Page 206 of Wings of Ash & Flame
Silence folded in around them. Professor Ross gave her a once-over, eyes lingering on the puncture wounds.
Alaire looked away, shame burning her throat. The bat’s words echoed:Your blood is his gift. We may only sample.They’d fed on her while she was unconscious, taking just enough to weaken her for their master. The Voidshade Sovereign wanted her alive—which meant the toxin in her veins was meant to incapacitate, not kill.
The thought made her stomach turn. She knew it wasn’t her fault. But still, embarrassment pressed against her ribs like a vise.
Professor Ross shrugged out of his tweed jacket and extended it toward her. “Here, you must be cold. Take it.”
She met his gaze, expecting pity, but found only anger. Not at her. For her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, wrapping herself in the warm fabric.
He gave a curt nod. “Let’s go.” His hands hovered near the long hunting knives strapped beneath his waistband.
He led the way deeper into the decaying nebula, magic at the ready. She followed his footsteps, gripping the hilts of her daggers tightly.
Alaire reminded herself to breathe evenly. With her breathbind reliquary gone, she fought to keep her mind fromunraveling. She counted each step, reciting theSanguis Carta—the declaration that had formed Elithian’s territories and established the Consortium—words she’d memorized during long nights in Australe Library.
By blood and by birthright, the worthy shall govern. From the union of Lysia’s light and Umbra’s shadow came aether, the breath of creation itself. The original bloodlines, chosen by celestial covenant, are sanctified to rule, for in their veins flows the power of the first bonds.
The air thickened with smoke from the flames Professor Ross had set and the metallic tang of blood. At times they ducked under or sidestepped massive webs. When the passages grew too tight, Professor Ross’s fire sliced through sticky traps with careful precision.
The grotesque hybrids still haunted her. She swiped at shadows as they moved.
Professor Ross raised a hand, signaling her to stop. His gaze swept the passage before he leaned against the wall.
“One of those things passed this way. We need to give it some space.”
Alaire mirrored his stance, though her mind whirled with questions. She blew out her cheeks and sighed. “How were you able to get here?”
Professor Ross didn’t answer right away. His hand rasped over the stubble on his jaw; he’d always kept everything but his mustache clean-shaven.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “No one could breach the trial’s landscape. Every attempt, every spell, bounced right back. The wards were strong—stronger than anything I’d seen in a long time.”
Alaire sucked in a breath. Her foot tapped the floor. “But you’re all powerful fae. You should’ve been able to get past them. Break through the wards. If you’d come sooner…”
If he had aloof them might’ve been safe.
“I know. I’m sorry. We tried everything.” He scrubbed a hand through his sandy-blonde hair. “Then your daggers appeared. Nothing else—no people, no objects—just them.”
His eyes scanned the shadows.
“It was as if the landscape allowed them through. Like it knew you needed them.”
Her frown deepened.
“I picked them up, recognizing them right away, and”—he exhaled sharply—“a portal opened. Not one like I’d ever seen. Deep red, bleeding through the air. I stepped through.”
Alaire’s stomach knotted.
Her thumb brushed the gold band. That same color of magic had appeared twice now: first at the Celestial Cascade Ball, and again when it intertwined with Dawson’s.
Her mother’s gift.
But how would he know about it?
“How did you know it would bring you here?” she asked coldly, pushing off the wall.
“I didn’t. I just knew something was wrong and you needed help. I wasn’t willing to wait another second. It closed behind me and dumped me here.”
