Malachite Excerpt

malachite ASHLEY ANDERSEN

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To my mum – my very own Malachite warrior.

Thank you for believing in every dream I’ve ever had.

It sucks I didn’t get to marry Edward Cullen though.

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BEFORE Where It All Began

or eons, the Stars made their beds in the ink-black sky, looking down as cities were built across the lands, and all manner of living creatures began inhabiting them. When the Stars grew bored, some would play wicked games on those below, turning cities to rubble and dust, just to see who would survive.

It went on like this, until one Star decided she was sick of being an observer. She’d seen the world below crash, burn, rebuild and repeat too many times and decided that with the power she possessed she could help these creatures instead.

But to Fall would be to give up her immortality; she would have to relinquish her celestial body and take on a humanoid form. To Fall would mean to never again see the world from above. However, her gentle heart couldn’t stomach the ache of witnessing endless suffering any longer. She wished to use her power to help the creatures below, to bestow them with gifts like her own so their sicknesses might heal faster, offering them a longer life and filling their hearts with hope.

F

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This sacrifice would be mighty and isolating. So, before she fell, Opalus – the Star of hope, optimism and passion, and the creator of the sea, lakes and rivers – convinced three of her brothers to Fall with her.

Obsidianus – the Star of protection and shields, and the creator of shadows and night – was next. Unable to let his sister Fall alone, he followed her down, for she was the light to his darkness. Created in the same inky pocket of the sky, they never strayed from one another. In the sky they shone side by side, and Obsidianus planned to do the same in their new realms.

Achātēs – the Star of clarity and intuition, and the creator of the wind that filled the sky – was the third to Fall. He observed what his siblings had done with keen eyes, watching as they carved out their own areas and began building civilisations where they were revered.

Finally, the fourth Star, Molochītis – the Star of growth, risk and love, and the creator of fire – Fell. He loved all his siblings with ferocity and quickly began to love the creatures that flocked to his side as well. Molochītis became willing to protect them with his life. He followed in his siblings’ footsteps, hoping to create a world that thrived and remained prosperous.

Opalus encouraged her brothers to do as she did and bestow gifts to the creatures they found. Achātēs was not a jealous Star, but a tactical one. He had seen the horrors such a world could endure, and he had decided the gifts he’d bestow onto his creatures would enhance their minds.

He believed if they were intelligent and strategic, they could rule their worlds rather than be crushed beneath them.

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Molochītis bestowed courage and bravery to his creatures, inspiring them to take risks and most of all, love. In battle they had to be brave, or they would die afraid, which in his eyes was no way to die at all. The only fate worse was to die with no purpose. So, he gave them love, in hopes that having something to fight for would make them stronger, quicker, more resilient.

Obsidianus decided to gift his favourite creatures with protection, not only from physical attacks, but from any threat. He ensured that his creatures could not die at all.

For years, the Stars went on, teaching their creatures how to harness their abilities. To create a new way of life and nurture a realm where they grew and prospered. Until, one day, Achātēs called them to his side of the world. He missed his siblings and had been without them for too long.

‘Brothers and Sister, come. I have created a place where we can all live harmoniously together again. Let us combine our worlds. Bring your creatures; offer them sanctuary here among others like them and watch as they thrive.’

The Stars were together once more. They lived harmoniously, enveloped in the power they brought to their new home, basking in the glory that was their success, until one Star began to pull away from the others. Slowly a rivalry began to fester among them. Jealousy, spite and betrayal became their true downfall, and they succumbed to the same tragedies they Fell to prevent. The four Stars died with hatred in their ancient hearts. Left behind were not just those the Stars had infused with their magic to carry on their legacy, but a war that would continue for hundreds of years.

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ONE

he wooden door looks one storm away from falling off its hinges. As I knock softly, I hear a bone-rattling cough inside and my back stiffens.

He’s getting worse.

My gloved fingers find the satchel at my hip; I toy with the little button and hop side to side to keep the blood flowing through my body.

The snow isn’t too bad today, but the crisp wind bites at my nose and the apples of my cheeks like icy pinpricks. My lips are burning and chapped and even through my thick coat, I feel the cold seeping into my bones.

This is my final delivery of the day, and I saved it for last so I could take my time getting home. It’s midafternoon and my father should be home by now, so the longer I’m out, the better.

I’ve been making deliveries for my mother for the past two years.

She retired as a healer in the war when I was a child, to homeschool my brother and me. My father on the other hand, while he has served for over the requisite fifteen years, probably won’t stop working until he physically cannot walk, move or heal a single thing.

The rattling cough sounds once more, making me wince. The medicine in my satchel feels heavier somehow, and I start to get fidgety wondering if I should knock again, when suddenly, I hear footsteps approaching just before the door swings inward. As it does, a warm plume of air hits my face from the small fire inside.

T

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Ashley Andersen

Corvin’s lanky frame causes his head to almost brush the top of the doorframe, which is just as withered and cracked as the door he holds open. His familiar black wool hat covers the hair he keeps short for work. He joined his father in the mines at fifteen, and it only took him one day to cut his hair off once he realised how filthy it got down there.

Despite the dark circles beneath his eyes, they light up when he sees me, and a warm sensation fills me as I look at my friend.

‘Quick,’ he gestures for me to come in. ‘Get your ass inside before your toes fall off.’

‘Hello to you too,’ I half-heartedly tease but find myself rushing forward to escape the cold. My body shivers in response to the sudden temperature change as I’m wrapped in the warmth emanating from the fireplace.

I stamp my boots on the scratchy floor mat, watching melting snow fall from them, then turn just in time to find Corvin poking his head outside to scan the murky landscape. He looks left, then right, before twisting to face me. The door shuts quietly behind him.

‘Where’s your carriage?’

‘My father took it for some urgent meeting with the council this morning.’

His brows dip. ‘So you decided to walk? It’s freezing out there!’

‘Better than the alternative,’ I mumble, stepping further into the house. The alternative being waiting around until he gets back and asking him to take me into town in the carriage, therefore forcing the two of us into the same space for a long period of time. I’d rather let the carriage run me over.

Corvin nods, understanding what I mean without me having to explain. He’s been around long enough to know the ins and outs of my rocky relationship with my father. His late mother was a friend of my mother’s, so we’d met a handful of times as children and played together in my backyard. Though it wasn’t until I started delivering medicine to him almost two years ago that we got close.

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malachite Corvin’s family home is on the southern outskirts of the city, an area that houses most of the lower income families. Corvin’s income supports both him and his father, since his father is too sick to work.

What Corvin doesn’t spend to keep them both fed and housed, he uses to pay for his father’s medicine. Medicine that he pays my mother for, much to my dismay. We don’t need the money like he does, but he’s too proud and stubborn to take it for free like I always insist.

‘What was your father’s meeting for?’ He gestures for me to head toward the small kitchen softly lit by candles scattered about on multiple surfaces. I pass Corvin the medicine from my satchel and he gets to work preparing hot water over the coal stove.

‘Not sure. He left for the academy before I got up this morning. My mom told me when I went downstairs to get ready to head into the city.’

‘He went to the academy?’ he asks curiously. ‘I thought they ran meetings in the city?’

‘So did I,’ I admit.

Corvin moves around the kitchen with ease, pulling out a mug for his father, and measuring out the correct amount of medicine from one of the bottles while he gets the water ready to heat. Though my mother is skilled at her healing tonics, the one Corvin’s father takes has a horrid taste, and to quell the bitterness, Corvin mixes it in with herbal tea.

He turns and leans against the counter across from me, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Maybe it has something to do with your brother?’ he suggests.

Maybe.

Though I can’t help but wonder if it has something to do with my application to the academy – more specifically my shortcomings. Shaking my head, I decide to change the subject and get it off my mind, or I’ll go insane.

‘Have you thought any more on applying for the academy?’ I ask.

‘I noticed your acceptance letter was all crumpled up in your room the other week after we spoke about it.’

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Ashley Andersen

Corvin’s eyes narrow. ‘The fact that you were in my room long enough to notice shows me that we need to set boundaries in our friendship, Arianell.’

I scoff.

‘Yeah, boundaries. Because that worked well last time.’

‘Hey, you were the one that suggested we drink an entire bottle of wine. Each!’

‘Don’t blame the wine,” my eyes roll. ‘We were completely sober the other two times.’’

‘Whatever.’ He laughs softly. ‘The fact you found it scrunched up should be answer enough. It’s the last thing on my mind.’ Corvin turns away, pulling the now-boiling pot of water off the stove top. He pours a generous amount into the mug, and I stare at him, frowning, as he uses a spoon to mix the water, herbal tea and medicine together.

‘I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ he says before walking past.

I nod, hoping his father will be able to drink the concoction. ‘We can finish this discussion when you’re back.’

‘Sounds thrilling,’ he deadpans.

While he goes to his father’s bedroom, I remove my gloves and get to work on tidying up. As I move about the kitchen and living room, I hear his father spluttering and coughing and I can’t help but wonder if Corvin is anticipating the day he comes home from work to find his father laying lifeless in his bed. Stars, I hope I’m around when that day comes, to offer him a shoulder, to show him he doesn’t have to carry everything on his back alone. Like he so often does.

When Corvin comes back out, I’m sat on the chair at his round dining table with two mugs of tea in front of me – sans medicine.

‘Thank you.’ He sits and warms his hands on the mug, nudging my leg with his foot beneath the table before taking a sip.

‘You’re welcome.’ I give him a few minutes of silence before I bring it up again. ‘Tell me why you aren’t applying. You were offered a full scholarship, Vin.’

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malachite There are three ways to gain admission into Valmora Academy. The first is the most obvious: legacy. Your parents or grandparents were alumni; therefore, you are eligible based on familial ties. The second involves paying your weight in gold. Wealthy families may secure their child a spot into the academy by paying their way in. The third option, much rarer, is in recognition of talent. That was the case for Corvin.

While all who attend the academy should be talented, certain professors also search the continent for the extremely gifted. During our very brief conversation two weeks ago when I arrived as he was opening his acceptance letter, he let me know one of those professors happened to visit the mine that Corvin works in and took note of his magic.

Corvin’s element is water, which is incredibly beneficial in the mines for dust suppression, fire control and separating valuable crystals from rock. Not everyone is lucky enough to wield as naturally as Corvin.

I know from experience how difficult it can be, seeing as I can’t wield at all. In fact, I don’t possess a single sliver of magic. I think that’s why I’ve been pushing so hard for Corvin to take hold of this opportunity; that, and the fact that I know if he made it out the other side of the academy, the money he could earn would be enough to live somewhere better and get his father the round-the-clock kind of care that he needs.

‘Scholarship or not, I have to pay for this house. I can’t do that while gallivanting up at some prestigious school, pretending I’m one of them.’

My nose scrunches. ‘One of them? What’s that supposed to mean?’

He sighs. ‘That came out wrong. I’m just . . . I’m not like you or your brother. Never once in my life did I think I’d get into the academy. My father worked in the mines and so did my grandfather before him.

Mining is in my blood, Arianell. It’s my legacy and I like the work.

Your entire family went through ValAc, so my reluctance to be shoved into a castle alongside a hundred students willing to kill each other for a top position in the army might not make sense to you. But it does to me. I’m happy down there.’

I look at him, really look at him and realise right in a sense: I don’t understand his reluctance. I don’t know if I ever really will, since the

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academy has been such a big part of my life since I was a little girl.

Everyone in my family has attended and gone on to serve in the army, as healers, soldiers, commanders and strategists.

Corvin is the first friend I’ve had who is happy to serve our country from the bottom, doing the hard work inside the mines that produce the crystals we harness our magic from and turn into weapons. But he’s also my only friend, so while I don’t feel the same way as him, I decide to drop the subject and support his decision.

As we finish our tea, I can tell Corvin’s energy is fading, so I pack up, dreading the walk home already. Will my father be back? Will he be in a foul mood? Will I be able to get upstairs to my room before he spots me?

Corvin offers to come with me, as he doesn’t like me walking through the city alone, especially when the sun is setting. But he sways on his feet as he’s reaching for his winter coat, and I practically have to force him to sit the hell down. I reassure him that I’ll be fine and go so far as presenting the four-inch knife that I keep in my satchel, just in case.

‘You go straight home, stick to the main streets and do not talk to anyone,’ he calls out to me as I’m closing his front door.

‘Yes, Mother!’ I call back. I’ve made the trip a hundred times without running into trouble. And if I did, my brother has taught me well enough how to defend myself.

The walk is long and cold but uneventful. By the time I make it home, my nose is running from the wind, and I think if I tried to smile, my lips would bleed. I scuff my snow-covered boots on the mat outside the front door, looking over my shoulder to find the carriage hidden among the shadows of the trees on the other side of the house.

I brace myself, exhaling heavily and watching my breath cloud in front of my face before walking inside. The second I do, I can tell something is wrong. A charged energy fills the entryway, licking at my skin and making me shiver. I take several cautious steps deeper into the house, and that’s when I hear it.

Crying.

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malachite No, not just crying. This is a keening wail like an animal that’s been hurt.

My feet carry me forward, down the corridor toward the pained cry.

‘Mom?’ I shout, my heart racing in my chest as I start to run.

I skid to a stop when I find her on the floor of our living room. Her bare feet poke out of her beige skirt as she lays almost lifeless in my father’s arms. He’s still wearing his shoes and formal jacket.

‘Mom?’ My voice comes out hushed and wary, cracking upon seeing her eyes red and face streaked with tears.

She isn’t the one who answers me, though. My father speaks and the words that fall from his mouth have my legs buckling beneath me.

‘Your brother is dead.’

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TWO

’ve heard many stories about Valmora Academy. My parents told me a few if I caught them in a talkative mood, but most came from my brother during the two years he studied there. Each time he came home for a visit, I’d bombard him with questions, pelting him for as much information as possible, then I’d close my eyes at night and dream of the day I could experience it myself.

Finally, that time has come. But the stories I once loved are now tainted and twisted into something that tastes sour.

I stand, trance-like, in my pale grey ceremonial robes looking up – and up – at the colossal structure before me. The glow of the full moon casts silver light on the magnificent building, illuminating pockets of finer details. The academy is made entirely out of pale limestone, weathered from the winds of the ocean below the cliffs to the west. Four towering spires reach toward the moon like talons; nestled in between them is the domed rooftop of the Grand Hall.

While I want to feel detached from it all – from the place that took my brother from me – I cannot ignore the sensation that I am in the midst of something so much bigger than I ever could have dreamed of. As if some ancient power resides within the stone walls, calling to whatever magic lays dormant inside of me.

I force my wide-eyed gaze into a glare and scowl up at the building. The hood concealing most of my face threatens to slip off my head as I crane

I

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malachite my neck, squinting to see the very top of the Grand Hall’s domed roof, searching for the opening in the ceiling my brother once told me about.

The moon has almost made its way to its apex, right above the opening, informing me that I need to get inside – the ceremony will begin soon.

My feet feel heavy, threatening to keep me rooted to the spot.

I lower my head and tug my hood back into place, over hair almost as pale as the moon above me. A small group of first years make their way past me; chattering quietly as they walk the cobbled path to the front entrance. The shortest of the group, a girl with curly dark hair and a deep complexion, pauses, letting the rest of them carry on without her before she turns to glance over her shoulder, as if I called her name. Her eyes find mine.

Time seems to stand still as I hold my breath.

Just turn around and keep walking, I silently plead. I’ve come this far without being recognised. I’d hoped to at least make it into the building before my identity was revealed, before students begin to curse my name like they do my brother’s.

Murderer. Traitor. Filth.

I heard it all as I walked among them earlier, as students ascended the steep winding path after saying farewell to their families at the drop-off point at the gates to the mountain. My head was down with my hood covering my face, but my ears pricked at the mention of Lukas Nocthare. The second-year Malachite student that killed four others in an attempt at dark magic. Gossip like that doesn’t wash away after a handful months. Much to my dismay.

I’d left my father behind without a second glance. I’m positive he only accompanied me to the gates in our carriage so he could reprimand me the entire journey. Remind me of how hard he fought to secure me a spot within the academy. Ensure that I knew I wouldn’t have been accepted without him and the gold he paid, since Lukas had ruined our family’s reputation. I’d stared out the small window of the carriage, wishing I could open the door and roll out of it as his harsh words landed like physical blows.

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Ashley Andersen

This is your final chance to prove yourself, Arianell. After everything your mother and I have endured these past months, don’t screw this up.

He spoke as if I haven’t endured the same pain as him. As if I haven’t experienced the same loss. As if my grief doesn’t even register to him.

Fuck rolling out of the carriage, I’d wanted to jump beneath it and let it run over me a dozen times. Maybe that pain would be easier to manage.

I watch the girl, expecting her to point and call the others who are almost at the doors, to inform her friends that a Nocthare is among them. But to my relief her attention is pulled away from me as one of the girls cries out: ‘Tilly, hurry. We’re going to be late!’

As Tilly’s gaze is pulled from mine, I feel my shoulders relax.

I wait a full two minutes after Tilly has disappeared before I make my way toward the double doors.

The moment I step foot into the Grand Hall my jaw threatens to drop. The room is circular, a raised limestone dais in its centre, and three seating areas that are spread out around the room. Two out of three are empty, but the other is quickly filling with students in grey robes. The seats are staggered upward like bleachers, separated by aisles that lead to the entrances of each of the four towers. Each entrance resembles an archway, sealed with coloured stone stretching from the floor to the pointed top of the arch.

Within the archway to my far left, the stone is a myriad of green swirls that move about, blending into each other as if the stone is alive. The archway to my far right is a kaleidoscope of browns, greys, oranges and reds, swirling around each other. The one beside that, closest to me and right next to the seats that are being filled, shines an iridescent white, with flecks of every colour of the rainbow shimmering inside of it.

I look to my left, expecting to see a fourth archway, leading to the fourth tower. But my eyes meet plain grey stone. No archway or entrance, as if one either didn’t exist or had been paved over a long time ago.

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malachite I glance back to the seats and notice I’m one of the only students left standing. The first four rows are full, so I keep walking up the stairs until I spot an empty seat at the end of the fifth and final row. When I reach it, I falter. Tilly – the girl from outside – is in the next seat.

I half expect her to look over at me as I sink down, but her eyes are trained upward at the sealed hole in the ceiling. The deep groan of metal sliding against metal reverberates throughout the room, hushing everyone into silence.

The noise is coming from the hole in the domed ceiling above us and, ever so slowly, a sliver of light beams down as the roof opens to expose the moon looming perfectly overhead. It takes almost a full minute for it to open entirely but when it does, silver moonlight pools downward to the middle of the dais where a man now stands.

He’s dressed in a deep blue three-piece suit with a gold brooch that I’m too far away to make out the shape of. His salt and pepper hair is cut short, accentuating the sharp angles of his face and the deep lines of his forehead. He looks older than my father, possibly in his sixties, but his air of confidence and the strong set in his shoulders has me sitting up straight.

‘I’m glad you decided not to run.’

I stiffen at the hushed voice from beside me, and cautiously glance over at Tilly, whose hazel eyes are trained forward. For a second I think I imagined it, but then I see one of her eyebrows rise.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You came inside,’ she whispers. ‘Don’t get me wrong, if I were in your shoes I don’t think I’d have been able to do it.’

‘Do what?’ I demand defensively.

‘Be here and face everyone after what happened. It’s brave of you.’

My stomach flips.

When I don’t reply, her head turns. Hazel eyes meet mine and just as I think she’s about to elaborate, a commanding voice rings out through the room.

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Ashley Andersen

Our heads whip forward to where the man on the dais looks up at us all.

‘Good evening, and welcome.’ His presence sucks the air from the room as all eyes fall on him. ‘Tonight, you embark on an ancient tradition. This is not just a ceremony but a rite of passage. Valmora Academy was created centuries ago to train the elite, the fierce, the most determined of our people. To be accepted means you have something unique to offer; potential to be harnessed into something great. In a moment, you will be called one by one to come forth and place your hand on a gate of your choosing.’

My insides twist as my eyes find the three arches once again. They seem to glow, burning brighter than before, like some deep-rooted magic is calling them to announce themselves.

‘Some of you already possess your element, which you will harness and feed into your chosen gate to gain access. If you are yet to uncover your element, you must use your blood. The magic within the gates will recognise the magic within your blood and place you where you need to be.’

A woman in a taupe-coloured robe ascends the steps to the dais and presents the man with a dagger. She kneels, holding it up to him like an offering with both hands, her gaze cast downward.

He takes it from her and holds it up in the air. The silver blade shines in the glow of the moonlight.

‘If the gate of your choosing does not accept your element or your blood, you will move onto the next gate until one of them accepts you.’

He turns then, using the dagger to point to the archway in the middle, the one with browns, reds and greys swirling within the stone. ‘Unit Leader of Agate, come forth and prepare to meet your new acolytes.’

The air around me is thick with anticipation. Everyone seems to hold their breath as the middle of the doorway starts to darken.

I lean forward in my seat, unable to stop myself, and squint as the dark shape takes the form of a silhouette. With a glow of orange light, a person steps through the archway dressed in a dark brown robe.

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malachite She looks only a few years older than me, with blonde hair coiled into a tight bun at her nape. She steps forward with her hands clasped in front of her and turns to us all.

In a loud clear voice, she chants, ‘The path to wisdom is carved in the rings of Agate.’

My skin pebbles with goosebumps. Agate has produced some of the most influential strategists and scholars in Valmora. The strategists are sent to the war fronts while the scholars are sent around the continent to teach and train others. Not only that, but the most powerful air wielders have stemmed from Agate. I’ve only met a few in my life, one being the teacher Lukas and I had before my mother retired to homeschool us.

Agate makes me nervous, as it’s the unit I know the least about, and when you walk into a place like this, knowledge is power. The blonde leader nods to the man on the dais before retreating to the side of the archway, a mask of indifference settling over her features.

The dagger is pointed at the iridescent white archway next. Tilly straightens beside me; a small smile curves her deep pink lips. Excitement flashes in her eyes and I try to recall that feeling; I know I had it in me once. But it seems so lost in the sea of every other emotion I have been wading through the past few months. I hardly remembered what it was it like to want to be here. Corvin refused his acceptance to the academy because he didn’t feel like he’d fit in, but the thing is, if he were seated here right now, he’d be more welcome than me.

‘Unit Leader of Opal, come forth and greet your new acolytes.’

A shadowy form appears behind the stone of the archway, as if someone is getting closer to it from the other side, before another student appears on our side of it, wearing a white robe.

He steps forward and faces the crowd before speaking.

‘In the prism of the broken, Opal weaves the light.’

The words ring a familiar tune in the back of my mind; memories of my parents uttering those words like incantations after difficult spells or whispering them during Solstice celebrations. Small prayers to Opalus

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before sitting down to eat. The words are familiar to my ears, but not to my tongue, having never uttered them myself.

The unit leader of Opal faces the dais, nods in acknowledgement and then retreats.

Finally, the third archway is presented. I feel my heart start to pound rapidly as anticipation and nerves fight for control beneath my skin.

‘Unit Leader of Malachite, step forward and prepare to meet your new acolytes.’

There is no slow build up this time. Instead, green flames burst up, as a hooded figure in dark green robes steps through the archway with long powerful strides.

‘With shield and flame, Malachite meets the edge unshaken,’ the figure chants, deep and clear, in a voice that I’d recognise anywhere.

My breath stills.

My mouth goes dry.

The voice beneath the hood finds root in my memories. A deep ache starts to build alongside the hopefulness I feel upon seeing him here, safe. Alive.

I’ve had no contact with him since Lukas died. No way to know how he’s been handling the situation. We never had a funeral for Lukas, so it’s not like I was able to see him then. It’s a bit hard to bury a body when you’re not given one. We weren’t even afforded his ashes after they’d burned him.

If there’s one thing that’s been holding me together the past few months, it’s been the thought of confiding in Sebastian, in finding his familiar comfort at the academy among the unknown. I let my hood slide back, just an inch, wondering if he suspects I’m up here. The last time we saw each other was one month before Lukas died, when he travelled to our home with him. Something he often did when Lukas put in his requests to leave the academy. Students are allowed four home visits a year for up to three days at a time, other than Winter Solstice, which is a week-long holiday. Lukas took advantage of every single home visit,

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malachite and because Sebastian wasn’t close with his family, he was always a step behind my brother as they walked through our front door.

My heart leaps into a quicker pace than usual as his eyes scan the crowd, darting from face to face. I swallow thickly when he gets to the furthest row. My row.

It doesn’t take him long to find me. But when his green eyes connect with mine, what I see in them catches me completely off guard.

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THREE

ebastian Zain’s glare cuts through me like glass. Never have I seen him look at me like he is right now, as if he’s struggling to hold himself back from stalking over and ripping me from my seat. Hatred, that’s what burns in his eyes. Hatred – for me.

I was eighteen when he arrived on our doorstep for the first time.

The two of them were at the end of their first year at the academy, and it was Lukas’s last allocated visit for the year. I spent the entire week following them around like a lost puppy. I was enamoured with Sebastian, hypnotised by his green eyes. For three nights I lay awake dreaming of running my fingers through his dark brown hair. I’d replay the way his playful smirk lit up his face when he and Lukas practised combat in the backyard, showing off their new skills.

It was on their second to last night when my father and I got into a particularly nasty argument. It was one we’d had before: him berating me for my lack of magic and general inadequacy in the family, which always sent Lukas into a tailspin, jumping in for my defence. Which would result in Mom stressing out and disappearing while I just sat there, feeling my chest tighten as my hands shook under the table, wishing I didn’t care so much what my father thought of me.

I hadn’t sat there that time though. Instead, I was so embarrassed that Lukas’s friend had heard how useless I was that I fled the room

S

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malachite with tears pricking my eyes and found myself sitting in the dark, by the narrow stream that ran by our house.

Sebastian found me, and he sat with me until I stopped crying. He didn’t say a word, just stayed beside me, a silent companion in the dark.

It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for me . . . simply being there when I needed to feel less alone.

A cold sense of dread settles over me as I look down at a person I hardly recognise. His frame is bigger, more built; even beneath his robes I can tell he’s filled out since I last laid eyes on him. His hair is longer, too, and a few dark strands fall over his forehead and into his eyes. Eyes that narrow at me before he takes a step back, retreating to the shadowy cove of the archway.

Something is wrong. Does he know it’s me under my hood? Maybe he thinks I’m somebody else?

‘There we have it!’ My attention snaps back to the man on the dais.

‘Agate, our Scholar Unit. Opal, our Healer Unit, and Malachite, our Warrior Unit. I will now begin to call you each forward. You may try your element if you feel it’s strong enough or come forth and give your blood with this blade.’ He lifts the dagger. ‘I am your Headmaster, Bartollo Zain, and I welcome you to Valmora Academy.’

Zain.

So, this is Sebastian’s grandfather? The notorious headmaster Lukas told me about, the one Sebastian hates. I study him for a beat, trying to pick out the similarities between the two men, though I don’t find any.

Then I remember being told that Sebastian takes after his late mother, and Bartollo is from his father’s side, who also is no longer alive.

Tilly curses beside me as everyone starts to applaud, yanking me away from my observations of the headmaster.

‘What are you going to do?’

I turn in her direction. ‘Sorry?’

Her hazel eyes roll. ‘Well, you sure as hell can’t choose Malachite like your brother did, given the way the unit leader looks like he’s five seconds away from bursting a blood vessel just by looking at you.’

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‘How do you . . .’ my words trail off. She noticed Sebastian looking at me. I fight the urge to turn back to him, just to see if he’s still watching me. Did anyone else notice? Moreover, she knows my brother, or knows of him at least, though that’s not a big surprise. He has become rather infamous.

‘Oh, Stars!’ Her voice dips low, as the clapping around us dies down.

‘Are you planning on choosing the Warrior Unit?’

‘Maybe,’ I say, though I’m not sure why. I’d always envisioned myself being in Opal. I’d spent the last few years watching over my mother’s shoulder as she tinkered with healing tonics, picturing myself one day doing the same. But when Lukas died . . . everything changed. My father wants me to succeed at the academy, has ordered me to put my head down, to right the wrongs that he believed Lukas created and bring success to our family name once more. But me? I want to find out what happened to Lukas. What really happened.

Opal no longer feels like an option for me. Malachite is the unit my brother was in, and it’s the best place to start looking for answers.

While I know my parents were grieving the loss of their son, I despise the way they both simply accepted the punishment the council had already befitted my brother. He did not deserve to burn. He deserved a trial at least, a chance to prove his innocence.

Headmaster Zain begins to call students forward. His baritone voice echoes throughout the room, stealing everyone’s attention, including mine.

‘Amalie Abbott.’

A girl of medium height in the front row stands with her shoulders back. Something about the way she confidently strides toward the unit leader of Agate tells me she’s a legacy student. Her head dips in acknowledgment before she walks past and hovers her hand a few inches from the stone gate.

Tendrils of air wisp from her outstretched hand and absorb into the stone. A second later she is yanked forward and disappears.

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malachite My gasp echoes that of several other students. Even Tilly jumps beside me, her hand finding my arm and clutching it tight.

We look at each other, her wide-eyed expression mirroring mine.

‘I’m sorry.’ She relinquishes her death grip and settles back in her seat.

‘It’s all right,’ I tell her. ‘I wasn’t expecting her to get sucked in like that.’

A small smile curves her lips. ‘I know! I’m afraid I’m going to fall on my face when I get to the other side.’

I hadn’t even thought of that. Great. How does one get sucked into a magical stone wall and walk out on the other side of it gracefully?

Two more students get called forward. The second gets sucked into Agate after using their element, also air. The third gets pulled into Opal after a few drops of water dribble from his palm and seep anticlimactically into the stone.

Someone ahead of me sniggers at the weak display of power. If that’s funny to them, they’re in for a bloody treat when I step up there.

‘Xavier Davis,’ Headmaster Zain calls out next from his list.

The student in question stands and, instead of walking toward one of the three gates, makes his way toward the dais, until he’s standing in front of the headmaster.

‘He mustn’t be able to wield his element yet,’ Tilly whispers beside me.

I’m glad I’m not the only one.

I watch with rapt attention as he holds his hand out, palm facing up, and wince as the blade is sliced across his skin.

Xavier’s sharp hiss echoes through the hall before he turns with his hand cradled against his chest.

He heads toward Malachite.

I sit up a little straighter. No one has chosen Malachite so far. I’m yet to see what happens when they do. From what I know, Malachite always has the least number of initiates. Those who do get accepted risk their life during their three years of training. Even if you survive the ruthless training challenges, there will most often be someone ready to stab you in the back to get a higher ranking and climb their way to the top.

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Xavier’s stride seems to slow the closer he gets to Sebastian, as if he’s not quite sure of his decision.

Just when I think he’s going to change course, he closes the distance to the door and slams his hand against it, smearing his blood over the dancing green stone.

He waits. We all wait. But nothing happens. An entire minute goes by, but the stone remains the same and Xavier is not pulled inside.

‘Xavier Davis, Malachite has not chosen you,’ the headmaster announces from the dais. Xavier’s head drops between his shoulders for a long heavy silence. Soft murmurs start to build within the room until he looks back up and turns around, sporting a blinding smile that is stretched across his face like he’s . . . relieved?

Without hesitation, he moves to Agate, nods to the unit leader then lifts his hand to the stone. It takes only a second before Xavier is sucked inside.

‘Pathetic,’ I hear a girl scoff from the third row. I shift to look past the students in front of me. There’s a redhead, with a long wavy ponytail brushing the back of her chair. I recognise her voice as the same girl who laughed at the water wielder previously. ‘What a fucking embarrassment.

Wait till my uncle finds out his only son chose Agate.’

‘Who is that?’ I lean over to Tilly whose lips are pressed in a tight disapproving line.

‘Moira Davis,’ she informs me. ‘Xavier’s cousin and, trust me when I say, it’d be wise to stay away from her.’

‘You know a lot about the students here, don’t you?’

I, on the other hand, can’t pinpoint a single familiar face other than Sebastian. I only have one friend from home, and Corvin isn’t here.

‘My aunt is on the council, so our house tends to become a makeshift boardroom at times. I’ve heard and seen a lot that I probably shouldn’t when it comes to students at Valmora.’

Her aunt is on the council. My walls start to rise and I shift away.

Tilly notices the sudden distance I’ve put between our bodies and once again catches on fast.

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malachite ‘She isn’t one of the members who voted against your family!’

‘And I’m supposed to just believe that?’ I ask sceptically.

‘Do you think I’d be bold enough to sit here speaking with you if I agreed with everyone else, let alone lived with someone who could have done that to your brother?’

I don’t respond, because I’m not sure if I trust what will come out of my mouth.

‘Well, I’m not,’ she insists, and there’s something so certain in her eyes and the defiant tilt of her chin that it makes me want to believe her.

I nod, accepting what she said at surface level, all the while reminding myself that I need to tread with caution here.

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Published in New Zealand and Australia in 2026

by Moa Press (an imprint of Hachette Aotearoa New Zealand Limited) Level 2, 23 Victoria Street East, Auckland, New Zealand www.moapress.co.nz www.hachette.co.nz Copyright © Ashley Andersen 2026 The moral right of Ashley Andersen to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be stored or reproduced by any process without prior written permission.

Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

The authorised representative in the EEA is Hachette Ireland, 8 Castlecourt Centre, Dublin 15, D15 XTP3, Ireland ISBN: 978 1 86971 869 5 (paperback) Cover design by [[to come]] Cover image courtesy of [[to come]] Author photo by [[to come]] Text design by Bookhouse, Sydney Typeset in 11.5/16.1 pt Minion Pro Printed and bound in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group The paper this book is printed on is certified against the Forest Stewardship Council® Standards. McPherson’s Printing Group holds FSC® chain of custody certification SA-COC-005379.

FSC® promotes environmentally responsible, socially beneficial and economically viable management of the world’s forests.

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