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I pass my father’s room. No light filters through the narrow crack beneath the door, so I do my best to prevent the floorboards from creaking under my weight. My father is a light sleeper, and at three in the morning, I’m in no mood to deal with his crankiness.
When I arrive at my room, I close the door softly behind me. Zephyr darts over to my bed and claims the center.
“You know I’ll have to move you,” I hiss. “How do you expect me to get into bed with you right there in the middle?”
Zephyr opens an eye and stares at me. I glare at him until he crawls over to the left side of the bed.
I drape my cerulean robes over my golden armchair and pause.I only have one more week of wearing them. If I pass my Mage Trials, I will be bestowed with the violet robes of the magi.
And if I fail, I will wear neither adept nor magi robes for the rest of my life.
I pace over to my cabinet and pull out a nightgown. I change into it, switch off the crystalline chandelier, and slide into bed beside Zephyr. His azure scales are so luminous that they are visible even in the darkness.
The shadows swirl as my vision adjusts to the lack of light. I close my eyes and keep them shut for a long while, but no sleep finds me. Even the softness of my bed doesn’t lull me into slumber.
I grasp the locket around my neck and run the silver heart between my fingers.
What if I didn’t imagine Arluin standing there in the alleyway?
All my foolish wishes weigh heavily on my heart. The darkness shifts, and I find myself staring up at the ghost of his face.
I reach for the lamp beside my bed and switch on the aether crystals. But there’s no one else here. Only Zephyr and me. My cerulean robes stare back at me from where they hang over my armchair.
I don’t try to fall asleep again. With all the onerous thoughts playing on my mind, it would be pointless.
I switch off the lamp and climb out of bed. On my way out, I grab the velvet cloak hanging on the back of my door. Zephyr doesn’t stir as I leave.
The corridor beyond is dark, and I use the walls to help me navigate back to the stairs. When I near my father’s room, I tip-toe past. Not only do I fear his grumpiness at being awoken, but also him demanding to know why I’m creeping out at three in the morning.
Actually, it might now be closer to four o’clock, but I don’t peer into any of the rooms downstairs to check the clocks. I continue through the hallway, passing all my mother’s paintings, and out the grand doors. I close them behind me carefully.
On the other side, the golden lion knockers stare at me with suspicious, metallic eyes. I turn away from them and start through the gardens.
Moonlight shimmers across the satin petals of the blooming flowers, and the fountain at the center flows to a steady rhythm reminiscent of gentle rain.
My warm breaths form a small cloud as they meet the frigid air. Frost powders the grass and glistens in the starlight. A sharp chill claws over my arms. I clasp my velvet cloak tighter around myself and wish I picked a thicker one. The stones are like ice beneath my bare feet as I traipse over them.
“Calida,” I murmur. A flame sparks within, warming me from the inside out. Now when my toes touch the stone, the ground feels no colder than my bedroom floor. Nor do I feel the wintry breeze gliding through my cloak.
The aether enchanting the tall gates glows brightly through the shadowed gardens. When I reach them, they swing open in a shrill, metallic clang, and the sound ricochets through the night.
I wince and glance back at the manor. No light switches on. If my father heard the sound, then he has ignored it, likely thinking it came from someone else’s manor farther down the street. Thankfully, the gates close more quietly than they opened.
I step out onto the dark street. There’s no one around to wonder what the Grandmage’s daughter is doing out in the dead of night, barefoot and dressed in her nightgown. Before anyone can appear from around the corner, I mutter, “Laxus.”
A violet cloud enshrouds me, and I fade into the night.
I emerge outside Arluin’s manor.
Dark iron gates greet me, as does the serpent coiling around the blade on the Harstall’s family crest. The gardens were neglected when Arluin lived here, but now they’re entirely out of control. The weeds have grown so tall they strangle the trees.
Though Arluin has distant cousins, none of them have claimed this place. It seems they want no connection at all with Heston or his manor.
After the necromancers and their undead were defeated, Branvir and a group of magi searched the manor. I don’t think they found anything, and if they did, I heard nothing about it. The eventual fate of this manor will be demolition, but my father is yet to issue that order. And I don’t think he will for a very long time. He can’t bear to utter a single word about Heston.
Over the last three years, only I have visited the manor. This isn’t the first sleepless night that I’ve teleported here.
I take another step toward the gates. The protruding edges of the cobblestones dig into the soft undersides of my feet.
