“Hey, what’s the Baroness doing here?” said Brenda.
“What? Where?” I spun to glance at the entrance.
A hand gripped my shoulder, another gripped a fistful of hair at the back of my head, and in a flash, a face was so close to mine I couldn’t focus. Lips pressed against mine, and there was suddenly an extra tongue in my mouth. It was aggressive, tasted of mermaid’s kiss, and chased my tongue around the inside of my mouth like it owned the place.
I froze, eyes wide, mind undecided whether to be shocked or aroused by what was objectively a truly excellent kiss.
Brenda pulled back, pausing to snap my lower lip in her mouth a final time before letting go of my head and pulling away. She licked her lips, mouth open.“That’show I know you’re inexperienced.”
I slumped back in my seat. “That wasn’t very…”
“Nice? Nope.I’mnot nice.”
“I think you’re nice.” Yoi spoke in her usualmouse-soft tone. “May I slide in?” She blinked expressive, vertically slitted eyes. “Did I miss anything?”
“Nope!” I snapped, before anyone else could say a thing.
Ithadbeen a good kiss.
The only thing wrong with it was the fact that it hadn’t been with Sephimara.
Chapter Nine
I glanced up from my geomagic text at a nearly bare silver beech tree swaying in the wind. It was lonely weather, the kind where sensible people sat next to cozy hearths with an engrossing novel, not a chilly crafting room with a geomagic text. Few students haunted the academy on weekends: forlorn footfalls tapped down the halls between bouts of rain pattering against the windows. I’d arrived half an hour early today to get a bit of studying done first. Geomagic wasn’t just about formulas and mathematics, it was like a puzzle: difficult to make sense of until you had mastered most of the pieces.
As far as the other puzzle in my life… I’d like to think things were improving there as well. Sephimara and I had met every weekend for nearly two months now. I’d coach her with woodworking, and quite often she’d have pointers on one of the other subjects. I didn’t know if she considered me a friend, but ithad tobe at least ‘pleasant acquaintance.’ I’d escort her to the door every afternoon, bear the sting at seeing herdepart for dance practice with Count Greanderal’s son. Sometimes boarding the count’s carriage, sometimes a hired cab.
The incident with her tool bag…
I shook my head. She’d reacted more emotionally tothatthan our experience aboard the sinking clipper. The dead body in the hold she said she didn’t know. A dead body! How could some tool bag be more traumatic than that? The formal court inquiry shortly thereafter was the same: she answered question after question coolly and evenly. I wanted to know what was going on, I wanted to help. But even if I knew, could I do anything? Maybe in time she’d confide in me. Or maybe it was some intrigue between noble families that I could do nothing about.
Yet as tensions relaxed between us, as informal words and phrases slipped out, as flashes of smiles and casual gestures crept into our meetings… well… it was simplynice.I was spending pleasant time alone with a fascinating and beautiful elven lady. Why ruin a good thing?
The clock bell rang as I was in the middle of quizzing myself on the current formulas, but I kept going until I’d finished, suddenly realizing Sephimara was late.
It wasn’t like her to be late.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
I racked my brain to remember details of our last words. She hadn’t said she would be late. Or that shecouldn’t make it? Could something have happened to her? A mix of gloom and worry crept over me. I didn’t want to be negative, but what could I do? If I asked at the Greanderal palace, they’d probably have me flogged on sight for just mentioning her name.
A knock at the door jarred me out of the dark chain of thoughts.
Was it her?
She wouldn’t knock.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Messenger service. I am looking for a Mister Thistlewood.”
A messenger? I’dneverhad a message delivered to me. “That would be me. Come in.”
A man in a black uniform with silver buttons and trim presented me with an envelope, which I had to sign for.
As he departed, I inspected the embossed logo, where a wreath of feathers encircled Darathiel’s Dependable Courier and Messengers in fancy script. The ‘from’ field of the fine parchment envelope was blank.
I opened it.
