Lyra
IT RAINED LAST NIGHT—NO,poured—and the grounds are absolutely soaked as I follow Cairn around, trying to keep up with his long-legged strides. I’m pushing around a wheelbarrow full to the brim with mulch. Cairn has one as well, and we’ve been mulching the flower beds around the academy. When I asked what the point was, Cairn said the mulch will help protect the plants from the bite of winter, keeping them warm and alive until the following spring.
“Put more here,” he instructs, pointing to the spot where he wants me to dump the mulch. With a grunt, I heft the wheelbarrow up and dump the remaining mulch onto the ground—though I miss the spot he indicated by about a foot, and his huff and arched brow communicate his frustration.
“Do we need more?” I ask, glancing at his empty wheelbarrowsitting nearby.
He pauses moving the mulch from where I dumped it to where he needs it and gazes into the distance. Tipping his head—and those big curled horns—he says, “A bit. One more wheelbarrow should do.”
“All right.” I shove my hair out of my face with the back of my hand, then take up the wheelbarrow and start pushing it back toward the garden, where the mulch pile is. Wet leaves and shallow puddles dot my path, and I try to weave around them as best I can.
It’s late morning now, and the other students are up and about. Many are outside, soaking up the sun. Some sip warm drinks from mugs, while others already have their books cracked open and are studying for our upcoming midterms. Ireallydon’t want to think about that. I’ve been worried for days and days, and every time I picture having to display my magic in my Elemental Magic 201 class, I get a sick knot in my stomach.
Two warlocks are messing around, using air magic to stir up the colorful leaves and send them flying around their witch companions. The girls laugh and bat the leaves away as I pass by, trying not to catch their attention.
It’s not that I’m embarrassed about helping Cairn or having to do community service; it’s the whispers, the looks, the knowledge that I’m a fire witch who can’t control her magic, who’s hanging on to her enrollment here by the tips of her fingers.
What will Papa say if I get expelled?I wonder.
Andthatthought sends me on a rapid downward spiral. He’s spent my whole life bending over backward, doing everything he can for me. As a single parent, he had it twice ashard, and I know my childhood wasn’t easy on him. I can’t count the number of times I set things on fire during temper tantrums. He used to have to keep a bucket of water in the house just to douse the flames.
Useless, I think.I’ve always been useless.
The next thing I know, leaves are spiraling around me, impeding my view as I push the wheelbarrow through the wet mud and grass. The wind tears at my hair and clothes, and the dry leaf matter strikes my face, stinging my skin.
“Hey!” I snap, gearing up to give the warlocks an earful. “Why don’t you—”
My boot hits a slick spot of deep mud, and before I can right myself, I go down. Hard.
I try to catch myself, but it’s futile. As soon as my hands hit the mud, they slide out from under me, and next thing I know, my face isliterallyin the muck.
And my wrist is on fire. I landed on it at an awkward angle, and heat pounds through it with every beat of my galloping heart.
Along with the rage.
An angry roar bursts out of me as I push myself out of the mud with my good wrist.
“What thefuck!” I scream, and fire pulses from my hands, heat tearing across my skin as I glare toward the two warlocks who were messing around with the leaves.
They stare back at me with wide, terrified eyes.
“I’m going toroast you!” I scream at them. But when I try to get to my feet, I slip again, and I’m right back in the mud.
The warlocks and the witches who’re with them take off, getting away from me as quickly as they can, though not without some giggles as they glance back at me.
My skin burns with anger and embarrassment. I look down at myself and find my sweater, trousers, and boots completely slicked with mud. It’s in my hair and in my mouth, gritty against my tongue.
Suddenly, I want to give up. I don’t want to do this anymore, don’t want to struggle and battle just to be here when everything I do feels worthless.
My vision starts to blur with tears. Stupid, traitorous tears. I’m already covered in mud and leaves; I don’t need the other students to see me crying on top of it all. I’d much rather be mad than sad.
Just as a tear drips down my mud-coated cheek, footsteps approach from behind me. They’re slow and heavy, and they stop next to me as a horned shadow falls over my shoulders.
“Are you all right?” Cairn kneels beside me, unconcerned about the knee of his trousers getting muddy.
“I’m fine.” I don’t look at him. It’s too humiliating.
With a grunt, I try to push to my feet, but my wrist isdefinitelynot okay, and it sears with pain, making me gasp and clutch it to my chest.
