Page 96 of Fallacies

“Cin?”

I slam the door shut on my magic, a silence sweeping through the forest a second before its usual sounds return. The chirping of the birds, the rush of the stream beside me, and…Callan’s boots against the rocks.

“Hey.” I push to my feet, blinking a few times in the hopes that it will wash away any lingering gold in my eyes, but judging by the way his shoulders tense when I look up at him, some of it remains. My gaze falls to my boots. “Sorry.”

“How did it go?” Callan asks, the toe of his boots stepping into my vision.

The Hearths made me my own pair—the kind every Ajax wears. I also got a slightly more feminine version of their uniforms: thick black pants to account for the changing seasons, a sleek long sleeve that feels like air on my skin, and a matching jacket and weapons vest. It’s been a hard transition, but clad in their clothes, I certainly feel a part of the coven.

“Good,” I reply, lifting my head when I feel the last morsel of magic sink to the base of my spine—taking the gold in my eyes with it. “It listens, albeit reluctantly, but enough that I’m not worried about losing control of it.”

Callan’s relief is palpable, the crease between his brows flattening out as he smiles back at me. “Good.”

He’s dressed too, with all his weapons in place, dark brown hair still damp at the ends. He smells like a forest of cedar trees right after the rain, and the scent calms me to my very core, washing away any ounce of self-doubt or fear.

“Are you ready?”

All of it comes rushing back.

“Chaos?”

“Yes,” I choke out, clearing my throat and trying again in the hopes that it will sound more convincing. “Yes.”

Not bad.

Callan brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes, then lifts my face to his. “I’ll be with you, remember? You’ll be able to talk to me.”

I nod, relief blurring the hard edges of fear.

Along with the rigorous training and preparation for our mission, Callan and I have expanded on Tobias Lowry’s translations of Vaelith in nature using the journal I found a few weeks back and essentially created our own language. We practice every night, snuffing then reigniting stars in a sequence of flashing lights that form words. With only two weeks, our dictionary is limited, but I’ll be able to talk to him while I’m in Streatham…using the stars.

I force a smile. “I still think we should have translated a few curse words.”

Callan laughs, and he seems grateful for the subject change. “I told you, using stars to curse feels sacrilegious."

Waving off his reasoning, I take the hand Callan offers and follow his steps through the creek bed, wondering if the Matrons would agree. Nature is sacred, and by manipulating it, I suppose that can be seen as defiling it. Twisting fate or intervening in matters of the Chiaros. Except Sol and Rogue magic are god-given. One is a gift, one is a curse, and I’m the ill-fated chosen who got both.

A true anomaly.

Pirn is quiet as Callan, and I make our way through the trees, passing rows of identical cabins and vacant dirt paths. Everyone must already be at the Banyan, gathering to see us off.

I take in the empty camp around me. Handmade rocking chairs on every porch, the odd wildflower growing through patches of bright green grass, and the first of burnt orange leaves in the trees around us. I wonder what Pirn will look like when fall is in full bloom. I wonder if it snows as much here as it did in Draycott. I always did love the snow.

I wonder if I’ll get to see it. The change of the seasons, the growth of new crops, the advancements of Mender medicine, and more batches of Hearth-made Moonshine…A girl can dream.

Breathing deeply, I soak in the air, and Callan’s fingers tighten around mine. I certainly don’t want it to be goodbye, but it very well could be.

By the time we make it to the Banyan, every seat is filled. Closest to the trunk, standing behind a tall podium, is Delia, silver robes bristling in the gentle breeze. Her light brown hair falls down her shoulders in soft waves, and she looks…exhausted. But despite her weary smile, her head is still held high, and her shoulders stay proudly pushed back.

Beside her, Laverna doesn’t look much better. Where Delia looks worn, Laverna looks nervous. I track her anxious stare across the space to where Devon stands amongst the rest of our coven. They’ve lined up facing the crowd, armed and ready as they’ll ever be, their attention twisting in our direction as Callan and I approach.

The murmur of the crowd hushes, and we make our way to the front, the sudden silence followed by a ripple of bowed heads. I find my place between Callan and Pax, the latter shooting me a wink as soon as I’m near enough to see it. Chancing a look at the Dame, I find her already staring back at me, gentle gaze traveling over my black suit, and all the way down to the tread of my boots.

My coven decided, unanimously, that no one else can know what I am—especially not the Dame. We had to tell her something in order to get clearance on a rescue mission, so Callan told her we found a way to take down the ward and didn’t specify that it would need to be down inside it. He left out the part where I’ve got to cross it first.

And despite the Dame’s track record of constantly questioning Callan’s actions, she bought it.

Ever since Ceres died and Callan confessed her betrayal to the group, she’s been half the Dame she was before. Who knows what’s going through her head, but it certainly isn’t the nitty-gritty details of this mission. Thankfully.