“She did. I never held it against her,” he added quickly, “nor her brother. It was an accident, after all. And we are not our parents.”
Emory couldn’t fathom what it must be like, to lose one’s parents like that. To be torn between blame and acceptance, rage and forgiveness, at the thought of the person who’d taken their lives. It made even less sense to her that he’d accepted her—fought for her—with such eagerness. An Eclipse-born he was putting all his trust in after living through such horror.
But maybe, she realized, he wished to bring his parents back from the dead too.
Your magic is the very answer I’ve been seeking.
Keiran frowned at the painting. “I couldn’t stay in Trevel after their deaths. Too many painful memories. Dean Fulton was a good friend of my parents. She offered to take me in, so I continued my prep school education right here at Aldryn under her tutelage. When I first got here, I was so angry. I couldn’t understand why Eclipse students were allowed within these sacred halls, why institutions like Aldryn would put everyone else at risk like that. Then my first year staying with Fulton, a Reaper undergrad killed another student. It was a gruesome accident. A slip of magic, the heat of the moment. A mistake. But it made me realize that a Reaper could just as likely cause death and destruction as any Eclipse student might. That any one of us could slip up at a moment’s notice. Maybe not in the same way as those who Collapse, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us are exempt. Magical accidents can happen to anyone.”
He turned to her once more. “You asked me why I’m not afraid of you.” His fingers brushed her brow, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “The truth is, I am. But only because I see your potential. Your power. Only in the way all of us both fear and are enthralled by death, this inevitable, unconquerable force we’ll all bow to in the end.”
Such a force might have scared Emory, once. But standing here before him, as enthralled by him as he claimed to be by her magic—by her—she found she did not fear it in the slightest.
* * *
It was on her way to the greenhouse that evening that Emory finally caught sight of Baz. He looked even less put-together than he usually did, hair disheveled and glasses skewed and shirt only half tucked in his pants. He didn’t notice her even as she sidled up next to him, his eyes trained on the book in his hands.
“Hey.”
His head snapped up. “Oh.” He slipped his book under an arm. “Hey.”
“I didn’t see you in the library this morning.” She gave him a demure smile, hoping whatever this thing was between them wasn’t yet broken.
Baz averted his gaze, his face shuttered. “Yeah. Sorry. Long night.”
His shortness made her falter. There was something different about him. A heavier weariness to him than usual. She wanted so badly to tell him everything would be fine. That she would bring Romie back and they would both see her again, hear her laugh. But she couldn’t, not when she’d just sworn an oath to the Selenic Order. It felt dangerous to involve Baz in something she herself did not yet fully understand, especially given his and Keiran’s history.
If she managed to do this—wake the Tides, have them bring Romie back to life—Baz would understand and forgive her lies. He had to.
“I was heading to the greenhouse,” she said, “but if your offer to train in Obscura Hall still stands…”
Baz watched her over the rim of his glasses, a tightness in his jaw, as if waiting for her to say something else. Finally, he let out a long sigh. “I can’t right now.”
It felt like a punch to the gut. “Oh.”
“Sorry. I’m late meeting Professor Selandyn.”
“Of course.”
If Baz heard the disappointment in her voice, he didn’t let it show, only left with that distracted look in his eyes. Emory tried not to let his dismissal sting too deeply. She couldn’t expect him to always be at her beck and call. She’d been the one using his feelings for her to get what she wanted, and maybe he’d finally come to realize it.
So why did it bother her so much?
And how in the Deep was she supposed to practice on her own?
Power like yours was meant for greatness, Keiran had told her.
Maybe she didn’t need Baz at all. If she’d performed magic without incident last night in front of the entire Order, she could do so again in the privacy of the greenhouse.
But someone was already there. Nisha could have been Anima herself, standing in the middle of all these dead plants, head tilted up to the sky as if to implore the moon. She wore a burgundy pinafore dress over a cream turtleneck, her black hair unbound and lips unadorned.
Her eyes, Emory saw as they met hers, glistened with tears.
“Are you all right?”
Nisha wiped furiously at her cheeks. “Sorry. Yes. I was just on my way back to Crescens Hall when I finally mustered up the courage to come in here.” She looked around the space with melancholy. “I miss Romie. It feels strange being back here without her, doesn’t it?”
Bitter defensiveness rose in Emory’s throat. What did she know about missing her? She hadn’t known Romie like Emory had—her grief couldn’t compare.
“You know she spoke of you all the time?” Nisha said with a tentative smile. “She always said she wished she were more like you.”
“Me?” Emory sputtered, taken aback. She had always wanted to be more like Romie, so self-assured in her skin and in her dreams, so vibrant and easy to speak with.
“She said she wished she had your drive and focus.” Affection warmed Nisha’s voice. “You know how scattered she could be.”
It was true; Romie wanted everything so much, but she always got distracted by the next big idea, the shinier dream. Nothing ever truly satisfied her. She’d leave things behind without a look backward if she no longer felt the desire to pursue them, her goals always shifting. It made for very little follow-through on her part.
Emory was the opposite. When she set her mind to something, she didn’t waver.
“She once told me she felt like she didn’t entirely know herself, because she was always changing, just like her interests and dreams,” Nisha continued. “But she could always count on you to remain the same. She saw you as this force to be reckoned with, someone who stayed true to herself and her friends no matter what. She loved you for it.”
Tears prickled at Emory’s eyes. Could Romie not have told her any of this herself last year, instead of pulling away from her in favor of Nisha? Anger and jealousy sharpened to something ugly inside her.
“She didn’t say much about you,” Emory said, perhaps a bit too viciously. To temper her words, she added, “Then again, she didn’t say much to me at all in the end.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I thought the two of you were close.”
“She became distant with me too. It wasn’t just about the Order. There was something else preoccupying her that she wouldn’t share with me.” Nisha swallowed with difficulty, tucking her hair behind her ears as she eyed Emory. “Did she ever tell you about us?”
“The Order? Of course not.”
“Not the Order. Me and her.”
Emory frowned incomprehensibly. And then it dawned on her.
“Oh.”
Oh.
Nisha smiled sadly. “I’ll take that as a no. But yeah. We were seeing each other.”
All the pieces fell into place so quickly that Emory wanted to smack herself. Romie had always liked both boys and girls, that much Emory knew. But she’d never suspected Nisha might be more than a friend, so clouded by her own jealousy of their friendship that she couldn’t see the truth behind it.
Nisha ran a finger along a dead leaf. “This is where we’d sneak off to. The Order sort of frowns on present cohort members dating initiates—favoritism and all. And then, of course, I knew a bit about Keiran’s and Lizaveta’s history with Romie’s father.… But I didn’t care. I couldn’t keep away from her. She was so… magnetic. So full of life. It’s a wonder she wasn’t a Glamour.”