Page 34 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three
I blink, disoriented by the sudden transition. No longer observer but participant. No longer memory but present.
I stand beside Cassius, my hand small in his, my form that of the six-year-old I've become in this space between spaces.
I look up at him, seeing understanding dawn in those silver eyes.
"She was the outcast from the beginning," he whispers, voice carefully neutral, "by a being of Fae who didn't have the mercy to ease the truth to her."
I nod slowly, processing what I've witnessed.
Elena.
The third girl.
The one given no destiny but failure, no future but betrayal.
But questions remain.
How did that broken child become the sister who tried to destroy me?
What happened between that moment of cruel prophecy and the life I remember—what little of it remains clear?
I squeeze his hand, lower lip extending in a pout that feels natural on this child-face.
"I don't remember what happens after."
He nods slowly, considering. "Maybe as we get closer to the Academy, you'll remember little by little?"
I nod, but my shoulders sink with the weight of new understanding.
The hatred for Fae that burns in my blood—is it even mine? Or is it Elena's rage, inherited along with everything else she tried to steal? The realm's violence toward Nikki suddenly makes terrible sense. Not personal vendetta but ancestral fury, responding to the very presence of those who cursed us before we could walk.
I don't realize Cassius has knelt until his hands gently force my chin up. His face fills my vision, silver eyes serious but kind.
"It's not your fault for how you've reacted," he says, and the certainty in his voice makes something tight in my chest loosen. "Now I understand why the realm is harsh on Nikki. Maybe there's further explanation, but for now, we have to focus on unlocking the truth that can help get the final key."
His expression shifts slightly, reminding without pushing.
"You're the final guardian, remember?"
I pout, understanding but not liking it. When he tilts his head in question, I look away and admit what truly frightens me.
"I'm scared."
The admission feels huge in this small body. Scary feels too simple a word for the complexity of emotion, but it's what my child-voice can manage.
He nods slowly, no dismissal or platitude.
Just acknowledgment.
"It's scary doing everything alone, isn't it?"
I nod again, and suddenly his arms are around me, lifting me with easy strength. I'm small enough that he can hold me like the child I appear to be, and something about that makes me feel safer than any show of power could.
"I understand," he says against my hair. "My realm is scary too when you have a lot of responsibility. But you have to remember—you're not alone."
He pulls back enough to meet my eyes.
"You have me."
