Chapter 25: Oaths in Moonlight
The gardens had gone wild since the wards failed.
Evan picked his way through the overgrowth, vines snagging at his boots like grasping fingers. Moonflower blossoms pulsed with eerie bioluminescence, their petals opening and closing in time with his footsteps as if tracking his progress. Somewhere in the distance, the academy's bells tolled midnight, their usual chimes distorted—slowed, as though the very air had thickened.
Selene moved ahead of him, her silver hair catching the moonlight like a beacon. She hadn't spoken since the observatory, her shoulders tense beneath the thin fabric of her robes. The pendant she'd given him burned a hole in Evan's pocket, its heat inconsistent—sometimes fading to nothing, sometimes flaring so intensely he expected to find his trousers smoldering.
She stopped abruptly at the heart of the garden, where the hedges formed a natural alcove around a crumbling stone fountain. The statue at its center—some long-forgotten founder—had cracked down the middle, its face split into two mismatched expressions.
"This is where she died." Selene's voice startled him. She didn't turn around.
Evan stepped closer. "Your mother?"
A nod. The moonlight painted her profile in shades of blue and silver, catching on the delicate bones of her wrists as she traced the fountain's edge. "They called it an accident. A misfired spell during the solstice rites." Her fingers came away black with old soot. "Lucian made sure the fire left no evidence."
The image rose unbidden—Selene as a child, watching flames consume what remained. Evan's throat tightened. He reached for her, then hesitated. "Why show me this now?"
Selene finally turned. The moonlight caught in her lashes, turning them to quicksilver. "Because you deserve to know what you're fighting for." She reached into the fountain's dry basin, brushing aside decades of dead leaves to reveal a hidden compartment. The lock yielded to her touch, the mechanism clicking open with a sound like cracking ice.
Inside lay two items: a dagger twin to the one Evan had lost, and a scroll sealed with wax the color of dried blood.
"The last Arkwright tradition," she said, offering him the dagger. Its hilt fit his palm as if forged for him, the metal warming instantly to his touch. "Swear with me, Evan. Not as student and counselor. Not as allies." Her fingers trembled slightly as she broke the seal. "As equals."
The scroll unfurled to reveal words written in shifting ink—sometimes black, sometimes silver, never settling. Evan recognized the language from the forbidden texts Isolde had shown him: Old Veil-tongue, used for binding oaths.
Selene pressed her palm to the parchment. "My magic to yours." A silver glow spread from her touch, illuminating the first clause.
Evan hesitated only a moment before placing his hand beside hers. His storm magic responded sluggishly at first, then surged through the scar on his chest like lightning finding a rod. The ink blazed blue where it touched him.
The garden held its breath. Even the pulsing flowers stilled.
Selene's voice when she spoke the vow was barely audible, but each word settled in Evan's bones with the weight of centuries:
"By root and crown, I stand with you."
Evan echoed her, surprised to find the strange words flowing naturally. "By storm and silence, I stand with you."
"Through blood and betrayal."
"Through shadow and sacrifice."
"Let our enemies see only one face in the dark."
"Let our blades find the same heart."
The parchment ignited in a flash of white fire. Where the ashes fell, the stone beneath their feet darkened into the shape of intertwined serpents—one silver, one blue.
Selene exhaled shakily. In the sudden quiet, Evan became acutely aware of how close they stood—close enough to see the pulse fluttering at her throat, to count each pale lash framing her eyes. The dagger felt insignificant in his hand compared to the weight of this moment.
Her lips parted as if to speak—
The pendant in Evan's pocket exploded with heat.
They broke apart just as the fountain shattered, spraying chunks of marble like shrapnel. Evan hit the ground hard, his vision swimming. Through the dust, a figure emerged from the wreckage—tall, silver-streaked hair gleaming, his smile a slash of white in the gloom.
Lucian Crowhurst stepped forward, brushing stone dust from his immaculate sleeves. "Charming," he drawled, toeing the serpent sigil with one polished boot. "But oaths won't save you from what's coming."
Behind him, the garden's shadows deepened, twisting into shapes too angular, too hungry to be natural.
Selene's dagger found her hand in a flash of silver. "You're supposed to be bound."
Lucian's laugh was the sound of breaking glass. "Oh, little sister. Haven't you learned by now?" He spread his arms wide as the darkness coiled around him. "Nothing in this academy stays buried forever."