AELIA REVA
The rain from the dining hall clings to me long after I've left it behind. My dress is heavy with it, my hair dripping cold against my back. Water slides down my arms, soaking the cuffs, pooling in the folds of my skirt. My skin still feels warm from the fire I'd thrown, but it's a faint, dying heat now smothered, like everything else in this place.
I move quickly at first, not thinking about where I'm going. My feet find the path through instinct alone, driven by the echo of his voice in my head.
Magnificent.
The way he'd said it, like it wasn't praise but possession makes my stomach knot.
The corridor narrows, stone archways pulling me forward into stretches of shadow, then spilling me into pale pools of candlelight. I take every turn that looks like it might lead away from him, my pace quickening until the sound of my own steps feels too loud.
I don't stop until I see the front doors. They rise before me in dark, polished wood, carved with curling shapes that might be vines or might be veins.
My hands shove at them. The hinges give easily, without a groan or protest, as if the castle doesn't care whether I leave or stay. Cold air hits my face all at once sharp and clean, almost startling after the heavy warmth of the hall.
The lawns stretch out from the steps in every direction, black-green under the moonlight. The wet grass glistens faintly where the light catches it, and beyond that, the forest presses close. Its line is jagged against the sky, the trees crowding each other in a wall of shadow that blocks out the stars.
I don't hesitate.
My bare feet hit the grass, sinking into the wet softness with each step. The smell of rain is still in the air, mixed with the faint, sweet scent of crushed leaves beneath me. The cold clings to my ankles and calves, but I push harder.
Somewhere between the second and third breath, my walk becomes a run.
The sound of my own breathing fills my ears, matched by the slap of my feet against the ground. My skirt tangles at my legs. My pulse is a drum in my throat. The forest is closer now, so close I can start to make out the shapes of the branches, the way they twist and claw at the sky.
One moment, the path ahead is empty. The next, he stands in it.
No sound announces him. No ripple of magic that I can sense. He simply appears, as if he'd been waiting in that exact spot all along and I'd been running to him without knowing.
"Woah ahh!"
I skid to a stop so abruptly my heel catches on something hard root, stone, I don't know. My balance goes. The wet ground rushes up, and my palms take the worst of it, grit and dirt biting into my skin. The shock jolts up my arms.
For a moment I just stare at him, my breath ragged in my chest. He doesn't move toward me. He doesn't speak.
"Stay away from me!" The words come out sharp, cutting through the night.
I push to my knees, heat flaring in my hands before I've even thought to call it. The fire leaps from my palms in the next heartbeat, bright enough to paint his face gold for an instant.
It doesn't reach him.
The air between us ripples, not visibly enough to be called a wall, but something is there. The flame folds in on itself like water pouring into a hollow, vanishing as though it had never been.
"Let me go!" My voice cracks, raw from the run and the cold.
Another burst of fire shoots forward. And another. The night flickers with it, the trees behind him lighting up in gold and orange for a heartbeat before plunging back into black.
He doesn't raise a hand. Doesn't shift his weight. He just watches.
I keep throwing it at him, my arms burning from the effort, my chest heaving. The shield drinks every spark. The only sound is my breathing and the faint hiss as flame meets whatever invisible thing holds it back.
When my magic starts to falter, it happens fast. One moment the heat is there, alive under my skin, the next it's just… gone, leaving only a thin shiver of warmth in my fingers.
My hands drop into my lap. My hair sticks damp to my face. The air smells of scorched grass and the faint metallic tang of magic burned out.
The space between us clears. The shield is gone.
"You throw your power like a child throwing stones into a river," he says. His voice is calm, level, as if we're standing in a library, not on the edge of a forest with my lungs still pulling in air like I might drown without it.
"It makes a splash, then it's gone."
"I don't need your opinion," I snap, but my voice isn't steady.
"You do," he says, taking a slow step forward, not enough to close the gap but enough to remind me he can. "Or you'll keep wasting it until it turns on you."
The wet grass squelches under my palms as I push myself upright. "Why do you care if I waste it?"
His eyes are steady on mine. "Because you're holding something rare. And rare things are meant to be honed."
"Honed," I repeat, the word sharp in my mouth. "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?"
"I don't think," he says. "I know."
The certainty in his voice has weight, the kind that doesn't come from arrogance but from someone who has never needed to imagine being wrong.
He moves closer, his boots sinking slightly into the grass. "I can teach you to control it. To make it stronger. To make you stronger."
"And in return?"
His head tilts, just enough that a lock of his black hair shifts in the wind. "In return, you stop running at shadows and calling it escape."
I let out a short, bitter laugh. "And what! stay here? Play along with whatever game you think this is?"
"Stay alive," he says simply. "You think the forest will welcome you? It won't. It will eat you before you see the sun again."
My gaze flicks toward the treeline. The darkness between the trunks feels heavier now, thicker, like something is looking back at me from inside it.
The cold has worked its way deep under my skin. My clothes cling to me, heavy with rain. My body is tired in a way that makes my bones ache, my magic a hollow echo inside me.
If I agree, I can wait. Watch. Learn. Find an opening. If I refuse, I'll either be locked in or dead by morning.
My fingers curl into the grass until my nails fill with dirt. "Fine," I say finally. "I'll listen."
The smile that curves his mouth is small but sure, the kind that doesn't need to grow to be felt. For a moment, I can't tell if it's meant to comfort me or remind me that I've just stepped exactly where he wanted me.
"Good," he says. "We start tomorrow."
❦︎ To Be Continued ❦︎