But at the end of the day, I’m just Cairn Axton, a nobody minotaur who’d rather whisper to moonflowers than speak to other people. I certainly don’t have the qualifications for such a position, despite what Milo might think.
He was a good kid when he was here—though much too chatty for my liking. I did warm up to him eventually, and at some point his presence ceased to annoy me. I even kind of missed him once he graduated and moved on to bigger things. And now I know what those things are.
The botanical conservatory.
The possibility of getting a job there makes my skin pebble with excitement. But then I remind myself that I don’t have the qualifications they’d most certainly be looking for, don’t have the professional experience to snag such a job.
And besides, what would Coven Crest do without me? And what wouldIdo without Coven Crest? I’ve been here for years, have built a quiet and predictable routine for myself. I know my duties like the back of my hand, and nothing ever changes—well, except for that fire witch.
A small bite of irritation goes through me.
Why would Lysandra assign the witch to me? She knows how much I value my peace and quiet, how important it is to me to stick to the schedules and routines I’ve built over the years.
It’s almost like the headmistress is trying to punish me too.
Maybe I should apply for the job . . .
The thought feels as delicious as it does forbidden.
And before I can let myself dive too far down that minotaur-size rabbit hole, I gently fold the letter back up, slip it into the envelope next to the application, and place it back on the side table from which I knocked it.
Trying to put thoughts and dreams of the botanical gardens from my mind, I snatch up my book and my teacup and resume my reading, starting with a chapter on glomeromycota.
Chapter 5
Lyra
“OUCH!” I HISS, TRYING TO pull my hand away from Maeve, but she holds fast, her storm-purple eyes cutting to me like a bolt of lightning. “Thathurts.”
“Well, it’s going to continue to hurt if you don’t let us help you,” Maeve says. Her voice is crisp and matter-of-fact, leaving no room for my whimpering.
I’m cross-legged on one of the couches in our sitting area, Maeve on one side of me and Poppy on the other. They take turns dipping their fingertips into a small jar of salve that Alina made for me when I returned to the dormitory yesterday and showed them the angry blisters decorating my palms.
“These look so painful,” Poppy says. She pushes her big round glasses up with a knuckle, a dainty furrow appearing in her brow. “Mr. Axton should’ve made sure you had the proper protective gear.”
“Protective gear?” Maeve asks with an arched brow. “You mean gloves?” She chuckles to herself. “It’s not like Lyra was tasked with wrangling a centaur or something.”
Poppy’s furrow deepens as she gently applies more salve to a particularly large and painful blister. “Even so... It’s rather inconsiderate.”
I could justnottell them that the minotaur did, in fact, offer me the proper protective gear, as Poppy so succinctly put it. But I’ve never been one for fibs—unless they’re meant in good fun.
“Well...” I draw the word out slowly, and everyone in the room looks at me, including Alina and Raelan, who’re cozied up together on the other couch in the sitting room. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but those two are more inseparable now than they were last year.
“Well what?” Maeve asks. She’s finished applying the salve and is reaching for a bandage now.
“Well... hedidoffer me gloves. I turned them down.”
“Why?” Poppy asks.
I shrug one shoulder—the one Juniper isn’t currently clinging to, hiding under my curls to keep warm. Early this afternoon, the sky turned a dark shade of gray and rain started to fall. The fire is burning, chasing the chill from our room, but with my fire magic, I put off plenty of heat, and Juniper likes to curl up and nap when it gets cold like this.
“I don’t know,” I say, and it’s mostly true. “I guess I didn’t want him to think I needed them, like I’m weak or something.”
My mind replays yesterday afternoon, watching Mr. Axton push and dump the wheelbarrowwith what appeared to be no effort, how he wielded the compost fork like a magic spell. I, on the other hand, struggledallday, and with such a simple task too. He gave me one thing to do, and I couldn’t even complete it.
“Ow!” I snap when Maeve wraps the soft cotton bandage across my palm. “What are you, an orc?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, that’d be my stepbrother, remember?”
