Nisha’s open vulnerability caught Emory off guard. “I know what you mean.”
“Anyway. She kept talking about how she wished she could wield other magics, and here I was sitting on the secret of synthetics. So I gave her a push in the right direction, told her if she wanted in, she’d have to convince Keiran, since the Order already had their two Waning Moon candidates in mind. She barged into his dreams, and that was the end of it. We picked her over the other Dreamer candidate.”
Nisha’s smile twisted into a frown. “Do you hate me? For introducing her to the Order?”
Emory pondered the question. She had hated Nisha for taking her friend away from her—but she wasn’t any better herself. They both dealt with guilt, she realized, wondering what they might have done differently to save Romie from her fate.
At last, she said, “I think Romie would have found a way to do what Romie wanted, as she always did.”
“She did have a mind of her own, didn’t she?”
A smile, like they were sharing a secret. Because that was a little bit how it felt to be close to Romie—like being let in on a secret, holding the key to the mystery she was to everyone else.
“Well. I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Nisha made to leave, but Emory stopped her with a whispered “Wait.” She fiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve. “Do you think… Do you really believe we can bring her back?”
A fierceness shone in Nisha’s eyes. “I have to believe it. I love her too much to accept a world without her in it.”
They looked at each other from across the wilted space, understanding blooming between them.
“I’m scared I’ll fail,” Emory admitted quietly.
A twinkle of mischief lit Nisha’s face. “You know what Romie always said of failure.”
“Fear of failure’s the bitch that holds you back from success?”
They both laughed, all hostility between them now dissipated. Nisha grew serious again, voice soft as she said, “You’re not alone in this, Emory.” She trailed a hand over a dead plant, cocking a brow at her. “Do you want help practicing?”
18 BAZ
THE MORNING OF THE FALL equinox, Baz found himself in the Vault again.
Professor Selandyn had come through for him, pulling strings with Dean Fulton to get him permission for Dark Tides: Rare Tidal Movements through the Ages—though not without some convincing on Baz’s part. The Eclipse professor had narrowed her eyes at him upon hearing the title, and when Baz mentioned Romie’s interest in it, hoping that would sway her, she’d gone very quiet.
“Does this have anything to do with you meeting those crackpots that call themselves the Veiled Atlas?” At his befuddled expression, she added, “Jae filled me in. I hope you didn’t take anything those fanatics said at face value.”
“I thought you of all people might be open to their ideas.”
Selandyn had huffed a laugh. “My dear boy, surely you’ve worked with me long enough to know there’s a difference between provable theories and silly fantasies. The Veiled Atlas have taken this business with the epilogue entirely too far. People lose all sense when it comes to tracking that thing down. It’s become a dangerous game, and anyone who plays it is a damn fool.”
“What about Jae?”
“Jae’s interest is purely academic. They don’t concern themselves with this absurd treasure hunt. Promise me you won’t get involved, Basil.”
The promise was a bitter lie in his mouth as he found himself picking Dark Tides up off the shelf.
It was an innocuous little book. Plain dark leather binding, silver title nearly worn away from use. Baz flipped it open to the epigraph and recognized it as the rhyme Kai had alluded to:
There are tides that drown and tides that bind,
tides with voices not all kind,
moon-kissed tides with pitch-black eyes,
and those that dance ’neath stranger skies.
The words felt like nothing more than poetic ramblings, yet they made the hairs on the back of Baz’s neck stand. Someone had carefully drawn the eight phases of the moon atop the four lines, as well as two other symbols beneath them, meant to represent the lunar and solar eclipses. A swirling constellation of childishly rendered stars wove around and over and between the words in blue ink. They looked exactly like the stars Romie would draw whenever they tried recreating illustrations of the Tides—of Quies especially, the Waning Crone always portrayed with her head tipped up to a heavy blanket of stars.
She’s like in my dreams. So many stars.
Baz brought the book back to the permissions desk for Nisha Zenara to stamp its checkout card. Romie’s name wasn’t on it. He’d asked Nisha about it earlier, noticing her brief flicker of recognition as he mentioned Dark Tides. She’d feigned innocence, looking over her ledger and stating that Romie was never listed as having come into the Vault. Baz knew better. If they’d been as close as Kai suggested, Nisha had probably let Romie sneak in unofficially.
Too eager to wait until he was in the Eclipse commons to start reading, he did so as he climbed the narrow stone staircase that led into the Decrescens library above the Vault. He’d just walked through the slender archway at the top, where two marble busts stood as solemn sentinels, each one wearing a crown of gold-leafed laurels, when he deigned to finally look up.
The book dropped at his feet.
Keiran Dunhall Thornby stood before him.
“Brysden,” he said in a voice that was eerily calm.
Time stopped as they stared each other down. It wound back in Baz’s mind until he saw Keiran as a fifteen-year-old boy in a courthouse, alone and angry at being robbed too soon of his family, hazel eyes full of hurt and hate as they swept over Baz.
By some unspoken agreement, the two of them had always given each other a wide berth at Aldryn, knowing full well they’d inevitably clash if they got too close. It was nothing short of a miracle they’d never once been in the same room together, at least not without others there to act as buffers.
But now, as Keiran’s face shed the perfect mask of civility and nonchalance he always wore, Baz realized with no small horror that for the first time, they were indeed alone.
He took an involuntary step back as Keiran lunged—not at Baz, but at the book he’d dropped on the floor. Keiran smirked at his cowering and read the title. He stilled, and Baz thought he might have imagined the unease on his face, the tightness in his shoulders. Slowly, Keiran lifted his eyes back to him, and there was violence brewing in their depths, a storm on the brink of unleash. As if he knew what this book was, what it meant that Baz had it.
Before either of them could say anything, Dean Fulton appeared.
“There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you.”
This seemed to be directed at Keiran, though her voice was tinged with a casual note that threw Baz for a loop. The dean faltered when she spotted him. “Oh, Mr. Brysden. I didn’t see you there.” Her gaze bounced between the two of them in the ensuing silence, no doubt noticing the tension. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is just fine,” Keiran said with a sharp-edged smile. “Isn’t that right, Brysden?”
“Of course,” Baz gritted out.
Fulton looked at him for a second longer than necessary. “Well, it was nice seeing you, then, Mr. Brysden. I hope you’ll enjoy the equinox festival tonight. Mr. Dunhall Thornby, my office, please.” Her tone brokered no argument as she turned on her heel.
Keiran handed Baz his book back with a scornful curl of his lip. “Happy reading.”
* * *
“Doors to the Deep,” Vera read, peering at the book as they made their way to the equinox festival. She shoved it unceremoniously back into Baz’s hand. “I’ve heard of them before. Water holes that drain the sea into their seemingly bottomless depths. They’re said to be remnants of old, collapsed sea caves, no?”