“What is me?” While I'd warmed up some, chills suddenly wracked my frame. Again, someone was suggesting I was more than just me, Fleur. A maybe-outling, maybe-Elite wizard in training.
Her lips jerked up at the corners, but her eyes continued to swim. “All the clues were there, but I didn't dare dream it could be true.”
“Who do you think I am? Tell me? Because you’re not the first one to say something like this.”
“Speaking of it could change the outcome. But knowing you could possibly…” She shook her head. “It brings me great joy.”
“Tell me,” I growled. “I’m tired of hints that lead nowhere.”
Wait. Was this about Alys? Or the fact that I might be a member of the third family? And why would knowing anything change the outcome? One would think the future would be more secure if I had all the facts before acting.
The third family. Minerva’s consort had betrayed everyone by bespelling my ancestor. How should I feel about that? Cloven's father had hurt my…grandfather? Great-grandfather? I wasn’t sure. Like I was unsure about everything else regarding what happened with the sixth.
“You’ll understand soon,” she said. “The time is coming when all will be revealed. While I won’t be there to see it happen, it thrills me to believe the time is at hand.”
More vagueness that might never be explained. I hated watching and waiting for something to happen. I wanted to lead the charge and create the change.
“Moonstone is special,” she said. “Some stones, as you know, grant the witch greater power than with others.”
In Cloven’s class, I’d learned that moonstone was the strongest stone of them all. Had it seen my Unraveler skapti and chosen me? It must've.
“My ring, the one you now wear,” Minerva said, “Is also a moonstone.'”
I stretched out my fingers and studied the stone set in intricately etched sterling. Blue and pink streaks arced through the creamy white oval stone.
“It chose me,” she said. “And I'm proud to see you wearing it.”
“Do all Unravelers get selected by moonstones?” If so, had Cloven known I was an Unraveler the moment the stone chose me?
“Not always but, like with Bespellers, an Unraveler needs a strong stone. As you've discovered, black threads provide a greater challenge to draw in than others. The stone too must be worthy.”
I hoped my stone was forgiving. Too often, I didn’t feel worthy of the task I'd been given.
If I achieved full Unraveler power, I'd be asked to reverse spells made by the Court Bespeller and Katya. Minerva was right. This was bigger than me and Donovan. “Why can only a Level Five Unraveler undo a bespelling instead of any Level?”
“It’s equal. Meaning you'll be able to unravel at lower levels but only spells cast by a Bespeller at your own level. Since you're dealing with Level Five Bespellers, to unravel a spell cast by one of them, you also need to be a Level Five. And this is assuming the unknown Bespeller is also a Level Five, though he or she must be, to have cast such complex spells.”
That made sense. Except... “I've unraveled a spell already.” I explained about the nightlace and how I’d shouted unravel and the plants seemed to awaken. They’d stopped attacking and slunk away.
She nodded. “You’re saying you drew in black threads, wove them, and then released them with the command.”
“No, the threads rushed into me, into my Moonstone, then drove themselves out of me as I shouted unravel.”
“A fortunate accident, then. You got a taste of a higher Level,” she said. “You have such potential. There hasn't been another like you since...”
“Since what?”
“Not what. Who.” She released a modest smile. “Me.”
I wasn’t surprised. Fate had brought me here, to this chance to do something good not just for me and my friends, but for our world. “Then I picked the right master.” I snorted. Actually, there was no other Master.
“Your odds of achieving Level Five are quite good, because the threads recognized your need. They chose you, much as your Moonstone did during stone selection.”
Perhaps this is what she meant by me being the one.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” At my nod, she said. “Close your eyes and seek the black threads. They’re all around us, though they do hide on occasion.”
“Whenever I try to grab them, they slip away.”
“Therein lies the difference between an Unraveler and all others with power. We don't grab the threads.”
“What do we do?”
“We command them.”
It was that simple, huh? I’d just think, black threads, get your skinny bodies over here, and they’d...
By the fae. A black thread approached and wavered in front of me. If it sat, I could say, good pup.
“Take the thread and gently feed it into your stone,” she said.
I tried to, but it slipped away, making me shoot out a snarl.
“Again,” she said. “Keep at it.”
Another black zipped past me and I told it to stop in its tracks and bring its slender body closer. Like with the other, it obeyed. But also like the other, it fled when I reached out to touch it. “It’s not working.”
“Practice, child. And you must have patience. Few reach a new Level within minutes.”
Calling black threads, I kept trying to snag them until my brain felt worse than a cracked egg sizzling on a flame-red cast iron pan. Giving up for the moment, I flopped back against the wall.
“You’re tired, so let me take a moment while you rest to tell you more about our threads. As you may have discovered, they come in a variety of lengths. While we can’t always be picky, I recommend seeking strands that are uniform in length. Not the extra-long and rarely, the short. Those lengths are useful but present more of a challenge to weave.”
“Does everyone learn to braid threads to enhance their power?” Would achieving a Level Five really be this simple?
“Only Unravelers and Bespellers use complex weaves. Our task is more challenging.” She rose off the bed, and her gaze darted to the hatch as if someone had knocked. “And I’m afraid that will have to be all for today.”
I peered up at her, my hands linked together like a needy child. “But I’ve only called one thread. I was able to do that already.” Hard not to sound like I was complaining, but I’d thought… Well, I wasn’t sure what I’d thought.
Okay. I thought I’d reach Level Two today. That I’d feed a few strands into my stone. Then I could haul them out and fling them at Donovan.
“You not only called the thread, you made it behave.”
“Mostly.” Until I tried to touch.
“This is new for you, is it not?”
“It doesn’t get me to Level Two.” I sounded like a petulant child, but I couldn’t help it. I’d been driving myself for weeks, hoping for this chance. And now that I’d found it, it felt like she was snatching it away.
“You’ll be there before you realize it. We’ll work hard,” she said. “While I admire your drive, you must realize this won’t happen overnight. Your mind needs to rest and…” She tilted her head. “Someone…They keep calling. They’re worried about you.”
How long had I been here? With the room warded or bespelled, I couldn’t sync with the sundial in Grathe.
“My friend.” I stood. “Sirra wanted a favor in exchange for letting her come here with me. She was curious to see this room.” My gaze darted to the desk and the journal. Donovan had taught me a few elemental magic tricks and there was one I’d only used once. Did I dare try it now? I crossed over to the desk. “Would you mind if I took the journal?”
“I have no need of it.”
Moving to the desk, I picked it up, thinking, encasement. I wouldn’t see anything different about the journal but I’d find out if the spell worked when I submerged it in water.
“Sirra, you said?” Minerva scowled. “She asked for a favor, did she? Do not trust her.”
“I don't.” M
ost of the time. “She and I have a truce, but I know she could change her mind and betray me in seconds. But I need her to get through the water to the bridge. Which will be an issue from now on. In addition to the king, I also pissed off Sirra’s sisters.”
“They won't cross me,” Minerva said. “I have ways of keeping them in line, much like black threads.” She nodded toward the hatch. “If you’ll allow me?”
I waved my hand in that direction. “I’d love the help.”
The hatch door swung inward. So strange to see the water suspended outside the room as if we looked through glass.
Sirra’s dark-haired sister waited. “Comessss,” she grated out. A command, not a request. “We playssss.”
Yeah, sure.
Minerva clapped her hands. “None of that, Sirene. This child is my apprentice, and she will be treated with respect.”
“Wait,” I said. “She can see you?” She’d told me no one could.
“Only you and the naiads can.”
“Girl issss Unraveler?” Sirene said.
“Soon. You wouldn’t want to offend her, now would you?” Minerva turned to me and lowered her voice, making her words just for me. “The naiads benefit from a bespelling. The last thing they want is for you to practice an unraveling on them. Keep that in mind.”
“Thanks.'” I squinted at Sirene. How was she bespelled? There were endless mysteries at the Academy. In my short time here, I’d probably only scratched the surface of them.
“Allow my apprentice to pass,” Minerva told Sirene. “You will not harm her.” Her voice deepened. “Or else.”
Sirene's growl rippled through the water like a shock wave. “She hurt ussss.”
“Apologize,” Minerva whispered.
I dipped my head. “I'm sorry, Sirene.” I did my best to sound contrite. It was a challenge.
“Promisssse never again,” Sirene said coyly.
“Don’t do it,” Minerva said. “Never promise them anything.”
Too late, but I wouldn't point that out to Minerva.
To find out the name of my sister, I’d granted Sirra another favor.
Chapter 15
“Phew,” Tria said when I dragged myself up onto the shore and crawled around to the bridge. “I was getting worried.”
Grabbing the rail, I struggled to my feet. My clothing—skin—froze over with ice crystals as I stood dripping on the rough-cut stones.
After Minerva spoke with the naiads, they’d left. As easy as that. I’d been able to swim here without a single challenge. She’d told them to leave me along from now on, but if I had any say in it, this was my last swim in the moat.
“Inside,” I quaked out, stomping my feet to keep them from turning solid. “Can you flit me to my room?” Thrusting out my hands, I gave her the journal. “Here. You might…” My teeth chattered. “Want to take a look at this.”
“It’s…” Staring down at it, she shook her head, making her dark hair flick across her shoulders. “Let’s get you upstairs where you can shower.” Her gaze remained on the journal. “By the fae. Is this what I think it is?”
“Minerva’s journal. I put an encasement…spell on it.” My hands shook, and my eyelashes were fusing together to form icicles. “Not sure…” I gulped as shivers took over my frame. “If the spell worked. But it was…worth a try. Only way to get it out of the room.”
“It’s fantastic,” she whispered, her finger stroking across the cover.
“Tria?” My lips must be turning blue. “Tria!”
Jolting, she looked up. “What?” Her eyes widened. “Oh. Sorry!” Reaching out, she latched onto my forearm.
A quick flash, and I stood dripping in my room. Beatrice was not going to be pleased about the muck I tracked across the floor as I sped to the bathroom. I’d have to double up on her goodies tonight.
As I shut the door, Tria slumped into my desk chair and lowered the book onto the desk’s wooden surface.
Crossing the bathroom, I knocked and then creaked the door open on the other side. I poked my head into Alys and Moira’s room. “I’m showering.”
Alys sat on her bed, one of her feet lifted. She clutched it as if it caused her great pain. At my words, she jumped to her feet so fast, a pillow fell off her bed. Sniffing, she stuffed her feet into her slippers while swiping her fingers across her eyes. After lifting the pillow off the floor, she clutched it to her chest.
I took a few steps into the room. “Are you okay?”
“Sure.” She lifted her chin and her gaze met mine, hers daring me to ask her what was the matter. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
Should I call her on it?
Sister.
Despite my determination to maintain a rock-solid wall, my resistance to this girl was fragmenting. It didn’t help that she occasionally acted nice. Well, sorta nice. Each unexpected thaw on her part chipped at my ability to keep her at arm’s length.
A longing to be close to her rose inside me, but I beat it back. She wouldn’t welcome my hug or even a pat on the shoulder.
“Why are you dripping on my floor?” she asked, blinking. “You’re… You’re wet?”
“Yes, I, uh, I went swimming. In the moat.”
Why did I have to be this honest? One would think I’d be used to stretching the truth by now, since I did it so often with Cloven and the Headmistress.
Her gaze drifted down my front and when her lips curled, I braced myself for a blast of her usual mockery. “You look cold. Maybe make the shower an extra hot one.”
Not the statement I’d expected. My spine limping, I backed toward the shower before she reconsidered and served up her usual fare. “Yeah, I’m freezing.”
“Yet you went swimming.” She shook her head. “Outside. In the winter. Sometimes, you make no sense at all.”
That was me. Completely senseless.
I grabbed the door handle and pulled the door fully open.
Go into the bathroom. Take a shower.
Why was I lingering? I shouldn’t allow myself to feel any emotion for this girl.
My fingers stilled on the doorknob, and I studied it as if it contained every unrevealed secret at the Academy. “If you…want to talk. Anytime. I’m happy to listen.”
A quick peek showed me her posture softening for one second before she stiffened, her guards solidifying between us as quickly as her expression went blank. “Why would I want to do that?”
Yes, her comment hit where she’d thrown it, right in my chest. And it stung more than it should. But I was better than this, better than the person who’d flung snappy, mean comebacks back at her.
We’d declared a truce, and I wouldn’t break it.
I couldn’t break it.
“Because you know I wouldn’t use it against you,” I said. Not now, anyway.
“Everyone else would.”
Turning back to her, I studied her face but she gave nothing away.
She dropped back onto the bed again and shrugged her feet out of her slippers.
My jaw dropped and I stumbled toward her, unable to look away. “When did you start growing scales?” Did she have dragon blood in her like Donovan?
“They’re not scales,” she croaked out. “Not the usual kind, anyway.” Her gaze remained locked on her feet either because she also couldn’t stop staring at them or because she didn’t dare meet my eyes.
Did she think I’d mock her?
“What’s happening to you?” I asked.
Shoving her blonde hair behind her ears, she finally looked at me. The stark devastation in her gaze made my breath catch. “Never forget. There’s always a price for a bespelling. You really need to reconsider asking Katya for a spell.”
I waved toward her feet. “This is the cost the Court Bespeller asked for holding back your nightlace?”
Her spine stiffened. “My nightlace?”
“It’s a figure of speech.” Much like Donovan’s dragon, not that I’d bring that up to Alys.
As q
uick as her fire had taken hold, it snuffed out. Limp, she leaned back on the pillows. “In some ways, I might prefer to be nightlace.” When I blinked, she quickly added, “Not the murderous kind, just regular old vines.”
“What’s happening to you?” What price was she paying?
“I’m slowly turning into a troll.” Her laughter contained zero mirth. “Ironic, isn’t it? The creatures—people—I’ve mocked will soon become my family.”
“I’m sorry.” Not about the idea that she’d become a troll. Ester, despite her gruff exterior, had shown me her own version of kindness. There wasn’t anything wrong with being a troll. To me, that is. But to a girl who’d savored her Elite status and taken too much pleasure in making fun of those she felt were beneath her?
The Court Bespeller had chosen a worthy punishment for a snooty Elite maybe-murderer.
“How long do you have?” I asked.
“A year or so before I’m a full troll. On the outside, that is. I won’t become a sketar witch. I’ll still use elemental magic, plus my skapti to create diplomacy spells. But the career I imagined with the fae?” Her lips took on a bitter twist. “They’re universally gorgeous. They’ll never hire a troll to work in their court.”
Like with Donovan, this punishment would hurt Alys the most. Was that the point when someone paid for a bespelling?
“Any chance you can speed up the process and achieve a Level Five soon?” she asked. The words came out like a joke but there was no punchline. “Because I could sure use an unraveling.”
“I’ve found a Master.”
She pressed back against the pillows. “You have? Where?”
“She’s…a ghost.”
Alys glared at her feet. “So much for not using this against me.” Death came through in her voice.
“I wasn’t joking. My Master might be a ghost, but she’s going to teach me.”
Her head tilted. “You’re telling the truth?” No denying the pain on her face. “You weren’t mocking me?”
“Not at all. It’s true. She’s a ghost. I’ll work hard. I promise. I’ll reach Level Five and…” My gaze drifted to her feet. “I’ll help you.”
“Thank you.” Blinking fast, she tucked her feet back inside her slippers, hiding them away. How long before the skin on her legs took on the same scaly appearance?
Crystal Wing Academy- The Complete Series Page 60
