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Whispers Most Foul

PENGUIN MICHAEL JOSEPH

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hardback isbn: 978–0–241–71524–6

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For everyone who’s ever worried that they were too much or not enough: all you need to be is yourself.

1: Within These Hallowed Halls

There was something quite lonely about the library on the edge of autumn. Browning pages crinkled beneath Rose’s fingers, the stale scent of old parchment and the fluttering of snoring books her only company amid these empty, echoing halls. No hushed whispers hung in the vaulted ceilings. No quiet laughter hummed between the towering shelves. Not another soul lurked here in the dim glow of early evening. At least, not yet.

If she looked closely enough, she could almost count the cobwebs hanging from the furniture. Tidy rows of mahogany desks and chairs sat tucked between the looming shelves, almost aching in the loneliness of the last days of summer.

But the illusion shattered as a shout of muffled laughter floated in through the window beside her. With a sigh, Rose glanced out at the courtyard beyond, where her fellow students milled around below the roiling grey sky and Dunhollow Academy’s towering spires. Some idled at the edges of the courtyard, casting shimmering shields over their heads, their collared coats wrapped tightly against the autumn chill. Others were scurrying out of the rain, charmed bags floating behind them and familiars close at their heels as they fled toward the steps of the university’s main hall.

Most bore a warm, sun-kissed glow, the remnants of languid summer months spent away from Dunhollow. Rose leaned back in her chair, which groaned in response. Some part of her wished she too could escape this place for a few months.

Gallivant off to the furthest corners of the world and forget all about her degree. But these hallowed halls of magic were her home, and there was a quiet tranquillity to them that she wouldn’t trade for anything. Or, at least, there used to be.

The hairs on the back of her neck pricked beneath an unseen gaze, and Rose tightened her grip on her book. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she shouldn’t look. That she should keep her gaze fixed on the pages before her and let everything else slip away.

But slowly, surely, her eyes were drawn back to the window.

There, across the courtyard, lingered a figure that did not fit among the rest, nearly lost in the haze of fog and the dim glow of perpetually golden leaves. It was gaunt and pale and Rose’s eyes almost slid right past it, for it was more shadow than solid form.

Aveline.

The girl’s face had been plastered all over campus for months, flaxen hair and blue eyes staring out from faded Missing posters. Even the stains of Dunhollow’s abysmal weather couldn’t drown out her bright smile and rosy cheeks. So much life captured in a small, unchanging image. But there was nothing lively about her any more.

Blonde hair twisted around her throat in tangled clumps; emaciated skin stretched taut across her thin face. Rose’s stomach flipped as the girl’s pale eyes fixed on her, cold and dead, yet filled with an anguished fury that burrowed into Rose’s heart as Aveline’s form wavered. And then, before Rose could even blink, the girl wisped away, only soaked, barren stone left in her wake. The books fluttered and snored around her, punctuating the silence.

A chill skittered across Rose’s skin – a warning born almost out of instinct. Hardly a second later, the window before her

shifted, a wan figure bent upon its surface. Rose’s heart leapt into her throat, but she sat rooted to the spot.

Raindrops pattered against the panes, curling around Aveline’s reflection, spilling down her skeletal cheeks like tears. Slowly, silently, she reached out a marred hand, the glass splintering around her fingers in spidery tendrils.

For a moment, Rose almost wished she would say something – anything. What she wanted, why she was here, what had happened to her. But she remained silent, as she always did. Until her cracked lips parted and a terrible shriek ripped from the abyss of her unhinged jaw.

Rose cried out as the scream clawed at her skull, piercing from within almost as much as from without. Squeezing her eyes shut, she clasped at her ears. But Aveline was everywhere. Clinging to her thoughts, aching in her bones. She tore through each beat of her fearful heart.

The shatter of glass rang out against the stone walls, stinging against Rose’s cheeks, scattering into her hair. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the shrieking stopped and the library settled into startling silence once more. Rose counted her breaths. One. Two. Somehow, the quiet was almost worse.

Until all at once every sound returned. The fluttering of books, the patter of rain on the windows. The raging beat of her own heart. Rose ran a hand over her face, her hair. But there was nothing there – no wounds, no glass shards to even speak of.

She sucked in a steadying breath, burying her head in her hands. When Aveline had first appeared, Rose had thought her nothing more than a dream. Dim whispers that hung on the edges of nightmare – a cold face seen only in the dead of night. But then the shadow had started following her, lurking in mirrors and windows, creeping constantly into Rose’s waking thoughts.

Yet there was something about Aveline that had only grown stronger as the summer came to a close, no longer bound to mere reflections. Bile crept up Rose’s throat as a memory burned at her mind. It had only been a few weeks ago when she’d first taken full form. A perfectly ordinary afternoon at the local pub shattered by the girl’s choked, rasping wheezes as she dragged herself across the floor, grasping at Rose’s ankles. And not another soul had seen a thing. She shivered, shoving the thought back.

Even in a place built on the bones of magic, there was no good reason for seeing ghosts. It was only her silence that kept Rose from being forced before the imperial mentalists or put on trial for practicing necromancy. Never mind that the idea she could cast such powerful, forbidden magic was almost more unbelievable than a ghost stalking her in the first place. Almost.

‘Thought I’d find you in here.’ A hand curled around Rose’s shoulder as a warm voice sliced through the stillness.

She jumped, chest tight with a strangled scream, as if a fist had closed around her lungs. With a sharp gasp, she whirled around, meeting a pair of familiar eyes framed by thick glasses.

‘Fen?’

Her friend beamed down at her, laugh lines crinkling in tandem with his dimpled cheeks. ‘Jumpy, aren’t we?’

He stood there with the softest gaze, welcoming and windswept, looking for all the world like a ray of sunlight in this dreary place. Before Rose could think better of it, she launched herself into his arms, breathing in the warm scents of his cedarwood perfume. He staggered back, but his arms still curled around her and she sunk eagerly into his embrace.

‘Good to see you too.’ A choked laugh reverberated through his chest. But his smile slipped as Rose pulled away. ‘Are you all right?’

She glanced back at the window, which stood unmarred, as if she’d imagined the whole, horrid thing. Perhaps she had, for the only shadow that remained was the outline of grey clouds. Rose swallowed a shudder. Aveline was gone – for now.

Clearing her throat, she forced a smile across her lips. ‘Fine. Just glad to see you.’

Fen stared at her a moment longer. If there was any part of him that doubted her, he hid it well, leaning against the table with a wry grin.

‘I bet.’ He jerked his head toward the open book beside her. ‘Doing a little light reading on necromancy, are we?’

She followed his gaze to the ghoulish illustrations of ghastly figures and decrepit undead. With a weak chuckle, she hurriedly closed it and tucked the book under her arm.

‘You know me.’ She slid an auburn curl behind her ear. ‘Just getting a head start on coursework.’

It wasn’t a complete lie, at least – she did have a history course on pre-imperial magics on her roster this term. But the weight of it still sat heavy on her tongue. She’d been trawling through the library for nearly a month now, desperate for any shred of an explanation for Aveline. Beyond just that Rose was slowly losing her mind, of course.

It seemed to fool Fen, though, for he only shook his head. ‘Did you leave the library at all? You look like you haven’t seen the sun in weeks.’

Unlike him. Rose’s eyes traced the sharp lines of his jaw, his russet skin sun-kissed and glowing even in the dim candlelight of the library. His dark hair was a bit shorter too, falling in soft waves around his shoulders. She could practically smell the sea salt that clung to his freshly pressed blouse and burgundy vest. No doubt he’d spent the summer lazing about at

his family’s seaside villa, indulging in fine wines and breaking hearts up and down the coast.

His full lips quirked into a sly smirk, making Rose’s stomach twist. Once, she might have counted herself among his dalliances, as short-lived as it had been. When they’d been giddy first-years, hiding away in Dunhollow’s dark corners and sharing stolen kisses. But Fen wasn’t one to be tied down, and their friendship had always been far more important to her. Even if his beauty still sometimes caught her off guard.

Thrumming her fingers against the spine of her book, Rose turned away. It was almost too easy to get swept up in the intensity of his gaze and the warmth of pleasant memories. Staring into those soft, brown eyes felt like coming home in a way, even if they pierced straight through to her heart. She could have told him everything in that moment – wanted to, even.

But doubt pricked at the back of her mind, tangling the words around her tongue. Throughout this ghoulish summer, Fen’s was the only voice she’d truly missed. It was perhaps a bit conceited of her, she supposed, but her heart swelled at the thought that hers was the first voice he’d sought too.

Standing here with him was the first time she’d felt safe in months – one last place Aveline’s presence had not touched. Some selfish part of her longed to hold on to that for just a while longer, even against reason.

‘So,’ she shrugged. ‘How was your break?’

‘Without you? Frightfully dull. There’s only so much peace and quiet one can take.’

Rose almost laughed. Every year, he invited her to join him, and every year she declined. Socializing with the upper echelons of Na Qisan nobility over charcuterie and crudités

wasn’t her idea of a relaxing vacation. Though this summer it might’ve been preferable. She fidgeted with the pages of her book.

‘Sounds like a nightmare.’

‘Say what you will, but it’s nice to be back.’ He plucked the book from her hands and tucked it into the folds of her leather satchel, which rested on the seat beside Rose. ‘Now come on, or we’ll be late for the start-of-term feast.’

‘So?’ She ducked as the book came screeching out of her bag, whizzing for a nearby shelf. Rentals could be so touchy. ‘It’ll be nothing but dull speeches we’ve already heard.’

‘If dull speeches are the price to be paid for the open bar, so be it.’ He extended a hand to her. ‘Plus, maybe your mother will have some news on Aveline.’

Rose’s notes slipped from her fingers as she reached for them. ‘Wh-what?’

‘Aveline Goarsbel?’ He frowned, scooping the papers off the floor and handing them to her. ‘You know, the first-year who disappeared last spring?’

‘Yeah, I remember.’ She gritted her teeth, shoving her notes into her satchel. ‘What about her?’

‘She’s still missing. With the gossip flying around the capital, I’m surprised your mother hasn’t said anything.’

Rose scoffed. ‘Well, that would require her to talk to me.’

That, at least, was true enough. Though chancellor, her mother had barely been at Dunhollow all summer, traipsing off to board dinners and galas across the empire. Not that it would have made a difference. Though there had been an inquest when Aveline had first disappeared at the end of last semester, her mother had kept its findings quiet, and had been doing damage control ever since.

Fen had the decency, at least, to look mollified by this,

tugging at his ascot. ‘Well, maybe she’ll make an announcement tonight.’

‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up.’

‘Aren’t you the least bit curious?’

Rose stilled, her spine rigid. There was a part of her that would have liked to believe she would have been, were she not being haunted by the girl at every turn. But she knew it wasn’t true. If those gaunt, lifeless eyes hadn’t been following her like a shadow, she never would have paid attention to Aveline past the first headline. She’d have buried her head in her books and let the rumors slip right past her.

Even now she didn’t think she truly wanted an answer. The official story was that Aveline had run off, but that was a hollow lie, even without her ghost. Yet, if Aveline was dead, then why could only she see her restless spirit? If she wasn’t, well . . .

Rose clenched her jaw tight. She didn’t want to think about that. ‘It hadn’t really crossed my mind.’

‘Of course not.’ Fen shook his head. ‘Well, if not for gossip, then at least come and get a few drinks with me. Please?’

Her eyes narrowed. Drinks meant staying for the feast, which also meant dealing with her peers. And probably her mother too. Still, the idea of spending the remainder of her evening here in the looming shadows made her blood run cold. And Fen, with his pleading eyes, had always been impossible to say no to.

‘Fine.’ She straightened to her full height, which was still barely up to Fen’s chin. ‘Just a few.’

His smile brightened. Handing over her satchel, he slung an arm across her shoulder and dragged her off through the maze of shelves. Most of the books were quietening now; they shuffled low overhead instead of whizzing past. She and

Fen had to skirt around a few that flew into their path but managed their way through the library in easy silence.

Rose ducked her head as they approached the exit, careful not to look into the small glass windows carved into the great oak doors. She’d got quite good at it over the summer, avoiding any reflective surface, as if it might curse her.

Mirrors, windows – even puddles. Facing her own pale skin and the dark circles etched beneath her eyes each morning was bad enough without Aveline’s emaciated face appearing over her shoulder. But it was a useless habit now, for Aveline no longer seemed content to be contained by mere shadow and glass. Nowhere was safe any more.

The cool autumn air brushed against Rose’s cheeks, laden by a damp chill that crept along her skin as she and Fen stepped out into the colonnade. Her eyes darted across the courtyard. Golden leaves trembled and twisted upon a breeze, fluttering into the puddles beneath their feet. Ancient gargoyles glared down at her from the gutters, rain spouting from their snarling mouths. But no sign of Aveline – yet.

The Missing posters had all but disappeared from campus now. Or rather, her mother had removed them, Rose was sure. It wouldn’t do for the chancellor of the most illustrious university in the empire to admit she’d lost one of her students. Better to pretend she had run off – just another girl drowning beneath the weight of this place.

Which was, perhaps, only another reason to keep quiet about it all. Telling Fen would be hard enough, but the moment she admitted it was real she’d have to report it to her mother too, and that was a conversation she dreaded more than Aveline’s ghost. Or the capital inquisitors.

Besides, it wasn’t as if the girl had told her anything useful. Grating shrieks and horrid visions offered her nothing about

where Aveline’s body might lie, or what had happened to her. No proof that what Rose saw was even real.

Shaking the thought aside, she followed Fen up a flight of slick stone steps, trading the misty drizzle for the imposing heights of the main hall. The room hummed with excited chatter, shouts and laughter bouncing off the aged wooden walls, ensconced in flickering candlelight.

Long tables stretched out across the hall, though few people sat at them yet, instead crowding around the makeshift bar at the back of the room. But the sea of faces only made Rose’s skin crawl.

Students clustered together in packs, some swirling iridescent wine glasses between their fingers while others cast bursts of magic about the room. Slowly, sourly, their eyes turned upon her, the lively chatter fading to a low hiss as they shed their spells and closed ranks. Rose pulled her bag tight against her chest. Assemblies were the worst.

She jumped as Fen’s fingers linked through hers. ‘I’ll grab us some drinks before your mother starts her speech. My treat.’

‘It’s free.’

‘Well, then, I’ll get you two.’ He grinned before weaving through the crowd of bodies with practiced ease.

The line for drinks idled along, but no one seemed bothered as Fen cut ahead of them. Instead, they clapped his shoulder, all smiles as they asked about his break. Rose hung back, leaning against the far end of the table.

‘Out of the way!’ A shrill voice cut through the crowd.

Rose turned, a sneer already curling her lips as a streak of red hair and milky pale skin jostled toward her. Arden Osiander. Pretension clung to the boy like the pomade caked into his curls with its greasy sheen – foul and easy enough to spot from a mile away. Not that he made any effort to hide it.

A smug grin seemed permanently stuck to his face, and everything about him was sharp, from his angular features to his bony elbows, which he used all too eagerly to shove his way through a group of nearby first-years. His constant shadow, Ewan Elaegius, followed behind him with a bored expression.

They only lacked their third member, though they were rarely seen apart – like some unholy trifecta. Rose winced as one of the first-years failed to get out of Arden’s way in time, and he twisted around them, crashing into her – hard. Pain shot through her shoulder, but she fought to keep her face even as the boy straightened.

‘Thenlif.’ Arden’s lips curled around her name as if it were foul and distasteful. ‘What are you doing here?’

Rose met his sneer with an acrid smile. ‘Well, I do study here.’

‘Though one does wonder why,’ Ewan drawled. With their blue eyes and shock of gold streaks through their raven hair, Ewan always looked as if they belonged on the cover of a magazine one might find in the capital’s wealthiest salons. That was probably where they’d spent their summer too, if the glow of their warm brown skin was any indication. They were beautiful, Rose had to admit. At least, so long as they never spoke.

‘Bullying first-years again, Arden?’ An icy voice cut through the air. ‘Doesn’t that ever get dull?’

Sylvie Belliaris. A chill ran down Rose’s spine. She should have known the woman would be lurking somewhere nearby. Their trifecta was hardly complete without her, after all.

Her jaw tightened, and she turned to face her classmate, a frigid smile pulled taut across her lips. Except Sylvie’s face was anything but cold. Warm and inviting, a soft smirk tugged

at the corners of her mouth, amber eyes bright and a soft flush blooming across her tawny cheeks. Her sleek black hair framed her face in smooth waves, tucked around the collar of her dark turtleneck and long houndstooth coat.

‘Oh.’ She glanced down at Rose, the kindness falling flat in her eyes like a spell snuffed out. ‘It’s you.’

‘Hello, Sylvie. I trust you had a nice summer?’

The pleasantries rolled off her tongue, bitter as poison. Arden and Ewan exchanged a glance before shifting back into the crowd as if they were mere summonings Sylvie had cast away. Not surprising – she hardly needed their aid. Her wit wielded blades theirs would weep to witness.

‘Lovely.’ She glanced Rose up and down. ‘I am shocked to see you managed to crawl out of the library though. I thought you’d taken up residence there.’

Rose fought to keep her smile even. Such barbs were like a game to Sylvie – a cat toying with her prey. It wouldn’t do to let her draw blood so early. She bit the tip of her tongue. It seemed unusually cruel that someone so vile could look so perfect. Beautiful, yet venomous as a serpent.

‘It’s called studying. You might try it sometime.’

Sylvie’s eyes darkened. ‘Yes, well, some of us prefer to focus on our natural talents. How are your attempts at casting going, by the way?’

Rose’s fingers curled at her side, cutting into her palms. Harsh words twisted around her tongue, though none of them were quite sharp enough. Sylvie’s smirk only widened at her silence.

‘Sylvie, darling!’ Fen’s voice floated over Rose’s shoulder. ‘How are you? Playing nice, I hope?’

Rose’s lip curled in a sneer as Fen handed her a drink before leaning in to kiss Sylvie’s cheek. Traitor. Sometimes, his ability

to make friends with absolutely everyone made her want to throttle him.

Sylvie threw Rose a coy glance. ‘Always.’

‘I doubt that.’ Fen laughed. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘No, thank you. I was just leaving.’ She squeezed his shoulder before brushing past them. ‘See you in class, Thenlif.’

Rose glowered at her back as she disappeared into the crowd. With any luck, they wouldn’t have any classes together. But the universe would never grant her such a fortune.

Fen chuckled beside her. ‘Only you could walk into a crowd of people and bump into your archnemesis.’

‘Please, she’s not my nemesis.’ Rose took a sip of wine, wrinkling her nose. It definitely tasted free. ‘She’s barely even a rival.’

‘Mhmm.’ He bit back a grin. ‘Sure.’

Rose squirmed under his gaze. He wouldn’t understand –he loved the witty insults and hidden meanings that came with politicking. They rolled off him like water off a duck. But they didn’t for Rose – especially when they came from Sylvie.

The woman had a singular ability to get under Rose’s skin, never letting her forget that she hadn’t earned her place here. That she would never belong. Never mind that she had the highest marks in their class. For people like Sylvie, the fact that she couldn’t cast a practical spell was all that would ever matter.

‘She’s just . . . awful.’ She glared into her wine. ‘And she thinks she’s better than everyone.’

‘What, you don’t? You hate pretty much everyone here.’

Rose opened her mouth to protest just as the candles flickered twice and a hush fell over the room. Her eyes flew to the dais at the front of the hall where her mother stood twirling

the flames under her charmed grasp and tapping her cane against the floor.

As if drawn by her hand, students filed into their seats at the long tables stretching across the hall. Most fell naturally along the divisions of their years, while some crowded around those from their chosen schools of study. She and Fen settled at the end of a row of their fellow third-years, who whispered welcomes at him or waved across the table.

Few of their greetings extended to Rose, of course. But that was always the way. He fitted in everywhere and she hardly anywhere. The only place they shared was with each other.

Her mother cleared her throat. Ink-black hair coiled in a neat bun at the nape of her slender neck, glimmering in the soft glow of the room, while a crimson gown stood out like a shock against her alabaster skin. She was insidiously elegant – mesmerizing in her perfection. Though Rose couldn’t say whether that was due to magic, luck or just sheer determination to never have a hair out of place.

‘Welcome,’ she called out, her voice rich and deep. ‘Welcome, everyone. I am so happy to be starting another term at Dunhollow. I know you’re all eager to indulge in revelry, so I will be brief. First-years will have their orientation tomorrow – the rest of you have had your course lists sent to your dormitories.’

Rose leaned against her palms, watching the platters whizz by. As she’d predicted, it was all drivel they’d heard before. Fen was going to owe her a lot more than two drinks for suffering through this.

‘For those of you planning any night-time frivolities this evening’ – her mother’s eyes followed the rest of the crowd’s directly to Fen, who shrugged – ‘please bear in mind that

curfew is midnight and no later. Drunken spellwork will not unlock the gates, I promise.’

The room broke out in nervous chuckles, and her mother paused with a brief smirk. She did love a captive audience.

‘Now, a few announcements. First, the welcome breakfast will begin at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, and I expect to see you all there, even hung over and near death. Second, I’d like to remind you all of a few safety rules.’

She droned on for a bit, skimming over regulations and protocols that everyone but the first-years seemed happy to tune out. Eyes began wandering toward the floating trays while the din of quiet conversations grew louder. Rose tried to drown them out, but there was one thing that echoed in hushed whispers – one name on everyone’s tongue. The same name that plagued her own mind.

Aveline.

As if summoned by the thought, the shadows behind her mother began to shift. Pale and wavering, Aveline hovered just over her shoulder, her clouded gaze cracked by grief. Rose’s breath caught in her throat, fleeting and fragile, like a loose thread snagging on a jagged edge.

No one else in the hall even batted an eye. Every student at Dunhollow, every rank of caster, and not one of them could see her. Only Rose.

In the space of a moment, she’d never felt more alone. Here she sat, trapped in a sea of bodies, and all she could do was stare at the one form that wasn’t there. Or perhaps just the only one that saw her too.

She winced as Aveline’s aching eyes met hers in the candlelit glow. Slowly, she pointed a trembling hand at Rose, as if it took all the strength in the world. And then she was gone, faded into shadow as her mother stepped into the space she’d left behind.

‘Lastly, enjoy your evening, and welcome once again to Dunhollow.’ Her eyes locked directly on Rose, sending a shiver straight down her spine. ‘I’m sure we’ll do great things this year.’

2: Like So Much Else

Sweeping ink letters stared up at Rose, their looping curves and small flourishes almost laughing at her. Her head pounded with the mistakes of the previous night, her throat dry. Why had she let Fen talk her into an afterparty, of all things? Her stomach heaved at the thought of how late she’d made it back to her dorm, only to find the unpleasant surprise that now mocked her.

Rose glared at the neat script of her course list, somewhat hoping the words might have changed. But they remained, as bold and damning as they’d been last night.

SMT: Casting in Pre-imperial Societies, 9:00–10:25, Menier/ Wenore/Fenvier

SDA: Strategy and Source Level 3, 10:45–12:10, Menier/Wenore/ Fenvier

CUA: Advanced Alchemical Functions, 11:00–12:25, Tenier/ Torier

SPS: Practical Spellcraft and Sorcery, 15:25–16:50, Tenier/Torier

She sighed. At least she was sober reading them this time –not that it made them any easier to swallow. She took a sip of her steaming umber telka, grimacing as the bitter taste hit her tongue. Normally, she’d have savored it, but this morning she needed something a little softer to dull the ache in her head. Sprinkling a bit of sweetened cream into her mug, she took another sip. Much better.

Still, the buzz of chatter wasn’t helping any, though the

main hall had quietened some after the initial breakfast rush. Now, only a few dozen students remained, lounging at the long tables with mugs of steaming telka or roll-ups they’d dared to smuggle indoors for a smoke. Platters of food floated around the tables, though most had nearly been picked clean of pastries, pies and tarts.

Even the trays that circled the professors’ table at the head of the room lay mostly empty, though the fare they held was still finer than what was given to the students. Rose’s mother stood idly beside the sage-haired Professor Burroak, wearing her usual crimson gown and a bored smile.

Rose’s headache flared back to full strength. Though the shields at the doors were charmed to keep out the dampness, it still weighed at her temples. She sank closer to the table, rubbing at her brow.

‘Good morning.’ Fen’s voice reached her over the din, and she slid a sharp glance toward him. ‘Ugh. What’s the matter with you?’

Her scowl deepened. He looked surprisingly awake for someone who had been downing wine like water last night. His long dark hair framed his sharp face in luscious waves, and his brown eyes were bright and alert, though it was rare for him to be awake this early. His outfit was even less tarnished, his linen blouse crisp and his sapphire vest freshly pressed and tucked over a pair of pleated trousers. She wrinkled her nose as he plucked a pastry from one of the roaming trays, reaching for a savory tart herself.

Biting into it, she slid her course sheet over to him. ‘This.’

Fen’s thick brow furrowed. ‘Didn’t you say you applied for all theoretical courses this term?’

‘That I did.’ Her fingers tightened around her mug, eyes sliding to her mother. ‘Someone must have decided to change it.’

‘You don’t really think—’

‘Yes,’ she cut across him. ‘I do.’

‘Dia vhal. Good luck with that.’

She didn’t answer, her gaze locked on her mother as she moved away from Professor Burroak’s side. Rose leapt to her feet, making Fen jump as she took off between the tables.

‘Chancellor Thenlif!’ Her mother’s gaze darted toward her, eyes widening before she veered left, heading straight for the exit. ‘Chancellor, wait. Chancellor – Mother! ’

Finally, her mother stilled, her cane hitting the stone floor with a sharp thud as the hall fell silent. Rose’s cheeks flared as her mother turned, a terse smile plastered on her painted lips.

‘Rosera, darling. How good to see you.’

Rose shoved her course sheet in front of her nose, in no mood this morning for the saccharine tone of her mother’s voice. ‘What is this?’

Her mother’s gaze slid pointedly from the paper to the other students watching their exchange with marked interest. ‘Why, that looks like your course list, my dear.’

‘No, my course list was supposed to include Botany and Stratagem, A History of Magical Law, and Theoretical Alchemy, not Alchemical Functions.’ She bit out the words. ‘This? This is just cruel.’

Her mother fell silent for a moment before grabbing Rose’s elbow and pulling her into the corridor, out of earshot of the other students. Drawing herself up to her full height, she glared down the bridge of her nose.

‘It wasn’t cruelty – it was necessary. You cannot take a random handful of courses simply to avoid casting.’

‘I can’t cast, Mother.’ Rose’s nails drew harsh marks along her palms. ‘And since you won’t let me pursue a degree in Magical Theory, what do you expect me to do?’

‘I expect you to try.’ Her mother’s tone was sharp as glass. ‘But—’

‘Enough, Rosera!’ Her cane struck the floor with enough force to shake the stones. Around them, the sconces darkened, casting the corridor in an ominous shade. ‘You will learn to cast this year, and you will choose a degree field that won’t see you stuck in some archive for the rest of your life. Do you understand?’

Shadows flickered in the arched windows, a cool contrast to her mother’s wrath, but a warning, nonetheless. Rose turned away from the stained glass. Shapes swirled behind the panes of emerald and sapphire – sallow cheeks and clouded eyes that she could not bear to see. Not now.

Clenching her jaw, she met her mother’s gaze. There was no use in arguing – as always, her mother would get her way.

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘Good.’ She straightened Rose’s ascot. ‘Now, get yourself to class. Tardiness is so unbecoming.’

With a soft tsk she turned away, leaving Rose alone in the corridor as the bell chimed to mark the hour. Tears burned at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not in front of everyone, at least. Rushing back into the main hall, she snatched her bag from the table, ignoring Fen as he called after her.

The courtyard grew blurry around her as she raced out the front doors. But Rose kept her head down, ducking into the nearby toilets off the main colonnade and locking herself away in a cubicle. Sagging against the door, she unclenched her fists, examining the harsh red marks across her shaking palms.

Some part of her wished to feel the warmth of flame burgeon within them – something to match the pain that

seared through her veins. But if she were capable of that, she wouldn’t be here. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks now, and she sucked in ragged breaths, trying her best not to blink and ruin her make-up.

If there was one thing she’d become good at over the years of dealing with her mother, it was knowing how to cry without leaving a trace. Well, besides perhaps a slightly red nose, but, pale as she was, that was rather hard to avoid. She reached for some toilet tissue to wipe the snot from her upper lip, swallowing another sob. Breaking down in the toilets was one thing – letting anyone hear it was a whole different beast.

As if drawn by the thought, the main door swung open, carrying with it a gaggle of voices. Rose hiccupped, pressing herself tighter against the wall. She hoped they’d be too absorbed in their own conversation to pay much notice to her occupied cubicle.

‘I just find it odd,’ said one. ‘You’d think the chancellor would’ve at least mentioned it.’

Their heels clacked against the white marble floor, and Rose peered through the crack of the cubicle door. She could just make out one of them as they stopped before the mirror to check their lipstick. The glass shimmered, spilling out compliments before another figure stepped in front of it.

‘I’d be more shocked if she had brought it up. Imagine how that would look.’

Brought what up? Rose frowned, studying their faces, though she couldn’t make out much at this angle. Still, she didn’t recognize them. Second-years, maybe? They didn’t have the deadened eyes of most fourth-years, nor did they have the fresh-faced look of first-years.

‘Better than it does now, at least.’

The second student leaned against the counter. ‘Aveline

was flighty on the best of days. She probably just ran off to “find herself”.’

Aveline. The name sent a shiver crawling across Rose’s skin. The first student shrugged. ‘Maybe. She was on about some village boy after she and Arden broke up.’

Arden? He hadn’t exactly seemed cut up when Aveline disappeared. Or even now, given his attitude at the welcome feast last night. Then again, he was likely too self-absorbed to notice she was gone.

Rose shuddered. Poor Aveline . If Rose had had the poor judgment to date such a cloying waste of space, she might have run off too. But matted hair and wan features flickered at the edges of her mind, and the thought curdled in the pit of her stomach like sour milk. No. If what she saw of Aveline was true, then something far more sinister had happened to her.

‘See? They probably ran off together.’

‘Or Arden made her disappear.’

‘I doubt that,’ said the second student. ‘He doesn’t have the gall for it.’

Rose brushed her thumb against the sore marks on her palm. As much as she detested Arden, she couldn’t help but agree – she doubted he’d risk getting his own hands dirty. The boy was an entitled ass, but even he wasn’t foolish enough to go after another student for something so trivial as heartbreak. Such things were like currency here at Dunhollow. He likely would’ve only been looking to cash in on sympathy and gossip.

Still, he’d been a third-year when Aveline disappeared –why had he been dating a first-year? Her lip curled. Actually, that didn’t shock her too much. Most likely everyone in his year saw right through him, but a malleable first-year might

have been an easier target. Rose swallowed a gag. Even so, it was odd that his name hadn’t come up at all in the initial inquiry in spring.

‘Well, it’s still strange that Chancellor Thenlif didn’t say anything. I hear Aveline’s parents are offering a reward to anyone with information.’

The second student scoffed, the door creaking as they shoved it open. ‘Yes, but they had to make a sizeable donation just to get her accepted into Dunhollow – they wouldn’t want to accept that she’d gone and wasted that.’

Rose chewed the inside of her lip as the pair made their way out of the room, their chatter fading with them. Well, that explained why her mother had had such an easy time waving away the rampant rumors around Aveline’s disappearance.

There were only two types of students at Dunhollow: those born with influence and connections and those who could buy them. If Aveline’s parents were the latter, they were likely capital merchants who went through money like water but had little of the pedigree the more established noble families clung to like a lifeline.

It would have been all too easy for her mother to shut down an investigation into Aveline’s disappearance if she’d convinced the titled nobles that their wealthy brethren were getting a little too uppity again.

Not that it mattered. The fact that her mother had ignored the issue said more than enough. Perhaps that was why Rose saw Aveline’s ghost now – she was paying the price for her mother’s apathy.

The thought left a bitter taste on her tongue. Jiggling the latch, she slipped slowly out of her cubicle and made her way over to the sink. What did it matter anyway?

For months, it had been easy enough to pretend the girl

was a mere figment. Nothing more than shadow bent upon glass, or some fear-fueled wisp dreamt up by her slumbering mind. If nothing else, it served Rose with the perfect, palatable excuse for her silence. Who could she tell in these empty halls beyond her mother, who had made it plain that she had no interest in the truth?

And, if Aveline really was dead, then whatever had happened to her was a secret she’d taken to her restless grave. Even if she could tell Rose something useful, how could Rose pass that along to the authorities without putting herself in the line of suspicion? No. There was no solace to be found in the truth now – no peace. Only questions that Rose had no good answers for.

She sighed deeply, her throat tightening. Perhaps it wasn’t her mother’s apathy that had prompted her haunting but her own complacency.

The mirror loomed overhead, but it spilled no compliments for her and she didn’t dare look into it. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed fiercely on the tap as she turned it, pressing cool water on to her raw cheeks. Even so, a shiver stole down the back of her neck, trailing down the soft hairs on her forearms.

Not now . She gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white. But it was no use. No amount of wishing or willing would wash this stain away.

If she did not look, the girl would only remain longer, hanging over Rose’s every breath. Whatever message she meant to impart, she clearly wanted it to be passed through suffering. Bile bit at the back of Rose’s throat as she lifted her head. But it was not a milky gaze or withered flesh that greeted her now. Blood pooled from Aveline’s sunken eyes, bright, startling blue against the crimson. Bulging veins of sickly grey

climbed up her throat, as if the shadows swirling around her had etched themselves into her emaciated skin.

She didn’t reach for Rose, didn’t shriek or cry out. She didn’t even move. Instead, she was utterly still, almost as if she was just as trapped by this form as Rose was.

‘Please.’ The whisper fell from Rose’s lips, dry and heavy as lead. ‘What do you want from me?’

Aveline’s shape wavered upon the smooth panes of the glass. Shadows pulsed around her matted curls and her mouth fell open. But it wasn’t words that emerged. Pools of liquid shadow spewed forth from her lips, swallowing the girl up in a shower of cracking glass and –

The door swung open with a great bang, echoing off the marble walls. Rose screamed, stumbling as she spun around.

‘Dia vhal, it’s only me.’ Fen held his hands up. ‘Are you all right?’

Rose steadied herself against the sink as dark spots danced across her vision. Squeezing her eyes shut, she sucked in deep breaths. The air was cool and pure against her aching lungs, but it did little to soothe her.

When she opened her eyes, Fen’s gaze was fixed solely on her. Not on the mirror nor any of the horrors held within. Just her.

How must she have looked to him? All too much like Aveline, she supposed. A pale reflection of herself, only moments away from shattering.

Forcing a small smile, she straightened. ‘I’m fine.’

He took a step closer as he reached for her. ‘Rose . . .’

‘I said I’m fine.’ She brushed his hand away.

‘You don’t look fine.’

‘He’s not wrong, dear,’ the mirror whispered. Rose glared at the shimmering surface, now free of any

haunting visage. Only her own red-rimmed hazel eyes stared back at her, tear-stained tracks tracing haphazard paths down her pallid cheeks. No, she had to admit, he wasn’t.

Fen’s eyes softened. ‘I take it the talk with your mother didn’t go well?’

She faltered. Oh, right. Her mother’s words had seemed so far away for a moment, but now they came flooding back.

‘You could say that.’

With a sigh, Fen reached for a towelette, running it under cold water before blotting it against Rose’s reddened skin. But it was no use, for his gentle touch and warm smile only brought fresh tears to her eyes.

He stroked them away with a soft brush of his thumb. ‘I’m sorry.’

There was something in the way his brow creased that turned Rose’s heart. It cut jaggedly across his forehead, so at odds with the laugh lines at the corners of his mouth. Almost as if his features did not naturally lend themselves to the expression. But then, her mother had that effect on people.

Fen’s hand stilled, and his dark gaze dropped ever so slightly as silence fell over them, fragile as glass. Rose’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, he looked as if he were about to say more, fingers curling gently around her chin. But then he simply smiled, draping her auburn curls over her shoulder and fluffing up the collar of her blouse.

‘We’ll need to do something about your eyes. Can’t have the wolves sniffing around for blood.’

Without warning, he ran a warm hand over her face, his magic casting the scent of his signature. Beyond petrichor, the smell of worn leather and red wine hung on the air, melding with his perfume of cedarwood and caraway. In spite of herself, Rose almost smiled. Each caster wove a bit of

themselves into their spells, a small trace. Negligible almost, but still there.

Turning, Rose blinked at her new reflection. Though her face was still tight and raw from tears, bright eyes now stared back at her, the only redness remaining in her flushed cheeks.

Grinning at his handiwork, Fen leaned closer to the mirror, tousling his hair and fixing his smudged eyeliner. A pang of jealousy twisted around Rose’s gut. He cast as if it were as easy as breathing – no more than a trifling thing. She glanced down at her empty palms, but all they held were the marks of bitter disappointment.

Though Fen would deny it in a heartbeat, there was a cynical, caustic part of her that somewhat believed he only hung around her for his own reputation. Appearances were everything here, and what better way to maintain his image as Dunhollow’s golden boy than by taking pity even on the academy’s resident casting defect?

She gritted her teeth, the thought sinking in her heart. Fen didn’t deserve that. And she perhaps didn’t deserve him.

Dunhollow was forged by deceit and betrayal – it had no use for anything so mundane as sincerity. But Fen ignored that rule. Or rather, threw it out of the window entirely. He cared deeply about everything and everyone. Even her.

Beside him, she didn’t feel the sharp edges of her mother’s words as keenly, nor the looming weight of Aveline’s ghost. Though both still lingered at the back of her mind like a creeping fog in the early dawn. And what comfort had she offered in return, save the unfounded ignorance of deceit?

The thought hollowed out a pit in her stomach. Would the truth really be so terrible? A small part of her knew that he wouldn’t turn away, no matter what she told him. Somehow, that scared her more.

Shaking her head, she sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Fen, I—’ With a great clamor, the second bell rang out, a last warning before the start of classes. Rose startled, though Fen hardly looked fazed.

‘What?’

‘I—’ The words fled from her lips, any courage she’d mustered failing alongside them. ‘Nothing. Never mind.’

She scurried out of the door before he could say anything more, melting into the bustle of students in the corridor. Hardly any of them even looked up as she joined their ranks, just another soul lost in a sea of argyle and tweed. Stepping out into the cold drizzle of the perpetually grey Dunhollow skies, she could almost pretend that she belonged here. That, even if only for a moment, there was hope she might somehow make it through this year unscathed.

But hope was cold comfort, and it seeped away from her with each step, vanishing with the rain, like so much else.

3: No Less Deadly

The School of Magical Theory had always been Rose’s favorite. It was tucked away in the old quarter of campus, and the crisp scent of old books and aging wood hung on the air, mixed with the intoxicating aroma of freshly roasted telka and a faint hint of pipe weed. Most of the other halls held the cloying stench of petrichor that came with casting – but not this one.

Here, no stray spells flew about in the vaulted ceilings. No bubbling cauldrons or backfired charms choked the corridors with smoke. Here, it was only books, philosophy and debate, traded about by those who cherished the magic of the mind.

Most importantly, this was the oldest of the halls. Carved from wood that had seen the birth of the empire, it lacked the looming glass windows the rest of the university boasted. What few did exist perched just below the ceiling like halfmoons and brought in just as little light.

Some perhaps would have been deterred by the dark pall this cast over the lecture hall. But not Rose. For the first time in months, she stepped confidently into the room, letting the darkness wreathe her like a shield. Yet the feeling was cold and fleeting. Once, it might have kept Aveline’s ghost at bay, but now it made no difference. Nowhere was safe.

Rose clutched her satchel tighter, nearly stumbling on the low stairs. The lecture hall sprawled out before her, curved benches in tiered steps surrounded by paneled walls that