Page 57 of Foresyth Conservatory
Betrayal rose in my throat as sharp and bitter as nettle. She had meant to manipulate me—with the cards, with her charm. Had any of it been real? Had there ever been a moment between us untouched by her calculation? I searched the memory of our friendship for something honest, but all I found were the tainted shadows of our mutual deception.
My lips tingled with the phantom of hers. Lips that I had saved.
I tore my gaze from the door and pressed forward. No one in this House could be trusted.
I adjusted my bag and moved carefully down the main staircase, testing my weight against each step, avoiding the treacherous boards that groaned under pressure. A single misstep could summon a witness I didn’t want.
I was making my way to the exit when I heard voices.
I froze outside the Meister’s office, the low murmur threading through the thick wood. These weren’t the other students. These were men—older, their tones edged with authority. I pressed my ear against the door, catching fragments of their conversation.
“We are . . . low on patience . . . Renate,” said a clipped, deliberate voice.
“Your control over this House is slipping, Renate. The Council has been watching,” said a more nasally tone, closer to the door.
“I am humbled by your support,” the Meister said dryly, his voice laced with condescension. “But I have everything under control. The House is on its way to recovery, and so is our magick.”
“Under your leadership, Renate, our magick has twisted into something else,” the younger voice said. “Something unnatural—” The man’s voice cut off. There was a wheezing sound like someone trying to cough.
“Our magick has become the most powerful the Council has ever seen, and you’d be wise to remember who secured your position, Beaufort,” the Meister snarled.
Beaufort. The name struck a chord. It wasn’t Leone, but a relative of his must be on the Council. What was the Meister doing to him?
“We do not question you, sir, but we do question that girl,” the oldest voice said. “Wait—did you hear that? Is someone else here?”
Coughing erupted behind the door and I startled backward. The floorboard creaked under my foot and I cursed. A spike of adrenaline shot through me.
I stepped back, pulse hammering. I slipped into the nearest corridor just as the office door opened. Someone stepped into the hall.
I pressed myself against the cold stone wall, breath caged in my chest. A damp heat broke across my forehead as I willed myself steady.
The figure stood there only a moment before the door creaked shut again.
I waited, counting to ten.
Only then did I move, slipping back into the hall and sprinting for the exit. My fingers fumbled with the latch before I forced it open and slipped outside, swallowed by the waiting air.
I didn’t stop moving.
*
The storms of the previous days had passed, and now the weather was warm and pleasant—the first inklings of spring. Sequoia had been right. I could hear the swallows calling in the distance, making their way back from winter. An assemblage of them dotted the sky, forming a “V.” The brace of birds soared in rhythmic unity against the backdrop of aclear blue sky before disappearing behind the House’s clock tower.
I traced their shape in the sky. They were too early, and winter would not let them rest easy here, not yet.
A chill ran through me as I recalled the conversation I had just overheard.That girl—had they been talking aboutme?
I was becoming increasingly convinced that the Meister had a hand in Julian’s death. My suspicions were all but confirmed now. But it didn’t make any sense—why would he summon me here if he killed Julian? How was the Meister corrupting magick? Julian’s journal had hinted at forces beyond our understanding, rituals feeding something ancient. Could that be what they meant? Could he be drawing power from something the Council feared?
I walked down the cobblestone path to the gate, tracing the same path that Nina had taken me. Everything looked so different in the daylight. I remembered Nina and I following the edge of the forest that lined the area against the House’s perimeter, and so I strode around the thick black bush. I followed the path about a mile down until reaching the fork. Faint mud prints guided me through the thicket until I lost them in the grass.
I looked around but every direction was the same, and I couldn’t remember which way Nina went.A white oak.That was the tree that marked the way. I picked up a log and laid it down and stacked several others on top making cairns. The obvious human intervention would serve as my center point.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a spool of yarn. I tied it to a tree next to the cairns and started making spirals. I had to circumscribe several trees to keep the yarn from getting tangled, but this method was worth the time.Otherwise, I’d be making circles in the woods not knowing if I had traced the area or not.
On my third spiral I found it—a great oak tree with a smear of white across the trunk, like someone had painted it. The marker.
I tied my string to a neighboring tree, leading the path back homeward. I stepped closer to the oak, branches breaking under my feet. My swollen feet cried in my Oxfords, but I ignored them. I was getting close to the Tramping Ground; I could feel it. I found the narrow path uphill and began the ascension. My legs objected to the excursion, but I forced them up the way. I could see the ridge of the hill and increased the length of my stride, my shoes digging into the loose soil.
