Professor Azula makes an approving sound. “Yes. She’s worked hard this term.”
“It shows,” the other board member adds, a tinge of satisfaction coloring her tone.
They continue to speak—the man remarks that they have much to discuss before making their final decision, and Moonhart says she expects great things from Maeve.
I don’t participate in the conversation. Because deep inside my chest, my bond with Maeve burns with passionate heat.
For weeks it has felt raw, frayed, on the verge of snapping completely. And I thought that was what I wanted. But now, as it flares bright inside me, I admit that it’s become one of my greatest fears.
Whatever happens, I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to loseher. And I need her to know that, regardless of what she chooses to do. I need to give her the choice, rather than making it for her.
The bond pulls, causing me to draw a small breath as my chest tightens.
It feels like . . . an invitation.
And I know with certainty that Maeve is calling for me, reaching through what remains of our tattered connection, beckoning me toward her.
“Severin?”
I tear my gaze from the center of the room and shift it to Headmistress Moonhart, who’s looking at me with a curious expression, one pale eyebrow arched. “Are you unwell?”
No. Yes. But not in the way she thinks.
I draw myself up. “It was a long first semester, Headmistress. I’m simply tired.”
“Mm.” She purses her lips, and I’m unsure if she believes me. She has an uncanny way of seeing through people whether they want her to or not. “Well, do try to rest over the holiday.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I incline my head toward her, Azula, and the board members politely, then excuse myself from the chamber.
And my feet know exactly where to carry me, guided by the thread thrumming in my chest, like a compass pointing to my true north:furtuna mea.
To my storm.
I navigate the near-empty corridors. Winter light pours in through the stained glass windows, and somewhere far away, a door clicks closed, the sound echoing through the hallways.
A feeling of surrender washes over me as I make it to the stairs that will lead me up to the Skyreach Spire. How many times have I thought of her while climbing these stairs? How many times have I sparred with her on the tower, watched the moonlight glint off her hair, wished I could be hers and so much more?
With each step I climb, I realize that every moment in Maeve’s presence has changed me. She has woken me up from my centuries-long slumber, has made me hunger for life in a way I thought I never would again.
And yet I may already have lost her.
By the time I reach the top of the stairwell, my heart is pounding with anticipation. I can feel her on the other side of the door, just as I’m sure she can feel me.
My fingers wrap around the door handle, and it’s already warm, no doubt from Maeve’s lingering touch. I draw a breath and open the door.
Sunlight and cold air wrap around me as I step onto the frosted tower, snow crunching under my boots. Maeve stands in the center of the spire, her long hair hanging loose, dancing on the breeze as it swirls around her. She turns when the door clicks closed behind me. Oureyes meet.
And for a moment, I feel weightless, suspended in time. She’s cosmic that way, as if the planets would alter their courses just to orbit around her.
Neither of us speaks. It feels nearly unbearable. In my chest, the bond strains, begging me to close the distance to her, flickering in a way it hasn’t since we parted all those weeks ago.
Maeve gives me a small smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she says. Her voice soothes me, fills in the cracks that’ve started fracturing inside me from this distance between us.
“I willalwayscome.” The words slip from me without needing to be considered. Because it’s the truth. If Maeve calls for me, if Maeve needs me, I am hers. Completely.
She presses her lips together and regards me with those dark violet eyes. Her scent—like sage and a summer storm—floats around me, mingling with the cold winter air.
