I go into my room, drawing the bolt firmly across the door behind me. I wash my face and body, then re-dress in a clean uniform. The long cobalt tunic falls to my knees, going over my underclothes and pants and then secured in place by a belt. The open triangular cuts on either side leave room for my legs to move freely. Intricately embroidered wings and feathers line the hems, and at the center is a re-creation of the Glass Tower, just as light hits it. Sunlight in the form of gold thread spills out from it.

It’s similar in style to the warrior-elect uniform, though theirs lack any decoration and are made in a rougher cloth. This uniform has to be earned, and I would earn it twice over on a mission like this.

I collapse back onto my bed with a sigh. Someone knocks at my door, maybe to congratulate me or say goodbye. Either way, I pretend I’m not here. My mind still echoes with the sound of Rowan’s disbelief in the grotto, and the pain of knowing I embarrassed myself for nothing.

At least I have the mission to focus on now. Find the cure, bring it back.

The journey will fill my thoughts, and the days apart will give Rowan and me the space to move past what happened. Best I can hope for now is that we’ll go back to just being friends. We never have to talk about it again.

My pounding heart says otherwise.

8

ROWAN

The door of Storm’s End is locked when I arrive. My hand rests on the round iron handle a moment. All my life, these doors have been open, even at night. I didn’t think my mother still had the key.

Luckily, I know of the side entrance through the school kitchen. Making my way around the side of the building, I brush aside some overgrown vines to find the latch on the gate. I scoot way down the small alley between the school and the adjacent building, then let myself in.

The kitchen of my childhood feels smaller as I cross its terra-cotta tiles. The tables and counter have been swept completely clean, and the arched windows overlooking the courtyard have been let open wide.

Past the kitchen are the classrooms. The halls of Storm’s End usually ring with laughter and songs, but today, the sound of my sandals on the ground is the only haunting melody.

I slow as I near the last room by the staircase that leads to my mother’s private living area. The nap room is lined with six beds on either side. Plush rugs and blankets are normally strewn about, despite my mother and her assistants’ attempts to teach the children to be tidy. Heart low, I step inside.