I shake my head. “No. I spent all summer working on my essay for the Arcanum Collective.”
The reminder sends a bolt of frustration through me. I still can’t believe Professor Azula wants me to rewrite it. I’m not sure I even know where to start.
Refocusing on Poppy walking beside me, I ask, “But you have, right?”
She nods. “He’s doing really well. And he seems happy.” Her eyes get that faraway look that they always get when I talk to her about Aric, and she smiles. “I’m excited to see him for Yule. Mama and I are already planning to take a few days off from the café and make a trip to Faunwood.”
“That’s a big deal,” I say as we turn a corner into another connecting hallway. “She never closes the café.”
“I know. It’s really nice of her to want to take a trip with me.” Poppy’s face falls a bit. “Though I do feel a little guilty.”
“Don’t feel bad,” I say, jostling her shoulder as we walk. “She could probably use the break. You both work too hard.”
This gets Poppy to smile.
It’s already evening, so by the time we make it to the library, the sconces along the walls have flickered to life, and the hallways are lined in bands of light and shadow. Poppy triple-checks to make sure no one is around before she eases her key into the lock and opens the library door for us. It’s a little bit eerie, being in the library when it’s dark and abandoned. But Poppy doesn’t seem to mind, and I follow her around while she searches for books on orcish languages, using the glow from Aric’s mom’s ring to light her way.
My gaze flicks to the iron gate keeping students out of the upstairs area: the restricted section. “Hey, did Miss Mai give you a key to the restricted section?” I ask Poppy.
She glances at the locked gate and shakes her head. “No. Why?”
I shrug. “I’ve always wondered what’s up there.”
Poppy refocuses on her search. With each book she pulls from the shelf and examines, I feel static building in myveins—my magic growing frustrated with being contained. Sometimes it’s like this, and it’s hard to settle it down.
“Okay,” she says after finding a few books and hugging them to her chest, “I think I have what I need. Thanks for coming with me.”
“Of course, Pops. I’ll be your partner in crime anytime.”
Back out in the hallway, Poppy locks the library door, but before we can head back to our dorm room, I say, “I think I’m gonna go to the spire for a while.”
Poppy tips her head at me, her glasses catching the firelight from a nearby wall sconce. “This late? Are you sure?”
I nod. It’s the one place on campus—besides the elemental magic practice room, which’ll be locked at this time of evening—where I can practice my magic freely, and the itch beneath my skin tells me I need to go let out some of this electricity, or I’ll be unsettled all night. “Yeah. I won’t be long. You okay getting back?”
She nods and lets out a quiet sound between a sigh and a laugh. “I’ll be fine. You’re all too good to me.”
“No such thing.” I pull her into a hug, detecting the scent of peppermint clinging to her hair, and then we part ways, with Poppy heading toward the dormitory towers and me walking in the direction of the elemental magic wing.
I don’t pass anyone on my way there, and the quiet only serves to amplify Professor Azula’s voice in my mind:Someone who’s steadfast and controlled and will be able to contribute to the advancements and achievements of the guild.I can be that; I can control my magic. It’s just going to take a bit more practice.
In response, my magic flares, sending a skitter of electricity across my skin. It’s been doing this lately, seeping out when I don’t mean for it to. Storm magic is difficult to contain, andthere aren’t any other storm practitioners in my year—or even in the academy right now. Sometimes it feels like I have to figure everything out on my own despite being surrounded by peers and professors. But even my advanced elemental magic professors, like Professor Azula, aren’t fully trained in the path of storm magic. It makes me feel like a liability some days, like an accident just waiting to happen, one storm away from ripping everything apart.
Deep in thought, I climb the stairs to the Skyreach Spire and throw open the door, expecting to be greeted by a cool late-summer breeze.
Which I am.
But I’m also greeted by a shock of pale skin beneath the moonlight and a glint of steel as a blade slices through the air.
I stop abruptly, and by the time the door swings closed behind me, the man has already turned and is looking down his nose at me.
And it’s Professor D’Arques.
Without meaning to, I take in the sight of him: a lean, firm chest; defined core; and a toned V of muscle leading down—
My eyes track lower, and then I immediately stop them and flick my gaze back to Professor D’Arques’s.
And he’s staring—no,glaring—at me.
