Severin peels his gaze away from me and inclines his head respectfully toward Headmistress Moonhart and the two visiting board members, then moves to take his place along the wall. It takes everything in me not to stare at him as he goes.
“Miss Vandermere,” the headmistress says. “If you’re prepared, we may begin.”
I draw a breath, trying to shake off the surprise of Severin’s arrival, and nod once. “I’m ready.”
Chapter 57
Maeve
THE BRONZE-SKINNED BOARD MEMBER LEANS forward. “Before your demonstration, we’d like to hear more about you.” She gives me a small smile. “Tell us more about your magic.”
Professor Azula told me that the board would treat my demonstration in this way: like an interview process. So I’m prepared, even if my heart thrums a tiny bit faster as I swallow and find my words.
“I have storm magic,” I say, lifting one hand and calling sparks of lightning to my fingertips.
The electricity dances from finger to finger, drawing the gazes of the two board members, though they don’t look particularly impressed, more curious than anything. Even though storm magic is rare, I don’t doubt that there are many more powerful practitioners in the Arcanum Collective.
“But what I’m most interested in,” I continue as I flick the sparks away and lower my hand, “is energy—how it can be shaped and wielded for good. To help people.” Clasping my hands loosely in front of me, I glance toward Severin, who’swatching me through dark narrowed eyes, then back to the board members. “I want to explore methods to bring stable magical energy to nonmagic communities.”
“Why?” asks the other board member, an older man with wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Because...” I take a breath and exhale it slowly, sending my tinge of nervousness out with it. This is my moment to show the fellowship board who I really am and what I stand for; all I need to do is be truthful. “Because I don’t believe the benefits of magic should be limited to those born with it. If we can harness storm magic safely and make energy accessible to struggling communities, we can improve living conditions and change the balance of opportunity.”
“Your essay reflects your conviction, Miss Vandermere,” the bronze-skinned woman says, holding up the parchment I so painstakingly pored over. “We found your words to be... refreshingly energetic.”
She shares a smile with her fellow board member, and I use the brief moment to glance at Professor Azula, who gives me a conceding upward tilt of her lips and a nod of her head. And behind her, Severin continues to stare, his dark hair falling forward around his face, making no outward indication of what he feels.
But in my chest, the bond between us warms.
And I know he’s proud of me, even if he can’t show it.
It helps loosen the last bit of tension still trying to cling to me.
“Very well,” the bespectacled man says. “You may begin your demonstration, Miss Vandermere.”
I nodonce. “With pleasure,” I say.
I take a small step back and draw a steadying breath. And I recall all the effort I’ve put in, all the nights up on that tower when everyone else was asleep. I see the glint of moonlight on my blade as Severin guided me through drills meant to strengthen my focus and balance. And I feel the joy that filled me when I first successfully held the sphere together.
Now, all of those moments combine.
This is my moment to shine, to show them what I can do, to prove I deserve a place in their collective.
I close my eyes.
The chamber fades. The cold touching my skin diminishes. And all that remains is the familiar thrum of storm magic running through my veins, pulsing just beneath my skin, begging to be released.
I open my eyes and lift my hands out in front of me. A faint crackle of white-blue light sparks between my fingers. The air shifts as I begin to draw on the energy both inside of and outside of my body. A current tugs at the hem of my skirt and lifts loose strands of my hair.
Tendrils of brilliant energy bloom between my palms. I begin to shape them carefully, like a weaver sitting before a tapestry, creating something one painstaking strand at a time. I draw on months of practice, on countless failures and moments of frustration and small tastes of victory. The energy sphere begins as a tiny ball of light. Then it grows. It gets bigger, brighter.
As it grows, I stabilize it.
And when it’s a thrumming sphere of energy crackling and pulsing between my palms, I hold it. My muscles begin to tremble from the amount of power it takes.
This is what I always struggled with. This is the moment where the sphere would typically explode, sending sparks zooming in all directions.
Now, for a split second, it wavers. The board members lean forward, watching me with focused attention as the surface of the sphere ripples. One tiny web of lightning jumps from the sphere, biting my wrist.
