Chapter 59

The Headmaster’s office was colder than I remembered. The expansive room, lined with ancient tomes and relics that whispered forgotten stories, loomed around me with an air of silent judgment. Headmaster Brightwen sat behind his imposing mahogany desk, his white hair glinting under the soft glow of the enchanted chandelier above. His green eyes—piercing and calculating—fixed on me with the kind of scrutiny that made it clear he saw far more than he let on.

“Mara, thank you for coming,” he said, his tone courteous, but the undercurrent of command was unmistakable.

I nodded, keeping my face impassive. “Of course, Headmaster.”

He gestured to the brazier in the center of the room, its embers glowing faintly as if in anticipation. Pyromancy wasn’t an unknown art; it was part of the curriculum for advanced Divination students, but mastering it required more than just skill. It demanded a connection, a natural talent most didn’t possess. I approached the brazier, its warmth brushing against my skin, feeling the hum of anticipation in the room. The fire was restless today, crackling in uneven bursts as though it could sense the tension, as though it knew the role it was about to play.

The Headmaster steepled his fingers and leaned forward. “I need you to perform a reading. The situation with President Russling is growing… unpredictable. Any insight could be crucial.”

The statement sank into me, and with it, a thrill shot down my spine. He needed me. The power play was subtle, a shadow shifting behind my mask of calm, but I felt it—the dark, simmering satisfaction of holding even a fragment of power over someone like him. I moved closer to the brazier, the Garnet’s pulse beneath my collarbone a steady reminder of the lie I was about to weave.

“Of course, Headmaster,” I said, letting a hint of confidence bleed into my voice. “I’ll do my best.”

I closed my eyes, summoning the rush of anticipation that built in my chest. This had to be perfect. I needed him to believe every word. The embers flared as I exhaled, the fire responding as if drawn to the game. When I opened my eyes, they reflected the flames, shimmering with a hint of something more, something that made my pulse quicken.

“Russling,” I whispered, letting the name resonate. The fire leaped higher, orange and red tongues twisting and writhing, like it could feel the weight of my words. I glanced at the Headmaster, his eyes locked onto me, unwavering, drinking in every flicker of light and shadow. Good. I needed him focused, convinced.

I stepped around the brazier, moving with the slow grace of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. “I see him,” I began, voice steady and low, with a cadence that made it impossible to look away. “He is surrounded by shadows, not just of his making but of his desire. They hunger, they whisper. He feeds them, but it is never enough.”

The flames shifted, darkening to a deep red, crackling with a sharp, staccato rhythm. The energy in the room thrummed, and I felt a surge of satisfaction ripple through me. He was watching me, eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. The rush was intoxicating, a heady cocktail of fear and power. I almost smiled.

“He seeks power,” I continued, the words weaving themselves with practiced ease. “But not just any power. He searches for the essence of what cannot be tamed.” The fire rose, sending sparks dancing into the air like fireflies. My fingers twitched beneath the fabric of my gloves, where the mark on my hand pulsed in time with the Garnet. The fire was alive, responding as though it knew this was all part of the game.

“But,” I let my voice drop, drawing out the moment, “he does not see the eyes in the dark, watching him. The more he hunts, the more he is being hunted.”

The embers shifted, reshaping into eyes that glowed within the flames. The fire itself seemed to revel in the drama, mirroring the scene as though it were a performer in the act. I felt the corners of my mouth tugging upward but forced the expression back into neutrality. The heat in my chest grew, the sensation of having him believe my story, the lie, was an addictive rush I hadn’t expected. The heady thrill of manipulating someone as powerful as Brightwen was a dangerous game, and gods, it felt good.

The silence that followed was thick, charged. Headmaster Brightwen’s gaze flicked from the fire to my face, searching for any crack in the facade. There was none. His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes gleaming with a mixture of intrigue and suspicion.

“Interesting,” he finally said, voice as smooth as silk. He leaned back in his chair, his posture shifting from calculated interest to guarded contemplation. “It seems President Russling’s ambitions are leading him down a dangerous path.”

I nodded, swallowing the pulse of dark satisfaction that thrummed beneath my skin. “It’s what the fire showed me,” I said, infusing my tone with the right mix of earnestness and fatigue.

The Headmaster’s gaze sharpened, as if he was sizing up a potential asset—or threat. “You’re proving to be a most interesting student, Mara. More insightful than most.”

The comment was both praise and a warning, but it only fueled the shadow of a smirk threatening to break through. “Thank you, Headmaster. I only hope it’s helpful.”

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly. “Remember, insight comes with its own set of responsibilities. Use it wisely, Mara. There are those who would use what you have for their own ends.”

“I understand,” I said, letting the words hang between us like a veiled challenge.

The flames crackled one last time, a knowing spark, and I took a step back. This time, as I turned to leave, the pulse of the Garnet was matched by my own heartbeat, thudding with a newfound, dangerous exhilaration. I’d pulled it off, and he’d bought it. But as the door clicked shut behind me, a shiver ran down my spine.

I might have won this round, but the stakes were getting higher. And there was no going back now. I need to initiate the Liege trials if I was going to make it out of this alive. Becoming the Liege of Shadows was my only hope now.