We both shed our cloaks, hanging them on pegs by the door. Lysandra strokes Barron’s feathers as she passes him where he’s resting on his perch near the fire, and he closes his bright yellow eyes and lets out what sounds like a rumbling purr.
“So, what kind of conversation is this?” Lysandra asks as she places a kettle over the flames flickering in the hearth. When she turns to face me, she’s smiling. “Meaning, should we be drinking tea or mulled wine?”
I can’t help but to give her a smile in return. After all these years, Lysandra still impresses me with her ability to read people—to read me.
“Wine,” I say.
Her blue eyes sparkle. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
A SHORT TIME LATER, LYSANDRA serves me a mug of mulled wine—it smells of honey and clove and cinnamon, and the brandy makes my nose tingle when I take a deep breath.
Definitely the better choice for this conversation.
Lysandra sinks into the armchair across from mine. We’re near the fire, close enough that it can warm us despite the chill in the castle. She takes a sip of her drink, then sighs and sinks into the cushion’s embrace.
“Okay, I’m ready.” She levels her icy eyes on me. “What’s the letter say?”
I take a deep breath, then bolster my courage with the wine. It’s strong—pleasantly so.
“It’s . . . It’s my letter of resignation.”
“Hmm.” Lysandra takes another sip of her drink. “You’ve accepted the job, then?” The smile she gives me is soft and knowing, and it puts me immediately at ease.
“I have. And this... comes as no surprise to you?”
She lets out a breathy laugh. “Yes and no. I was hoping you’d take the job, but I wasn’t convinced you would.” Her silver-blue hair twinkles in the daylight streaming through the windows behind her desk. “What led you to this decision?”
My lips open, trying to reply, but I freeze up.
What led me to this decision? What changed everything, shook me so deep into my roots that I decided I was ready to pull loose from the earth and try something new?
There’s only one answer I can give with any semblance of truth to my words. And if what Lyra said is true, and professors have already been whispering about us, then I expect Lysandra already knows all about it. I was a fool to think I could hide anything from her. After all, she’s the headmistress for a reason.
“Lyra Wilder,” I say, then quickly wash her name down with a swig of hot wine, as if I can burn the sweetness of those words from my tongue.
It only partially works.
Lysandra casts her gaze into the fire. “She came to me,” she says. “Before finals, she asked to take a hiatus from community service. I knew something was wrong.”
“Did she... say something?” I ask, realizing only after I’ve said it how suspicious it makes me sound.
“No. But she didn’t need to. I know you’ve grown close.” She swishes her wine and takes a sip. “Barron’s been keeping an eye on her for me.”
On his perch, Barron lets out another deep rumble. I think he’s falling asleep. Guess this conversation isn’t nearly so interesting as flying around spying on everyone. Meddlesome owl.
Again, I open my mouth to say something, but I’m not sure how to speak without digging myself ever deeper into this hole. So I just sip from my mug and turn my gaze to the fire.
But even there, I find Lyra. My mind plays tricks on me, making me think I see her in the dancing flames, and I have to blink the vision away lest I get lost in it.
“Does she know you’re leaving?” Lysandra asks at long last, after an extended silence falls between us, disrupted only by the crackle of flames and Barron’s rhythmic snoring.
“She . . . does.”
“And she didn’t take it well?”
I flick a gaze at Lysandra and shake my head. “She’s upset with me... for deciding to leave.”
“Of course she is. She’s young, Cairn. And like many young people, she can’t yet see the forest for the trees.”
