She gasped as power not entirely her own flooded her—as she unwittingly unleashed it.
Tendrils of light slithered from the palm of her hand, still resting atop Travers’s frail chest. Ribbons of darkness weaved through the light to wrap around his body, where the algae and weeds and barnacles that clung to his clothes began to pulse, coming alive at whatever strange magic she wielded. Emory could do nothing to stop it, only gape at the impossibility of what poured out of her. It was the light of the full moon and darkness of the new moon and growth of the waxing crescent, none of which were her own, none of which were possible.
She was a Healer of House New Moon—but these were other magics coursing through her veins, as if she were siphoning them off those around her. Lightkeeper, Darkbearer, Sower…
Reaper.
Emory tried to pull away, to sever the connection to all these magics that were not hers, alignments she should have never been able to use, to this one in particular that she did not want, could not possibly wield. But the Reaper magic rushed through her as if it were her own, the antithesis to the healing magic she’d always known.
It was the lush darkness of a waning moon sky, the quiet of sleep, the peace of eternal rest.
She was powerless to stop the death magic that blasted from her hands, looking to silence the heart beneath them.
4 BAZ
THE ECLIPSE COMMONS WERE ALDRYN’S best-kept secret.
Every year, it seemed there was a new rumor surrounding them. During Baz’s freshman year, students believed they were located in an old dungeon deep below the school, and at some point, the tale running rampant had Eclipse students living in the damp caves of Dovermere, in the Belly of the Beast itself.
They’d at least gotten one thing right: Obscura Hall was indeed built below the school, and the only way to reach it was by riding the singular elevator down to the very bottom, a thing so old and rickety it was a marvel it still worked at all. Hazing rituals always had a couple first-years heading down to try to crack the mysteries of Obscura Hall, but once the elevator gates opened at the bottom, the wards would always kick in, manifesting as some barrier or other: a brick wall, an impenetrable tangle of thorny vines, a bottomless precipice.
And because no student outside of House Eclipse knew what lay beyond those wards, naturally, everyone imagined the worst. Whatever the whispers, they always seemed to paint it as a cold, wicked place to match the wicked souls within.
The reality was much sunnier. Fading wallpaper with dainty sunflower motifs and old patterned carpets over pale wooden floors. Well-loved chairs and sofas in shades of burgundy and rust and what must have once been gold. The smell of coffee and brine and the warmth of amber light as it poured from the open window, the sound of crashing waves and screeching gulls a near-constant melody in the backdrop.
Sure, the furniture was rickety and the armchairs were sunken and the gauzy curtains that blew in the breeze were horribly moth-eaten, but that was all part of the charm, Baz thought. The place held history. Old trinkets from students past lay in every nook and cranny. Initials were carved on the walls, with no one to remember them by. Books whose owners were long dead were crammed in the tiny bookshelf by the fireplace, one large tome away from toppling over.
Baz thought it was the most wonderful place in the world. Then again, he never did mind the broken and forgotten things. But it was an empty place, lonely since Kai had left, and that Baz could not quite stand.
Once, he would have given anything to be here alone, with no other Eclipse student to disrupt his peace. His first year at Aldryn, Obscura Hall had housed three students: himself and two upperclassmen on their last year of undergrad, one of whom had been so impossibly chatty, Baz could never step out of his room without having his ear talked clean off, and the other so completely immersed in her studies, she wanted nothing to do with either of them except to yell at them to shut up—even though Baz was rarely ever the one doing the talking. Suffice to say he’d looked forward to his sophomore year without them, hoping there wouldn’t be any new Eclipse students to take their place.
Nothing could have prepared him for Kai Salonga.
It had been apparent from the very beginning they were as different as night and day. Where Baz was soft light in a dusty library, made up of a muted assortment of cozy old sweaters and shirts that fit awkwardly on his lanky frame, Kai was piercing starlight, with the kind of presence that commanded attention even when he said nothing at all, the way the night sky drew such fascination from poets and artists. With supple black hair he kept in a low bun, a broad nose and high cheekbones and angular eyes that were coldly calculating, Kai was handsome in a way that made Baz all too aware of his own awkward appearance—ears that stuck out and messy hair that wouldn’t cooperate and a freckled, pink-tinged complexion that always betrayed how flustered he was.
More than that, Baz had never been so conscious of his own sheltered existence. While he’d never strayed far from home, preferring to discover new worlds through books rather than any real experiences, Kai had lived all over, from his native Luagua, the largest island within the Constellation Isles in the south, all the way to Trevel in the east. He spoke several languages he’d picked up while traveling with his parents, wealthy merchants who dealt in the trade of precious metals, and had attended one of the world’s finest magical prep schools in Trevel—where he’d been an insufferable menace, apparently, testing the limits of every magical rule there was just for the fun of it.
And therein lay the starkest difference between them: Baz had long abstained from using any real sort of magic, feeling uneasy about being Eclipse-born, but Kai… Kai was completely at ease in his identity. As if the Eclipse sigil on his hand wasn’t enough, it also adorned his neck, where a delicate sunflower-and-moon-in-eclipse pendant hung from one of the fine golden chains he always wore, complementing his tawny beige skin. Even the tattoos on his collarbone, which Kai had once told him were traditional to his Luaguan culture, referred to the eclipse and the Shadow.
Unlike Baz, Kai was not one to shy away from his magic.
He was a Nightmare Weaver, his particular strand of Eclipse magic a dark variation of what Dreamers could do. It let him walk into people’s nightmares, conjure their worst fears, and make them real—or at least, make them feel real, even if they were mere illusions. One time, he’d produced a horde of furious bees pulled from Baz’s subconscious as he napped in the commons. Baz had had to use his own magic to make them disappear, winding the clock back to a time where they did not exist, all while Kai laughed darkly in a corner.
“I’d love to see you have your nightmares come to life like that,” Baz had mumbled furiously.
“That’s the thing about dealing in fears and nightmares: I’m immune to it all.”
“Please. Everyone fears something.”