Chapter 7: My Things

Elara's POV

I made the decision last night.

I'd finished the calculations. I spread that sheet of paper across the table—debts listed on one side, his terms on the other—and when I was done, there was no need for comparison. The answer was obvious at a glance.

I stared at that paper until the candle burned out completely. Then I set it aflame, climbed into bed, and slept more soundly than I had in three years.

I planned to give him my answer this afternoon.

History of Magic was a lecture course, three year-levels combined, held in a tiered auditorium that seated four hundred. I always sat in the back row by the door. The advantage of this seat was that no one ever sat beside me; the disadvantage was that the door stood directly behind me, meaning everyone who entered or left had to pass my back.

Today, an unusual number of people passed my back.

"...last night, backstage."

"Seriously?"

"Her lips were swollen when she came out."

I opened my textbook to page seventy-four and pressed my finger against the page.

I didn't lift my head. I'd grown skilled at this sort of thing. Three years ago, when my family's disgrace had been at its worst, I'd developed a technique: anchor your attention to something concrete, hold it there, don't move. Today I anchored myself to a typo on page seventy-four, third paragraph—the printer had rendered "the Scorching Plains Battle" as "the Scorching Thick Battle," a careless error.

I stared at that typo for the entire class period.

Ten minutes before the bell, I raised my head once.

Cassius sat in the third row.

He always sat in the third row—that was the Aldwin family's place, had been since his first day at the academy. What differed today was this: the chain hung outside his shirt.

It hadn't been like that before. Previously he'd tucked it beneath his collar, allowing it to slip into view only when he laughed with others, in that casual way people have when they want to show off something while pretending they're not showing off at all. Today the entire chain hung exposed, the pendant facing forward, swaying against his chest with his movements.

He wasn't displaying it for just anyone.

Of the four hundred people in this room, only one person would recognize that crack.

I closed my textbook.

The moment the bell rang, I left.

I walked quickly, slipping through the side door of the tiered hall and into the corridor that connected the west wing. This route was longer, but less crowded.

Halfway down the passage, someone stepped out from behind a pillar ahead of me.

"Ela."

I stopped.

No one had called me that in three years. My father had called me that. My mother had called me that. And one other person had written it on a note three years ago.

Cassius stood two steps away.

I had to admit one thing: he looked exceptionally good this afternoon. Sunlight from the window caught his silver hair, his eyes were that pale gold color, his dark blue coat had its cuffs rolled up an inch to reveal a stretch of very pale wrist. He stood there with the corridor light falling across him from the side, outlining his entire figure with perfect clarity.

He was beautiful enough to be a painting.

The problem was that paintings don't speak.

"Last night," he said. "You were backstage."

"I went to get an autograph."

"Did you get one?"

"I did."

He smiled slightly. He still looked good when he smiled, but that lazy quality was gone.

"From whom?"

"What?"

"Don't play ignorant." He took a step forward. "Your mouth."

I didn't retreat. Retreat wasn't an option—if I retreated, this corridor would become his.

"Young Master Aldwin," I said, "this has nothing to do with you."

"It had something to do with me three years ago."

My heart gave an uncomfortable lurch.

"Three years ago, when you slipped that note into my textbook, our families were still on good terms," I said. "Three years ago my family hadn't yet fallen, and I'd invited you for tea in the archive tower."

"Then why didn't you come find me last autumn?"

"I did come."

I stared into his eyes.

"Last autumn I stood in your family's gatehouse for four hours. I wanted to pay fourteen thousand to buy this chain back. Your gatekeeper said the young master wasn't home."

The expression on his face froze.

"I came again the next day. And the day after that. On the fifth day you drove out through the gate and saw me." I said, "You didn't stop."

The corridor was very quiet. Distant sounds of the lecture hall emptying filtered through two walls, muffled and remote.

"At that time, I—" he began.

"I don't want to hear it."

I moved to step around him.

He caught my wrist.

Not hard. His fingers were cooler than I'd expected. But my entire body went rigid anyway—I didn't like being grabbed by the wrist, hadn't since I was fourteen, the year creditors first came to our door and a man had grabbed me exactly this way to drag me back from the entrance.

I looked up and found myself staring directly at the chain, the pendant facing outward, that crack reflecting a sliver of white in the light.

I reached for it.

This was the most thoughtless thing I'd done at the academy in my entire life.

My fingertips brushed the pendant, grazed that crack—cold, cold as glass—and then he pulled it back.

"This is mine," he said.

"This was my mother's."

"Your mother's belonging is around my neck." He said, "Ela, if you have the ability to take it from me, I'll return it today."

I clenched my fists.

"You can't take it," he said slowly. "You can't even produce fourteen thousand."

"...She can."

That voice didn't come from the end of the corridor.

It came from behind me.

Very close.

Before I could turn, an arm curved around from beside my waist, locked tight, and pulled me backward.

My back collided with someone's chest.

That heat blazed through two layers of fabric immediately. Every inch of my skin broke into goosebumps in that instant—not from fear, but because I recognized this temperature. I'd recognized it beside the carriage in the rain. I'd recognized it in the dark cabinet.

The hand Cassius had been using to grip my wrist was now caught in someone else's grasp.

"Let go."

Kaelen's voice came from above my head.

So level that the dozens of people in the corridor who'd been watching stopped moving forward entirely.

Cassius's expression changed.

From my angle looking upward, I could only see Kaelen's jawline and his Adam's apple, and that small patch of his profile—below his temple, where the skin pulsed very faintly.

"...The Lord of Nightshade." Cassius released my wrist and stepped back half a pace. His smile returned quickly—too quickly, so quickly it looked false. "What an unexpected honor. Does the academy's board of directors know you're gracing us with your presence today?"

"No."

"Then you're here to—"

"Pick someone up."

Someone in the corridor drew a sharp breath.

Cassius's gaze traveled back and forth between my face and Kaelen's. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"Lord," he said, "you may not be fully aware. Miss Vaneth's reputation at this academy—"

"Aldwin."

Kaelen cut him off.

"Your father has four sons," he said. "Three carry the Aldwin name and entered the family registry. The fourth lived under his mother's surname until age twelve, when he was finally brought back."

The corridor fell deathly silent.

"You're that fourth one," Kaelen said. "The bastard's little brother."

I felt the arm locked around my waist tighten slightly.

Cassius's face went white. Not the white of anger—the white of having a layer of skin publicly stripped away. He stood there, silver hair still beautiful, but it was as though something essential had been extracted from him.

For a single moment, I almost felt sorry for him.

Just a moment.

Kaelen lowered his head, leaning closer. He didn't raise his voice when he spoke, but I would bet every one of the hundred-plus people in this corridor heard him clearly.

"I hope this is the last time I have to say this."

"Touch what's mine, and the hand can be removed."

No one in the corridor moved.

I stood in his embrace, my back pressed against a burning body, my eyes fixed on the chain I'd reached for moments ago.

Only one thought remained in my head.

Three nights ago I'd stood in his entrance hall and told him I needed us to pretend we "didn't know each other" at this academy. He'd said, as you wish.

The condition I'd requested had survived less than eighty hours from start to finish.

And he hadn't offered a single word of explanation.

I raised my head.

He wasn't looking at me.