Page 100 of Foresyth Conservatory
“So, you know,” Sequoia replied, her gaze flicking to Aspen before meeting mine. “But, Dahlia, it’s not like that. We participate willingly. The power is ours to share. And we understand the risks,” she said, her voice calm.
“No, you don’t understand. The Meister has lied to you. The Book doesn’t promise power to everyone involved—just to the one offering the sacrifices to the demiurge, not Sophia. She isn’t the one you have all been praying to.”
“You must have misread,” Leone interrupted. “I’ve studied the passages carefully. The elemental ceremony is supposed to grant ‘spiritual transcendence and the Universal Truths of the seventy-eight cards of Skorn to each element.’”
I expected their skepticism; it was what I wanted. I wanted them to question the Meister as much as they questioned me.
“And when did you last read the text? What year?” I asked.
“My first semester,” Leone replied.
My pulse leapt. “That was over two years ago. But therealBook of Skorn—the unabridged version—hasn’t been here more than a semester. You must have sensed a differencein how the bookfeels.” I’d learned from the Meister himself there were multiple versions of the Book.
“What are you saying, Dahlia?” Aspen pressed.
There was no turning back now. I glanced around, considering each one of them.
Did I trust them?
Sequoia—water. She embodied fluidity and intuition, qualities I’d once resented in myself. But she’d shown me how to trust my instincts, revealing parts of myself I’d kept locked away.
Nina—earth. Grounded and resilient, she had been the first to befriend me at Foresyth. Despite her losses, she wore her individuality like armor.
Leone—air. Truth-bound and meticulous, he sliced through facades with a curiosity I deeply echoed. He craved new territory, new truths, just as I did.
And Aspen—fire. He ignited something in me, a warmth and passion I hadn’t acknowledged. I’d pushed him away not out of fear of him, but of myself. He saw me, stripped of pretense, and kept fanning my inner flames.
Ignoring the truth would have been easier, but I couldn’t ignore what was in front of me. These were my friends, the ones I had to protect—those whom Julian and my father had failed to save.
After a pause, I met their eyes. “I have proof,” I said. I pulled the letters from my bag, their weight heavier than before. My fingers hesitated over the edges, smoothed by time, stained with the ugly truth. I handed them to Leone first. If anyone could recognize inconsistencies, it would be him. “Julian was my brother—half-brother, technically. He discovered the truth about the Book and the Meister’sintentions just before he died. He didn’t have much time, but he left me these letters and our father’s belongings.”
One by one, they passed the letters around, their eyes moving over Julian’s words. A silence thickened in the room, not of disbelief—but of realization. Then fear.
“The Book you read years ago, Leone, must have been fabricated to justify the ceremony. The Meister must have rewritten parts of it to support his theories. The true ceremony requiresfive elements: the four, plus the Bonder—me,” I continued. “But Julian sabotaged the ritual by taking poison before the ceremony began, so the Meister couldn’t go through with it. He must have signaled this to the Meister, sabotaged the prepared potion, then hung himself, leaving clues for me to follow. Without Julian, all of you would’ve died that night.”
A long silence settled over the room.
“You’re the Bonder—the one who’s brought us together,” Aspen said at last, reaching into his pocket to pull out a folded paper. “Julian left me a note, too.” He said this mostly to the others, echoing our previous conversation. “I didn’t realize why it had to be you, but now I understand it was because of your blood.”
Sequoia looked at Aspen, hurt evident in her eyes. “You never told me.”
“He asked me not to,” Aspen replied, as if that was enough of a response. But I knew deep down that he didn’t tell her because he meant to protect her.
“If Dahlia had left me a note, you would’ve known,” Sequoia murmured, arms crossed.
Nina, who had been reading the letters, looked up, her voice flat. “We all would’ve died that night.”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“Julian saved us, but he didn’t trust us enough to tell us the full truth. To make our own decision,” Aspen remarked. “So why do you trust us now?”
I hesitated but decided to let go of all logic, all reason, relying instead on what I now acknowledged asinstinct. It was what made me a great Tarot reader, and what I believed would make me a good detective now.
“It’s just a feeling,” I said. “You’re my friends. I care about you.” I thought back to my framework on the greatest motivators of the human spirit: knowledge, power, or sex. But there was one that I had missed: love. It was the love of my newfound friends that were guiding my decisions now, despite how reckless or foolish they seemed.
“If the Meister intended to sacrifice us, he’ll try again,” Leone said, his voice edged with anger. He didn’t like being lied to.
And neither did I.
