Chapter 8

ChapterEight

Weeks came and went after the letter he’d written to her. Alistair wondered if he’d gone too far in mentioning that her letters had gotten him through some tougher parts of school.

He hadn’t meant it as though she were required to write him letters or even to continue talking to him. In fact, he’d thought it was honest and sweet of him to say such things. Instead, he realized that maybe he had pushed her a little too far.

Sighing, he juggled all the books piled high in his arms from the library. He’d collected all the books required for his classes at the same time. He should have gotten something to carry them with, and yet... here he was. Struggling to even see over the wall of books that obscured his vision.

“Well, well, well,” the voice was all too familiar. Cassius hadn’t said a word to him at school so far this semester, but Alistair had known he wouldn’t be so lucky as to avoid his brother’s long reach. “This is how the Orbweaver name is being upheld in this school? Embarrassing.”

Lysander snickered, not far from the oldest as always. “And here I thought we were required to at least look the part. Do you see how dirty his nails are, Cassius?”

Of course, his nails were dirty. Alistair had taken a class on herbs and medicine. As such, he was required to have his hands sunk deep into the ground, pulling out weeds while the rest of the class sat around trying to figure out a spell that would do the work for them.

He’d never been afraid to get his hands dirty. Especially since the faeries teased him mercilessly if he didn’t use his hands. That was part of what he had to do as their guardian. Or at least, that’s what they said.

He wasn’t sure how much of a guardian he was. He was only seventeen, after all.

“I just got all the books for my classes,” he muttered, trying to walk around his brothers. “I need them to study. “

Cassius moved in beside him, and Lysander flanked the other side. He was bracketed by his brothers, his own personal escort from hell now that they were insistent on following him back to his room.

“Lysander,” Cassius asked. “How much studying did you do in his year?"

“Not much. It all came rather naturally, if I remember right.”

“That’s what I thought.” His brother leaned closer and whispered, “Orbweavers don’t have to practice, whelp. The fact that you’re studying at all to learn the most basic of magic is an absolute disgrace.”

Alistair gritted his teeth and told himself to keep moving. He didn’t have to listen. He didn’t have to let their words sink into his skin or remind him how much of an embarrassment he was to his family.

There was a young woman out there who considered herself his friend. Or at least, he thought she did. Thea had taken the time to write to him, and even though that must have been a hard thing for her to do, considering his family, she’d still thought he was worth the risk.

All those details had to crowd out what his brothers were saying. He couldn’t let them get underneath his skin, or he’d never finish out his senior cycle, and then he would be stuck in this damned school for all eternity.

The thought of Thea gave him more courage than he should have had. Alistair straightened his shoulders and looked Cassius straight in the eyes. “At least I won’t have to stay another year after graduation. The rumors going around the Academy are that you’re here because you didn’t learn everything you had to do, and now you’re just pretending to be a professor’s assistant.”

The moment he said the words, he knew how much of a mistake that was. He should never have threatened Cassius, let alone ever suggested that people were talking about him. Cassius wanted, no needed, control over his image. His older brother was a younger version of their father, and he knew what Balthazar would do to anyone who suggested what Alistair just suggested.

Alistair didn’t have time to brace himself before the books in his arms went flying. They cascaded in a wave of leather, scattering pages down the hall to the stairs where they floated down like someone had laid out a carpet of white and black. The books fell all the way to the first floor that would lead him back to the library.

And here he was, the fool who now had to pick them all up and put the books back together, or the professors would leave scars on his knuckles.

Cassius slammed his hands into Alistair’s shoulders, and he careened back. He lost his footing, and the only thing that saved him from falling to the first floor was the flimsy railing he hit. Alistair wrapped his fingers around it and held on for dear life. If the old wood gave, then he’d hit the ground, and he could only imagine the pain would be unbearable.

His siblings wouldn’t help him. They wouldn’t even shout for anyone to gather up the splattered remains of their brother. They’d just leave him there until someone found him, writhing in pain and likely broken in many places.

Both of his brothers converged on him, stealing all the air from his lungs as they pushed him to focus on them and them alone.

Cassius spat, “Don’t embarrass the family name anymore, whelp, or I’ll tell father how poorly you’re doing here. It sure would be a shame to be the only Orbweaver to not finish his schooling. Don’t you think?”

He didn’t agree, actually. Not having to finish out his years here in the Academy would give him much more of an opportunity to use his powers in a better way. The fae had already made it very clear they had a plan for him. Their illustrious gods and goddesses had already mapped his future out. Who was he to change that?

Of course, his brothers didn’t know anything about the fae. They never would. If they found out what his powers were, they would have him summoning all manner of dark beings so that they could use them to their own advantage. It was a nasty path that he knew would only end poorly.

Lysander gave him one more shove with a raised eyebrow that dared him to say anything about it. And though the worn wood behind him creaked dangerously, it held his weight.

His brothers disappeared down the hall, likely to find some other younger students to torment. Which left Alistair alone.

Swallowing hard, he stared into the eyes of the portrait of the fourteenth Headmaster. The man had eyebrows like wings, and his yellow eyes were a little too all-knowing. He stared into Alistair’s soul as though saying he was disappointed in Alistair as well.

“Everyone is,” he muttered, bending down to gather up the pages. “Everyone and their mother, it seems.”

A tiny faerie hand reached for one of the pages and shoved it closer to him. He was so surprised by the size of the hand that it made him pause before he looked at the little creature. The brownie was quite possibly the most adorable one he’d ever seen before. She wore a tiny daisy as a cap, and her bright yellow dress was made from more petals than what he thought might be a rose. Her pointed face was nearly perfect as well, though the crow’s feet at her eyes some might consider a flaw. He thought they were beautiful.

“Are you the only brownie taking care of the Academy?” he asked.

She shook her head.

So there were many here. He had always thought a building this large with this many children must have brownies. The entire building was far too clean, and besides, none of the professors or even the Headmistress were the type to waste good magic on a cleaning spell.

“Thank you for all your hard work,” he said while piling up all the loose papers near him. “The Academy is spotless all the time. I assume there had to be some like you in this building.”

The brownie’s face blossomed with a bright, radiant smile. He’d known the compliment was likely something she hadn’t heard before, and it broke his heart to see that no one had given her or her people any of the recognition they deserved. Brownies weren’t around forever, after all. Look at the boggart who caused so much trouble with his trunk.

The little faerie turned around and lifted her arms over her head. All the papers that had cascaded down the stairs came rushing back up and then neatly piled themselves beside his legs. Each pile had already been ordered by the title of the book, and he thought perhaps they were also in order by the page as well.

“Wow,” he whispered, then stacked them all together. “I have to bring these to my room. Thank you so much for the help. I don’t think you know how horrible this year has been already. I mean—“

All the books and pages floated out of his arms and into the air. The brownie gave him another bright smile, then started down the hall while waving a hand over her head for him to follow her. Apparently, the brownie wasn’t finished with him yet.

Swallowing hard, he looked through the hallway to make sure no one had noticed the strangeness of the situation. Thankfully, most students were either in an early class or still in bed. He only noticed a single other student sitting on a bench down the hall, but it appeared that the young man was asleep. His head rested against the wall, and his jaw had opened in a soft snore.

No one would see him if he followed the brownie wherever she wanted to take him.

So, he followed her. Alistair trailed her down the carpeted hallway, where the blue carpet turned green, a marker that the classrooms were nearby. He didn’t want to run into his brothers again and opened his mouth to say so, but she stopped in front of a well-known tapestry that showed the history of Sunspell Academy.

He’d seen it countless times. It showed the Academy starting out as nothing more than a small hut outside the walls of Wildecliff. Then it had been brought inside, and the secrets were taught only to a few select students. Eventually, the upper class of the city discovered the use of having their children instructed by professionals, and suddenly, the Academy inherited the rather large building from an admirer who had had no children.

And then he heard Cassius’s voice. His brother was already bragging about how he’d put his little brother in his place, likely to one of the sixth years who wanted to suck up to the Orbweaver who had stayed in the school. Everyone wanted a job at the Academy, after all.

Frantic, he looked down at the brownie and whispered, “What are we doing?”

She arched a delicate brow and then waved her hand again. Though she only came up to his knee, her magic was more powerful than he’d thought. The tapestry shifted to the side, revealing a small stone stairwell that spiraled out of sight.

She brought the books with her, snapping her fingers like they were puppies who needed to follow her every whim. Alistair assumed he had little choice in the matter now. He followed after her as though she’d cast a spell on him, just like the books.

The stairwell was dark and gloomy. A few cobwebs caught at his hair, and he felt horrible for ruining the spider’s nest, which had likely never been disturbed before. Or not for a very long time. Small slats in the wall showed through to other rooms. They were nearly the same width as a needle, so he didn’t worry too much that others would see him.

A servant’s stairwell, he mused. Perhaps this was where the servants had once struggled through. Now, it had been forgotten and left to the fae who really took care of this building.

They reached the top of the stairwell, and Alistair spilled out into one of the many attics at the peak of Sunspell Academy. Piles of old school materials, desks, books, and even some old banners that looked like they might have been used for particular outings were haphazardly thrown about.

He wouldn’t be surprised if no one remembered this room existed. He’d heard that there were nearly a hundred small attics like this throughout the school. He wondered, sometimes, if there were hidden treasures that no one had seen for centuries.

Obviously, those curious thoughts had been correct. There were plenty of hidden secrets within the walls of this ancient building.

The brownie weaved through the clutter with a deft skill that made him wonder if she might live in this attic. It was a far cry from the kitchens, where he’d always assumed brownies usually were. That’s where he’d always found them, at least.

She set the books down on the floor in front of herself and then sat down. Without even looking at him again, the brownie got to work, weaving the pages back into the bindings of every book they had fallen out of. She even had a needle and thread in her hands that she used to patch the pages which had ripped. He’d never seen anything like that silver, glimmering thread that healed the pages of books without leaving a single mark.

Was this why she’d brought him here? Was he supposed to wait while she fixed his books? That was all well and good, but he couldn’t be gone that long. And though he appreciated her help, he also knew that he needed to get back to classes today or the professors would punish him.

“Um, miss,” he started, clearing his throat in what he hoped wasn’t a rude manner. “I need to get back to my room and...”

Wordlessly, she pointed over to another corner of the room. And if Alistair had learned anything about the fae, it was that he needed to listen to them.

He trudged through the piles of brick-a-brack and then made it to the back corner, where he was shocked to find a rather fat toad with moss growing on its back. The creature looked up at him with yellow, watery eyes. And he realized that he knew this ugly little creature.

“Browning?” he asked, hesitant to think this might be the same creature. After all, Thea had said the toad didn’t like to travel far. And it had been weeks since he’d last received a letter.

The toad let out a ribbit and then hopped to the side to reveal the letter it had been sitting on. Even though it was a little moist, he could see the smudged ink on the outside that said his name.

Alistair lunged for the letter and tucked it against his chest. “Thank you.”

The toad glared at him but then hopped off into the clutter of the attic and disappeared. He should have offered the familiar some kind of food, he supposed. Or something to help get it home to its witch.

But he couldn’t think of anything other than the letter in his hands.

Undoing the gentle folds, he opened it up to reveal what she’d written to him.

Alistair,

I’m so sorry I didn’t write to you sooner. Unfortunately, one of my friends caught your raven before I did, and I didn’t want to suffer through her unbearable teasing, so I sent Atlas out without another letter. He didn’t come back, so I sent Browning in his place. Hopefully, he gets to you before you have decided it’s not worth writing to a girl you’ve only seen once in Waterdown but... Well, if I don’t get another letter, I don’t know what I’ll do. I rather look forward to them.

The letter described how she was learning more about her gift and then detailed accounts of her mother and sisters growing their gardens.

He ate up every single word. His eyes couldn’t read fast enough, and sometimes he thought he could hear her voice. Even though he didn’t remember what she sounded like, he thought perhaps there had been a rasp to her words. A deepening tone that hadn’t quite appeared yet.

Oh, she’d probably changed since the last time he’d seen her. He had. Alistair knew he’d gotten taller and lankier. She’d take one look at him compared to his handsome brothers and find him lacking.

Or perhaps there were some farm boys in her hometown who were more muscled. More burly if that was what women found attractive. He didn’t know. It wasn’t like Alistair talked to any of them regularly.

But... she’d written to him.

To him.

The unwanted son of a horrible man. Her kindness meant something.

He spun and caught eyes with the brownie. “Was this what you wanted to show me?”

She nodded, and the bright smile on her face spread again. As though she knew the contents of the letter and how happy it would make him. And, of course, he was happier right now than he’d been in a while.

Because Thea existed. And if she wrote to him, then he existed as well.