Chapter 80: What Did You See?

Astrid

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I said, folding my arms.

"You do," Criston said, his gaze unmoving.

I refused to look toward Estelle. "What did you see?"

He studied me for a long moment before glancing in her direction. "Something that wasn’t there."

My stomach tightened. So I hadn’t imagined it.

Before I could ask anything else, Estelle’s voice reached us from behind. "Is everything alright?"

I turned quickly. She stood beside Reed and Xander, sweet smile in place, nothing cold in her expression at all. Criston fell silent immediately, and when I looked back at him, his face had gone unreadable.

"We’re fine," I said.

"Good," Estelle said.

I glanced at Criston again, but he only walked away, disappearing into the crowd. I hated that I wanted to follow him. Instead I turned toward Estelle, seeing her differently than I had a minute ago.

I walked back to the twins, where Estelle stood comfortably between them. "How do you know them?" I asked.

"We’ve known Estelle forever," Xander said.

"Since we were children," she added, pleased.

Reed confirmed it. Their families had been close, and she’d spent time around them growing up, long before their mother married the Lycan King, long before either of them became princes.

Long before me.

Estelle launched into stories, one about Xander falling into a pond years ago. He protested immediately.

"I was pushed."

"By who?" Estelle asked, laughing.

He pointed at Reed, who looked personally offended. "You jumped."

"You encouraged me."

"I told you not to."

I watched them argue easily, comfortably, the way people did when they’d known each other long enough not to think about it. Something uncomfortable sat underneath my small smile. I didn’t know their childhood. Didn’t know Reed before he became this quiet, responsible person, or Xander before he learned to hide behind jokes.

Estelle did.

She turned to the twins a moment later, asking for a tour. Reed said they had classes. Xander immediately corrected him, saying they didn’t.

"Don’t encourage her," Reed muttered.

"Please?" Estelle asked.

"Fine," Xander said.

Reed sighed. Estelle turned to me. "You should come too."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you’re already here?"

Ivy appeared beside me. "Go."

"You’re supposed to be my friend," I told her.

"I am. That’s why I’m telling you to go."

Outnumbered, I gave in.

Reed led the tour naturally, pointing out the library, classrooms, training grounds, dining hall. Estelle listened, interrupting constantly, comfortably, cracking jokes, dragging up old memories. At one point she laughed and grabbed Xander’s arm, and I noticed, then got annoyed at myself for noticing.

They’re friends, I repeated internally.

"Do you remember when you used to sneak me into the gardens?" she asked Reed.

"We were children," he said.

"You still did it."

"You nearly got us caught," Xander added.

"You blamed me!"

I watched them, that same uncomfortable feeling settling back in. Like I was walking beside a story that had started long before I ever arrived at Moonshade.

Eventually I asked, as casually as I could manage, "What can you do?"

Estelle turned to me. "What do you mean?"

"Your ability."

"Oh," she said, smiling. "I’m an illusionist."

I went still. She noticed. "Why?"

"Nothing," I said quickly.

She watched me a moment longer, then smiled again. "Don’t worry. I promise not to turn you into a frog."

Xander laughed. I forced a smile of my own, though my stomach twisted. The face. The coldness. It had to have been an illusion.

But why had she made it? And why had I been the only one to react?

A professor approached Reed and Xander shortly after, calling them away for something Aldrich needed. Estelle followed immediately. I didn’t, choosing instead to wander toward another path, needing a moment away from another childhood story I had no part in.

"You shouldn’t wander alone," a voice said behind me.

I turned. Criston was right behind me.

"Do you always sneak up on people?" I asked.

"No," he said. "Only interesting ones."

"I’m not interesting."

"That’s where you’re wrong."

I wanted him gone, but I needed answers more. "What did you see?"

His expression shifted, more serious now. "Be careful around her."

"Estelle?"

He looked toward where she’d disappeared with the twins, then back at me. "Illusions are dangerous."

"Obviously."

"Sometimes the person creating them forgets where they end." He held my gaze. "And sometimes the person watching them doesn’t know what’s real anymore."

A chill ran through me. "What does that mean?"

He started walking away.

"Criston," I called.

"You’ll figure it out," he said, and kept walking.

"I hate you too," I muttered.

He didn’t turn around, but I thought I heard him laugh.

I found the twins again eventually, Estelle still with them outside one of the academy buildings, Xander telling her something that made her laugh. Reed looked less amused.

"Where did you go?" Reed asked when he saw me.

"Walking," I said.

"Alone?" Xander asked, eyebrow raised.

"I survived."

"She’s very independent," Estelle said, smiling.

I looked at her. For a second, her smile felt strange. I told myself I was imagining things now, that Criston had gotten inside my head with his cryptic warnings.

Then Estelle looked at me again, and our eyes met. Her smile stayed sweet, warm, perfectly normal.

Then it changed. Only for me.

Her eyes went cold and empty. Her lips didn’t move, but I heard a voice, clear and close.

Don’t believe him.

I froze, breath catching in my throat.

The illusion vanished instantly. Estelle was smiling again, exactly as before. Reed hadn’t noticed anything. Xander hadn’t either. Neither of them reacted at all.

I looked around. Nobody had seen it.

Only me.

Estelle’s smile widened slightly. "Astrid?"

"What?" I managed.

"You look pale," she said, tilting her head.

I forced myself to breathe. "I’m fine."

I wasn’t. Because I finally understood something I hadn’t wanted to accept.

Estelle wasn’t creating these illusions by accident.

And somehow, she was making absolutely sure I was the only one who saw them.