Extract: Malachite, by Ashley Andersen

Malachite. Opal. Agate. Three stones, three powers, three magical units. Choose your unit ... and hope that it chooses you back.

Arianell Nocthare has been waiting her whole life to enter the prestigious Valmora Academy, where students prepare for war by honing their elemental magic in one of three units. But there are two problems facing Aria on the night of her initiation ceremony. Firstly, her family has been cast into disgrace after her brother was executed for allegedly killing four students in an attempt at dark magic. Secondly, so far Aria has been unable to summon any magic - and being magic-less in an academy where everyone wants to spill your blood is a dangerous game. How will she enter the unit of her choosing and survive without a scrap of power?

Malachite is the start of a dark academia romantasy series that gives you enemies-to-lovers, slow-burn, elemental powers, forced proximity, found family and the perfect amount of spice.

The following extract from Malachite by Ashley Andersen (Moa Press, $37.99) is published here with kind permission.

Chapter Two: Four Months Later

I’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 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 the 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.

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 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.

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. A quill crossing over an arrow; I recognise it from the stamps on council letters to my parents. 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.’

Malachite is available in all good bookstores now.