How very wrong he’d been.
“Were you just using me?”
The words came out as broken as he felt.
Emory opened her mouth but caught herself as her eyes landed on something behind him. Baz whipped around. Dean Fulton was making her way toward them on the path that led down to the beach. She wore a grave expression and a long trench coat that fluttered in the wind.
The dean of Aldryn jerked her chin at them. “Come with me, both of you.”
She turned on her heel, and Baz started after her. Emory reached for him with a desperate plea. “Baz—”
He brushed past her, dutifully following the dean back up to the school to face whatever fate awaited him.
33 EMORY
THE DULL RINGING IN EMORY’S ears was the only sound in the reception room outside Dean Fulton’s office. It kept her company as she sat alone on an upholstered bench, staring at the tapestried wall in front of her without really seeing it. At some point, someone had taken a sample of her blood, the sting of the needle now a dull throbbing in the crook of her arm. Her clothes were still damp, but she’d been offered a rough blanket to keep warm, at least.
Baz had been in and out of the dean’s office without so much as a passing glance at Emory. The rupture between them was deafening, tearing wider with every step he took away from her.
That kiss still lingered in her mind, on her mouth.
It had taken her aback, though it really shouldn’t have. She’d done this—had known how Baz felt about her and used it to her advantage, pushing at it like a bruise, leading him on without a care for the pain it might bring him.
She’d never meant for it to go this far—for him to actually kiss her.
And yet.
She recalled the fluttering of her heart, her body’s treacherous response. She had liked kissing him, and she had to wonder if a part of her had wanted it to go that far, if the feelings she felt for him—this fearless, heroic version of him—were real.
Emory flinched as the office door opened, and there stood Dean Fulton, looking as put together as ever. The tightness around her eyes and mouth was the only thing that betrayed the direness of the situation as she wordlessly beckoned Emory inside.
Emory had been here once before, on another new moon. She was more alert now than she was last spring, noting the dark, gleaming wood, the silver and brass trinkets that adorned every corner, the impressive collection of carefully labeled water vials, the leather-bound tomes that looked as old as the school itself.
Dean Fulton sat behind her large desk. “Have a seat, Ms. Ainsleif.”
The ringing in Emory’s ears grew louder under the dean’s scrutiny. Fulton drew a hand over her closely shaven salt-and-pepper head, leaning back in her chair. A heavy silence cloaked the room, punctuated only by the ticking of a clock, the faint metallic whirr of an instrument on the dean’s desk, the sizzling of embers in the chimney. The window was closed, yet Emory thought she heard that voice again, calling to her, mocking her.
Emory, Emory.
“I’ve tested your blood.” Fulton motioned to the selenograph on her desk, a much newer model than the one Emory had used in the library with Baz. “It clearly marks you as Eclipse-born.” She fixed her with a piercing gaze. “This is the part where you explain yourself.”
Emory stared at the hands folded in her lap, at the New Moon sigil she had once been so proud to wear, the dark moon and silver narcissus she couldn’t stand to look at now.
She told the dean as much of the truth as she could. That she’d uncovered her new Tidecaller powers after Dovermere. That she’d since been training with Baz, too scared to come forward for fear of being administered the Unhallowed Seal. It was no use lying about it now; if what Keiran had told her through the mark was true, Tides-damned Penelope had already told the dean everything, including Baz’s involvement.
Emory couldn’t fathom how Penelope might have found out, nor why she would have done such a thing. She’d been racking her brain to see if she’d slipped up at any point, if Penelope might have seen her with Baz, overheard their conversations about her magic. Penelope had still been fast asleep when Emory left her room earlier this morning—she couldn’t possibly have known she was at Dovermere.
The dean leaned back in her chair, a calculated look in her eye. “Obviously, you’ll need to be stripped of your New Moon identity and receive the mark of House Eclipse. Though whether or not you should be branded for hiding the true nature of your powers remains to be seen by the Regulators.” She shook her head, looking suddenly haggard. “You should have gone to them as soon as these powers started manifesting.”
Just then, a knock came at the door, and whoever it was didn’t wait before barging in.
“Dean Fulton,” Keiran said smoothly.
He looked dapper, dressed in a tweed suit that made him look older than he was. He held himself with such commanding power, Emory felt the knot of nerves in her stomach start to untangle, the last words he’d spoken through the mark washing over her with a sense of relief. Hang tight, Ains. I won’t let anything happen to you.
Faint annoyance lit the dean’s eyes. “Keiran. You can’t simply waltz in here however you please.”
“I only need a moment, if you’d allow it.” Keiran strode over to where Emory was sitting. “I’m here to plead Emory’s case.”
“I’m sure you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The hand he rested on the back of her chair was a small comfort, as if he were saying, I’ve got you, Ains. “I know she’s Eclipse-born, Sybille. I’ve known for a while.”
Though the dean didn’t bat an eye at his casual use of her first name—Emory was reminded that she’d taken Keiran on as her ward after his parents died—she seemed utterly taken aback by the revelation.
“And you never thought to share this knowledge with me?”
“She’s under the Order’s protection.”
The dean huffed. “Is she now.”
Emory’s pulse raced. Keiran was lying—the Order had told them they’d rescind any protection of her should she ever be found out. That he would be held responsible for her. She had to wonder how much the dean knew of the Order; Emory didn’t think she was part of it, didn’t remember seeing her at the lighthouse. But the dean seemed to know enough as she considered the thinly veiled threat beneath Keiran’s words.
A carefully contained storm brewed beneath the dean’s pinched face. “I’ve often turned a blind eye to what your Order does on this campus, Keiran, but you and Ms. Ainsleif have put this entire college at risk by keeping her magic a secret. If anything had happened—”
“Except nothing did happen. I’ve seen her use her magic. I can vouch that she’s taken every measure to ensure control over her power.”
The dean gaped at him in disbelief. “Your parents must be turning in their graves to see you defending such reckless behavior from one of them.”
Emory tried not to flinch at the unrestrained loathing that seeped into Fulton’s words. As dean, she was supposed to be impartial, but here was the truth of her at last, her tone giving away just how much she disliked and mistrusted the Eclipse-born.