in one of the plain and impersonal rooms of the main building, where we’ll spend the night before the final trials.

It’s tradition. You’re not supposed to sneak in any last-song advice from your master.

It’s considered bad luck. Kathraanis split us into groups, and Salahfar ensured we ended up in the same room.

“Something about food,” I say. “Reindeer meat?”

Fax gasps, throwing me a wounded grimace. “I said that! You weren’t even listening, you —”

“Say something interesting, and I will.”

“Oh.” Jelethia nods. “Nice one.”

I rise from the room’s only chair and walk to the window.

Five beds are lined up in a row, taking up half the space.

The rest is a narrow aisle and two steel dressers.

Upon arrival, everything was tidy, and no personal belongings were in sight.

But now, just a day later, the room bursts at the seams. Salahfar’s books spill across the floor, and Jelethia’s endless stacks of clothes tower in uneven piles.

Acranta’s flower necklaces, which she seems to have an infinite supply of, are draped over every available surface. Fax’s sketches of his brothers are scattered among them, mixed with far too many flickering candles. Acranta had darted around, lighting them all.

I press my hands against the window frame and scan the view, searching and watching. It’s eredusk, the world swallowed in shifting shadows of blue, steamy black, and muted olive green. Moonlight catches the waterfall, dipping it in silver, making it shimmer against the darkness.

“What’s with her?” Fax asks.

Acranta lets out a short laugh. “Oh, who knows? She’s been like this all day.”

“Yeah, and apparently, Netharu’el isn’t here today. He had to leave again.” Jelethia clinks her rings together. “But don’t worry. He’ll be back, right?”

“He promised to be here before the final trials.” I don’t turn around, my eyes still locked on the waterfall. “We were supposed to have one last archery session to ensure I had everything down pat.”

“Archery?” Jelethia exclaims.

“Mmm-mm.”

“But I’ve seen you shoot,” Salahfar calls from the far side of the room.

He’s stretched out on one of the beds, flipping through a book on plants.

“And let me tell you, you don’t need any more training.

As is, you’re already going to strip the leaves off the trees, making the rest of us look like talentless fools. ”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Jelethia paces the room, restless, unsettled. She keeps bumping into furniture, shoving it aside with an impatient scrape.

I turn to them. “You’re making me blush. Thanks. You’re not so bad yourselves.”

Acranta leaps down from Fax’s back, bouncing forward and placing her slender hands on my collarbones. I instinctively pull back, but she holds firm, her vanilla-white eyes alight.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be here soon, I’m sure of it. But tell me, are you excited for Dawn’s Day? You should be. It’s going to be wonderful, isn’t it?”

I turn back to the window, gazing out over the courtyard, once bright and idyllic but now cloaked in darkness.

Since the kiss two nights ago, since we climbed out of that ditch covered in moss and grass stains, I haven’t seen him.

We were supposed to train that day, but he left to wash up.

He kept turning back to look at me. Waved. Smiled. And then he never came back.

Instead, Kathraanis came to tell me he’d had to leave and would be gone for a few days. She assured me he’d be back before the final trials and that we’d still have time for one last session. There was no room for doubt. At least not in her mind.

“Hello? Zel?” Acranta tries again.

“I’m going to bed.”

“But aren’t you going to wait for Neth?”

“No.”

“Won’t you at least keep us company?”

“No.”

“Jel and I are staying up all night, anyway. Right, Jel? That was the plan?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jelethia murmurs through a yawn, dragging her fingers through her hair as she continues pacing. Her eyelids are already heavy. “I’m in. Totally.”

“Great idea, Iszaelda.” Salahfar nods, setting his book aside. “You’re right. I think I’ll follow your lead. I, for one, would never stay up all night before the most important trial of my life.”

“Live a little, fuddy-duddy.” Fax grins and nudges Acranta’s shoulder. She doesn’t miss a beat. Laughing, she grabs an armful of Jelethia’s clothes and flings them at him.

“No!” Jelethia shrieks. “Stop! Put that down!”

Salahfar pulls the blanket over himself, still fully dressed. “Keep it down.”

I walk to the bed beside his, slipping under the thin, cold blanket and resting my head against the pillow. Turning onto my side, I tuck my hands beneath my cheek.

“Lights out, please!” Salahfar calls.

“Alright, fine.” Acranta bounds over to the dressers and starts blowing out the candles, filling the room with the scent of smoke and melting wax. The flickering light fades, replaced by the moon’s glow. It streams through the grimy window, casting pale streaks across the wooden floor.

Acranta, Jelethia, and Fax sit in a circle, quietly giggling as they compare their hands.

I close my eyes, shutting out the sounds, and let my soul drift, separating from my body. It happens faster each time. Now, almost instantly, I find a suitable creature. A harpy deep within Gorgoroth, right at the edge of the Academy’s border.

It’s massive.

It takes only a spark, and then I’m behind its vast, peanut-brown eyes, soaring on the soft night currents.

Jóladis is old and wise, shaped by the weight of years. But nothing in his long life compares to this. He’s awestruck by the presence in his mind. Intrigued. Expectant.

Now I can think.

I inhale the crisp jungle air, the sweetness of my homeland filling my lungs. A cry bursts from me, slicing through the night, reverberating through trees and tangled vines, rippling over bellflowers and winding stems. Another. And another.

I spiral upward, testing the strength of my wings and the fluidity of my feathers. In this body, I’m swift and powerful. The sky is mine, and so are the trees and the wind. I command them all.

The moon looms large, round, and brilliant, a mint-blue orb marbled with shadows. It fills me with energy, joy, and a hunger for life. Power hums in my veins. I surge toward it, climbing higher as the jungle closes in below, a sea of green folding away into the dark.

My red eye. What does it mean?

Something stirs in my memory, a distant thread pulling taut.

I know it’s important. I know I know. But the answer slips through my grasp, just out of reach.

I remember Akares’s bright white eyes, luminous yet dull like a transparent abyss waiting to consume me.

But there was something else, something red.

What was it? A detail on the swords? A thread in his opulent robes?

No…

I veer away from the treetops, gliding over the garden. The air is warm, lifting me and letting me drift. I barely need to move my wings—perhaps for the best, considering my history with flight.

Before I even realize it, I’m near Kathraanis’s room. I slow, wings fanning the air as I sink to the ground without a sound. I move forward, settling beneath the window. I look up. It’s closed. I won’t hear anything.

“Se beg.”

Jóladis flinches as the words leave his beak, though the effect is less violent than Eístla’s. Her body was fragile. This one isn’t. But the harpy is unaccustomed to it, and the first time is always frightening. The window groans as it slides open.

Thankfully, no one seems to hear. No one looks up. They’re too absorbed in their conversation.

“Do you have a… plan?” a slick voice asks. Sounds like Vaast.

“Not yet,” Kathraanis replies. “I’m hoping Merediath knows how we should proceed. This is her domain.”

“What d-did she say at… the meeting?”

“Not much. She’s swamped these days. We’ll discuss it again once the trials are over.”

“She surely u-understands… the importance… of it all.”

“She does. Talador is the last outpost. If the city falls, he’ll seize Aarilion, and that would be a loss beyond measure.”

“And the few s-sun and tree elves s-still alive will be executed.”

I stretch my neck and steal a glance through the glass.

Vaast and Kathraanis stand by the door, Vaast’s hand resting on the handle, ready to leave.

His turquoise-blue hair drapes over his shoulders, and his skin is a dark gray, like Kathraanis’s.

He wears leather breeches and a long-sleeved shirt, while Kathraanis is strapped with sheaths, her many daggers hanging from her waist.

My glance turns into a lingering stare. I don’t want to stop now that I’ve started.

Stacks of books obscure parts of the window, their edges worn and frayed, but I still have a clear view of the door.

Bone and tooth necklaces dangle from every surface, and several daggers are scattered across the bookshelves. The room feels chaotic.

“That mustn’t happen,” Kathraanis says firmly.

Vaast watches her. Too long. He licks his lips, wetting the dry skin. “That’s reassuring to hear.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

He leans in slightly as if about to say more, but then pulls back. Instead, he nods and turns to go.

“Vaast?” Kathraanis calls just as he is about to leave.

He stops, eyes sharp with interest. “Yes?”

“If you find Netharu’el, tell him to come see me immediately. No matter the time.”

“Of course. May I ask… why?”

“He’s been unreliable. That’s all you need to know.”

“Oh? Has he?”

“He makes promises he doesn’t keep. He’s never here. Frankly, I pity Iszaelda.”

“His… apprentice?”

“It was always a gamble making him a master. We knew that.”

“That’s… true.”

“But I never expected it to turn out like this.”

“I understand. Though he seems to be doing well with… the sun elf.”

“When he’s here, yes. Which, as you might guess, isn’t often. Iszaelda will have to prove herself at dawn if I’m to consider letting him stay.”

I freeze. I remember the letter and the note from Akares. Netharu’el must stay. He isn’t safe otherwise.

But where in the fires is he?

I prepare to take flight, wings poised to lift me, but I hesitate.

Vaast opens the door with his right hand, scratching his chin with the other.

A flicker of red catches my eye. Bright.

Vivid. And it isn’t Kathraanis’s eyes. They are a different shade.

This red is sharp, gleaming, impossibly intense—Vaast’s ring.

I saw the same flash of red on the dragon’s back when I fought Akares. A ring. I caught only the briefest glimpse and thought nothing of it at the time. But now, looking back, I’m sure. It was a ring. That ring.

My red eye.

I surge upward, wings slicing through the night.

Vaast. He’s on ’Ksnaka’s side. A spy, feeding them information. It’s the perfect setup. Keeping Netharu’el close, watching him, reporting back to the enemy.

But why? If Akares wanted him dead, why not just kill him?

I must warn Netharu’el.

I tear through the night, racing toward the huts. The deep blue fields blur past, and the wind lashes at my feathers, dragging at my wings. Below, the huts crouch like dark smudges at the foot of Gorgoroth. Netharu’el’s and mine lie near the edge, and I reach them in half a song.

I’m too large, too heavy to land on the windowsill. One claw might fit, but not the rest of me. Instead, I crane my neck forward and peer inside. Darkness. The window is smeared with dirt, its surface clouded, barely letting any light through. Not a single glow from within.

But… is there someone on the bed?

I squint, trying to see through the misted glass.

There’s so much I want to tell Netharu’el. About the necklace. About all the questions circling in my mind. About my secret ability, how I can sense the animals. And most of all, I want to tell him what he means to me and that he’s the only thing filling my thoughts.

But where is he?

Maybe… he’s already been found.

A shudder runs down my spine. If Akares has him, he’s as good as dead.

No. I can’t think like that.

He’s alive. He must be. He’s strong. Sharp. He wouldn’t let himself be caught. He wouldn’t.

I make my decision. The bed is empty.

With a beat of my wings, I rise. Up, up, up. I empty my mind and let go of everything but the wind. I fly. Higher. Toward the sky. Toward the quiet.

Toward the full moon.