My pulse spikes. In response, my fingers curl, my grip tightening, my instincts telling me to control the energy.
But I stop myself. I know now how to contain it without trying to force it into submission.
Storm energy doesn’t want to be static.
I said it to Severin that very first day in class together. And though I knew then that what I’d said was true, now I feel it in my bones, in every beat of the magical blood running through my veins.
And I feel it in my bond with Severin, in this frayed thing that begs me with every breath to heal it, to fix what’s been broken.
I breathe deeply, letting my fingers uncurl, just slightly. I let the energy move, inviting it into a dance rather than trying to leash it.
Almost immediately, the surface of the sphere becomes glasslike, bursts of lightning threading through it in hypnotizing patterns, bathing the entire practice chamber in cool silver light.
For a brief moment, I allow myself to glance past Professor Azula.
Severin is watching me, but his face is no longer that cold expressionless mask I’ve come to know so well. Instead, hiseyes have widened, his mouth is parted slightly, and beneath my sternum, I feel him. And it feelsright. Having him there feels like home.
I smile and turn my focus back to my sphere. It continues to dance, no longer fighting, still gleaming brilliantly.
“That’s enough,” the female board member says.
With a nod, I allow the energy to dissipate, like the petals of a soft flower floating away on a summer breeze. When the last tendril of lightning has disintegrated, I drop my arms to my sides, muscles trembling slightly from the power required to hold the sphere steady.
Someone claps. I look up and meet Headmistress Moonhart’s blue eyes. She’s beaming at me, her cheeks rosy in the chill air, a look of joy written plainly across her face. The others join in, giving me a short and polite round of applause.
Except for Severin. He’s still just watching me with that same expression. And I realize I want to know what he thinks, what’s running through his mind. I miss him. I miss his voice, his touch, the way the air feels when he moves through a room.
And I decide that after this, I need to tell him that. No more holding back.
“Thank you, Miss Vandermere.” The board member adjusts his spectacles and glances at the witch beside him, then back to me. “You’ve given us quite a lot to discuss and consider. We thank you for your time. But unless you have any other questions for us, I believe you’re free to begin your holiday.”
None of the others speak up. So I nod my head once, trying to contain my smile. “Thank you.”
Headmistress Moonhart gives me a little wink as I walk by, and I’m pretty sure that’s a good sign.
I grab my robe from the hook on the wall, then slip out of the practice chamber and into the cold corridor. All around me, the halls are quiet, the castle having emptied of students.
Leaning on the cool stone wall, I try to catch my breath. My hands and muscles still tremble. And as I look down at my fingers, I let out a tiny laugh.
Because I did it. I trusted myself, I trusted my magic and my instincts, and I did what I set out to do. Whatever they decide now, I know I did my best. And whatever decision they make, it doesn’t impact how I feel about myself or my magic.
I know who I am and what I stand for.
With conviction, I reach for the bond connecting my heart to Severin’s. It flares with delicious heat, reminding me that it’s been waiting there all this time, hoping for me to acknowledge it, fighting not to burn out.
My heart stutters. There’s one last thing I need to do before I leave the castle for Yule.
I push away from the cold wall, and as I slip my arms into the sleeves of my robe and start down the corridor, I smile, already knowing where I’m going.
Chapter 58
Severin
THE BOARD MEMBERS REMAIN SILENT even after Maeve has left the chamber. The energy from her sphere still hovers subtly in the room, making the hair on my arms and neck stand on end. I stare at the space she occupied in the center of the room. The brilliant white light of her energy sphere is gone, but the image of it—of Maeve guiding it, a furrow in her brow, a reflection of light sparkling in her violet eyes—remains burned into my memory.
Like she’s the sun, and I couldn’t help but to stare.
“Exceptional containment,” one of the board members says.
