“It’s that spiral mark, isn’t it?”
Keiran’s smile faltered, and it was all the answer she needed. All the tension of last night came crashing down around her like a wave breaking against the cliffside. Baz was wrong—she wasn’t Eclipse-born. These strange powers were hers only because of this mark, the same way they were Keiran’s.
She wasn’t alone in this.
It struck her how badly she’d needed this one thing to be true. It was ironic, really: all her life she’d wanted to be singular, unique in the way she always viewed Romie to be. But not if it meant being Eclipse-born—and a Tidethief at that. Not if it disconnected her from everything she’d ever known about herself, made her into something others would fear and loathe because it made no sense, went against everything they knew.
But if Keiran was like her… if their impossible magic could be blamed on this Tides-damned mark…
Emory thought of the other students who’d been in the caves, how their spirals had turned black when they died, and wondered if death would come for her, too. If this was Dovermere’s way of claiming those who’d escaped it.
She looked Keiran over carefully. One thing still didn’t make sense. “You weren’t there last spring. In the caves, I mean.”
“No.”
“But you’ve been before, if you have the mark. You know about the Hourglass and the ritual that burned the spiral on our wrists. It’s what the others died for, isn’t it?”
Why they’d risked Dovermere at all—a chance at wielding magics outside of their respective lunar houses.
It was absurd, and yet… not. Romie had always been fascinated with magic in all its forms. She’d been furious when Aldryn wouldn’t let her take electives from other lunar houses. Just because I can’t actually practice other magics doesn’t mean I’m not interested in learning the theory behind them, she’d fumed. Isn’t the acquirement of knowledge the whole point of college?
It had to be the reason she’d gone to Dovermere: to acquire knowledge in the form of magic like the kind that Emory could now wield. Like the kind that Keiran had just used.
Keiran’s eyes glimmered knowingly. He took a step closer, his fingers brushing hers as he casually gripped the bicycle handle wedged between them. “Why are you so sure the mark is what let me heal that bird?” His face was inches from her own, so close she could see the flecks of gold in his irises. “Has it let you use other magics?”
It felt like he was trying to pierce through to her very soul.
Emory’s hands went clammy. “It might have.”
Surely there was no danger in admitting to what Keiran himself had just done. If the truth convinced him to tell her what he knew, she had to accept the risk.
“I wasn’t supposed to be there that night. I found a note in my friend Romie’s things that said to go to Dovermere, I followed her there, and now I just… I don’t know what’s happening to me.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “But you do.”
A slanted smile, a cocked brow. “Do I, now?”
“It was you who wrote Romie that note. You had to know she and the others were heading to Dovermere, and that’s why you were on the beach. You were waiting for them.”
“Seems you have it all figured out.”
The way he smiled at her—so completely unaffected by it all—was infuriating. She opened her mouth to protest, but just then, shuffling steps sounded down the stairs, students no doubt hurrying to day jobs or internships in Cadence.
“As much as I’ve enjoyed your little interrogation,” Keiran said, “I need to get to class.” He gently tugged the bicycle from her grasp and wheeled it backward onto the rack, leaving her dumbfounded. He winked at her. “See you around, Ainsleif.”
“No no no, you are not leaving without telling me what all this is,” she huffed after him as he started up the stairs.
“And what is all this, exactly?”
“The illicit magic, the secret ritual, whatever the letters S.O. stand for. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I didn’t say a thing.”
“You know I could go to the dean, tell her what I saw you doing.”
“With all the proof you have, I’m sure she’ll send me straight to the Regulators.”
They reached the fountain at the center of the quad, and as Keiran cut toward Pleniluna Hall, Emory’s hand shot out to stop him.
“Please. My best friend died, and I need to know why.”
She hated the desperate note in her voice. Keiran must have heard it too. Something softened in his eyes, more golden than hazel in the sunlight that pierced the fog. Emory realized she still had her hand on his arm, could feel the warmth of him beneath it, all too aware of how close they stood. She was transported back to that night on the beach, hanging on to Keiran for dear life as the sea she’d narrowly escaped battered the shore. He tracked the movement of her hand as she took it away, and she thought maybe he, too, might be thinking of that night.
His lips parted on an answer that never came as he spotted something behind her. A shadow fell over him, a muscle feathered in his jaw. “Your friend’s waiting,” he said tightly.
“Wait—”
But he was already walking away. Emory turned on her heels to find Baz standing there, staring at Keiran’s retreating form like he’d seen a ghost.
6 BAZ
BAZ WAS UP BEFORE THE sun.
In truth, he hadn’t gotten any sleep at all, his head too full of angry seas, emaciated bodies, and the phantom threads of time pulling on his wrists. When he could take the restless tossing and turning no longer, he descended into the common room and put on a pot of the strongest coffee he could find, yearning for the rich aroma to fill the room and clear his mind.
The first sip anchored him to his body, a miracle in liquid form.
Outside, the tide was receding just as the sun began to rise, though it did little to chase away the darkness of the night.
Baz took his mug back up the stairs. He’d put off packing Kai’s belongings for too long and desperately needed something to distract himself with now. He headed straight to the room at the end of the small corridor, the door to which had been kept shut since Kai left. Baz opened it now, steeling himself for the other boy’s scent to engulf him.
The narrow bed in the corner was still messily unmade, the gauzy curtains not even pulled open. Dusty light filtered in, a dull shimmer that touched all the lingering traces of Kai with something close to reverence: various souvenirs from his travels adorning the walls, tapestries and garlands and postcards that had seen the world with him; incense sticks and candles and golden Luaguan relics sitting orderly atop the otherwise messy desk, where unopened and likely untouched schoolbooks were strewn across it; an old chessboard on the floor, all its pieces missing save for the white queen and a chipped black rook. Sad remnants of someone gone.
With a pang, Baz realized he had never once been in here. It was much like his own room, the tapestry faded and fraying around the same exposed wooden beams, but the ceiling, he noticed, was painted with stars. Muted gold and silver winked down at him, forming a constellation he did not know. Among them were words crudely carved into the wood: