“Ah, my parents want me to return home. They’re peculiar about world events like what happened at the Ludi. I’ll be going back across the ocean after graduation, find a post over there. Then, who knows? You?”
“I don’t know yet.” She pushes her plate toward the center of the table. “Someone told me I should think about enlisting in the United Territories Militia.”
“Ah! They put a pamphlet out for that, too. I’ve got my copy still, if you’d like to borrow it. They had a bunch of regulations and such for people applying. Good stuff. What about the Warrior post here? I bet the director would give it to you. With your credentials, why wouldn’t he?” Ronny rubs his chin where random sprouts of red hair speckle the skin, the beginning of a beard.
Lilah tilts her head, contemplating life. A teacher? True, she has the credentials, and surely no academy would reject a winner of the Ludi. But . . . “I don’t have the patience for that type of work.”
“And you think Ms. Petrovna did? She ran around this place like she was the director! And everyone loved her for it.” Ronny’s voice softens and fades as he turns thoughtful. “No one has seen her since the Ludi, or Marcus, Alicia, Beau, and Scarlet—she was terrible, but lovely.”
Lilah goes rigid. She had seen them. She shakes her head and closes her eyes, counting her breaths. “She was my favorite instructor, ever.” And it’s true, she had a mountain of respect for Ms. Petrovna and was proud to have her as her instructor.
“Everyone’s favorite.”
Lilah only nods. What would she even say? Her stomach stays in knots.
Ronny devours his breakfast, which consists of a generous serving of waffles, eggs, and potatoes, and Lilah watches, envious of his voracious appetite, as he globs ketchup onto the stack of potatoes, then forks them into his mouth.
The sunlight cuts a path on the floor of Lilah’s room. She touches a finger to every object. Vance—the director insisted she call him by his first name—had stood in the hallway, asking if she’d found her bag. He said they were going to try and send it to her guardian, but—Lilah stifles a cry.
She looks at the box next to her traveling bag. Lilah finds it rather perplexing. She sighs and tips the lid, then exclaims quietly to herself when she sees what’s inside. A gown made of fine silk and delicately embroidered lace, with white pearls along the edges. Stunned, she pulls it from the box. She looks back in the box to find a small note. It is from Verna. Lilah doesn’t know if she wants to read it, to see her delicate handwriting and know that this is the only thing she has left of her. She flips it over in her hands, feels the weight of the ink.
Dear Lilah,
When you receive this, you will have won the Ludi. Is it poor taste that I want you to win? I know how hard you’ve worked and what winning would mean to you, so that is what I wish for you. Regardless, congratulations! You never cease to make me proud.
Now, I know you will look at this dress and think that I can’t afford it, and maybe that is the truth, but since I can’t be there to see you graduate, I wanted you to have a piece of me with you. So, really, do not worry because I have not bought this dress, merely fixed up my own shabby graduation dress. Wear it to the ball. Let it shimmer and wave in the lights. Let it be there, for me.
I know you must feel lost right now, just days from finishing academy, and on your way in the world. But you are capable of anything. Though I am only your guardian, I have always felt I crossed a line with you. You are more like my own child than anyone else’s. And because of this, I have kept the truth from you. A truth that I have known since the first time I met you.
I suppose part of me was selfish and didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid I would lose you. There is no excuse for what I’ve done to you—kept you from answers you needed. I am sorry. The other part of me thought that telling you the truth would be your undoing. But as I write this, I know that could never be true. Lilah, you are the stem and the rose, the thorn and the root. You are grounded in a strength this world has yet to see or understand. Don’t let it catch you, as I’m sure it will be tempting to fall. But if you fall, you must rise again.
This is what I must tell you: Your parents are Alessandra Hilt and Rowley Eadwig. Understand, my dear child, you are more than a name. Forgive me.
You are free now, my girl. And if ever there comes a time when you need me, you will know where to find me. Now go live. Do what you wish. All I ask is that you live a life that makes you proud.
I love you.
Always,
Verna Crowne—Mom
Falling back on the bed, Lilah pulls her legs in to her chest and sobs. She wishes she had never known Verna, so that she would never have been able to feel such loss—or experience this quiet death.
Perhaps the double rainbow mocks Lilah as she stands on the edge of the lapping waters. But she thinks not. Nature abounds, as it should. Something must continue on fighting. It encourages her to do the same. Restless, she tosses a stone into the lazy waves. Turning back to the academy, she misses the waving wraith just out of sight.
Lilah stands in front of the bathroom mirror staring at her own reflection. Her blueberry blue eyes look dead, despite her best attempt to recreate Alicia’s handiwork from the Ludi’s victory ball. She blinks slowly, watching the black curled lashes touch her eyebrows. Her skin is too pale, making the blush outrageously bright. If she pulls her hair forward, she can hide her face beneath delicate wheat curls. I don’t feel like celebrating, but I’ll do it for you. The white fabric of the dress taunts her black signa and brands with its purity. Lilah can’t look down at herself in the mirror, she doesn’t want to see how mired Verna’s dress is by her wearing it. Leaving the bathroom barefooted, the gown floats behind her, a tail of trials, broken promises, and ends. Yes, maybe white is the perfect color—empty.
The academy is decorated with wreaths of laurel, perfuming the halls with a faint earthy scent. Before she leaves through the threshold, she grabs a blue stole and wraps it around her shoulders where a chill raises the hairs on her arms. She floats down the hall to the spiral staircase. Music echoes from below.
She takes a deep breath and descends the staircase, the music from the hall strings through the air like a fragrance, bright and visible. When she pushes the doors open, she is held immobile by more than a dozen pairs of eyes.
Someone says, “How beautiful—” But the rest of their compliment is lost to her; she flickers her anima and makes herself deaf. She inhales, doesn’t hear the intake of breath nor the whispers of the others behind her back.
None of them know me. None of them know the truth.
Someone asks her to dance, she complies. Another asks if she’d like something to eat or drink, she complies. Lilah smiles and laughs. She speaks when spoken to, then retreats. Are you watching me? Is this how I’m supposed to act? She spins, twirls, and goes astray.
When she wakes from her daze, she stands by the waters of the great lake.
“Lilah?” She turns to Dagmar, who she had forgotten was there; indeed, he hadn’t even existed a moment ago. She thinks he knows he might as well not be beside her. “Are you all right?” She stares at him in earnest; his eyebrows furrow and then he glances away, a crimson blush on his cheeks.
“No, I can’t say I am.” His look of concern intensifies after her confession, warping his face into something that Lilah believes warns of an admonishment. Of course, she wasn’t supposed to answer this question, not really. Without even a goodnight, she abandons him by the waters, along with everything he is and represents. Lilah doesn’t belong in the Nox world. She doesn’t know if she belongs anywhere.
Weeks later, Lilah stands in the garden behind the academy, the one she ran through with a book in her hands what seems like a lifetime ago but is only two weeks. All her fellow students stand next to her, and behind them, the professors. Many she knows well and others not at all.
She has spent a year here. A full season. She smiles as she looks around at all the faces, all
the memories. But she won’t miss them. Like a tree does with every season, Lilah is ready to shed these worn leaves for something new, something better.
Vance stands in front of them in formal attire with an extra coat because it snowed only this morning. Lilah doesn’t need to worry; she can oscillate her body temperature at will.
“Today, we are gathered to celebrate your accomplishments. We are here to say goodbye to the past and hello to the future, which is bright for all of you! You have spent your year with us at Waterstone Academy, and let me say for myself and the professors, you will not be forgotten!” He goes on, but the words lull in Lilah’s mind, and she ceases to hear them. She tilts her head back to look at the sky and listens to a birdsong. It echoes, waiting for a reply. Vance and the professors give various students medals and awards for different disciplines, surprising Lilah when she receives one. “May Aura bless you all with fortune and favor!” he claps, as do the professors.
Eventually, the students clap for themselves. Lilah can’t help but feel Alicia’s absence. She always thought they’d graduate together. But it was all a lie, a fabrication.
Lilah returns to her room in a somber mood. She places the medal she received for Warrior class—“Outstanding Student”—next to the other from the Ludi. She idly wonders when Ms. Petrovna nominated her, before or after she decided to help in her capture and murder. Next to each other, the medals glitter tenfold in the shocking light of the window.
The other students will leave today or tomorrow, depending on their travel plans. Lilah has no plans of leaving. When she was in the director’s office, she had asked if it was okay if she stayed here for the two weeks before the new term and figured things out.
“Certainly! As you are aware, we do have a Warrior post. Perhaps you’d like to stay permanently?” He opens his arms in a questioning manner, but Lilah can see the desperation in the gesture, too.
“It’s an honor that you would even consider—”
“Of course! Waterstone Academy would be lucky to have the Ludi winner as their instructor! Think on it. You’ve got the two weeks.” He has a way of doing that, slipping seamlessly from a jovial old man into the formidable director Lilah knows from before.
“Thank you, sir. I will.”
There is a knock on her door, and she can tell by the sound ricocheting through the wood, it is Dagmar. Sighing, Lilah rolls off the bed. She doesn’t know how long she can keep up being civil.
“I just wanted to say goodbye, I’ll be leaving in an hour for the train.” He is going to teach somewhere on the other coast. Lilah remembers him telling her that. Something with mathematics. She comes into the hallway. Lee pokes her head out from her door, one down from Lilah.
“You know, you’re not allowed up here? This is the girls’ dormitory,” Lee says in a teasing tone.
He laughs, the one thing Lilah can still admire about him. “Yeah, I remember, but now it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” He shifts his gaze back to Lilah. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, then.”
“Goodbye, then.” She blinks.
He taps on her door, then walks down the hall into obscurity.
Lee comes out from behind her door. “Heartbreaker,” she mimes a heart breaking with her hands. “Who knew?”
Lilah sighs. “Dagmar will do just fine without me.”
Lee’s smile fades, and she nods her head slowly. “What are your plans? I see you’re not packing up like the rest of us.”
“I think I might stay awhile. See how this whole ‘teaching’ thing goes.”
Lee’s eyes widen. “Really? I heard you talking to Ronny yesterday about it. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Lee. Good luck finding your mother.” Lilah spoke to her briefly weeks ago. Her mother, her only family, has been missing for some weeks now, and Lee is determined to find her.
Lilah lies on her bed, reading a book of children’s stories that Verna gave her as a child. The binding is torn and the pages are worn, but Lilah wouldn’t trade it for any other. The sunlight catches the page she reads and alights the wily cat eyes and tiny teacups.
Vance knocks on the door. Lilah identifies him by the sound of his footsteps coming from down the hall. One thing she has easily adjusted to after ascension are her fluid senses; instead of having to focus, it simply goes.
“You can come in.”
He opens the door and leaves it open. No need to really close it at all, but Lilah does it out of habit. All the students have left and most of the professors, though their leave is temporary. Lilah walks the corridors like a ghost. “I need to talk to you.”
Lilah sits up, placing the book on her desk. “Okay.”
“I’ve received a request from the Order.” Lilah nods. So, she’ll really be alone. “They wish to speak to you. They have questions about the Ludi and—other things.”
Lilah can imagine what those other things are. I wonder if they will ask me about the mysterious murders they reported in the most recent pamphlets? In the week since graduation, the Order put out a special pamphlet that detailed several murders across multiple territories. A knot forms in Lilah’s stomach. “I see. When do they wish to meet?”
“Now—a member is on the way.” He stands in the threshold, but shifts his weight back and forth. His wrinkled skin folds more as he frowns.
“Then, I will speak to this member of the Order.” Lilah stands from her bed and squares her shoulders. He nods. “I’ll expect them in the garden.”
Snow buries the ground, hiding the garden’s stone path. It is impossible to imagine spring. The cold harvests the birds’ song, while stillness overshadows the trees, turning beauty grotesque. She closes her eyes and pulls from her pocket the ring Caleb gave her, slipping it onto her finger. It fits snugly, perfectly. She admires how the jewel catches the winter sun and it makes her remember the warmth in his eyes. She wonders how long it will take for those vivid memories to decay. It would be easy to forget, if it weren’t for the bind.
She laughs and shakes her head, bringing her black cloak around her. The future, she knows, is like the blooms within the stems. Hidden, but known. Impossible to detect, the knowledge lingers within those reaching branches. She scrapes the branch of a tree, gray lodging beneath her fingernail, to reveal green innards. Nothing is dead, only waiting.
Her whole world reels. She knows they wish to question her about the Ludi, but Lilah can only guess what else they want to question her about. What has Caleb told them? She supposes she’ll find out. Lilah looks up at the cloudless sky and wonders, Is he looking at the sky, too? Maybe the answers aren’t important. Maybe the question alone is enough.
She slips the ring off and pushes it deep and safe in her pocket, then turns as a familiar man approaches her.
“Miss Lilah Crowne?” the hawk-faced man says.
Fire rises in her gut. “Yes?”
Acknowledgments
A book is like a baby in that it takes a village. Well, this baby had been in the womb for almost a decade—a golden egg nearly never hatching—and in that time, so many people have helped me.
I don’t know where to begin.
I want to thank all those teachers I’ve had who encouraged me to pursue writing. I want to thank all my friends and family for believing in me and supporting me, especially my parents. Those who read the book and gave me honest critiques or suggestions, thank you. Those who didn’t, but still offered up help in other ways, thank you.
Lastly, I want to thank YOU. This is only the beginning of Lilah’s story, and I hope that you will follow her until its end.
About the Author
Rachael Krotec is an emerging author of stories that blend genres, but probably have some kind of fantastical element. She received her B.A. in both Creative Writing and Psychology from Florida State University. She lives in Florida, but has severe wanderlust for colder places. When she isn’t writing, she can be found watching the clouds, lying on the back of her horse, Blaze, in the pasture, reading a good book with
a cup of black coffee, or having a spontaneous dance party. This is Rachael’s first book.
www.rachaelkrotec.com
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