“Perhaps we should return to our duties before the housekeeper begins writing up distracted staff.”
Ella acquiesced, and we trudged along with the rest of the servants, uneager to return to more hours of scrubbing floors andwiping baseboards.
I didn’t speak another word about the demonstration to Ella, instead lost in thoughts I’d long suppressed. I knelt and picked up my sponge once more, my knees like stinging needles against the cold floor. I scrubbed until my arms ached, but my mind was no longer focused on my duties for the day, or even my upcoming visit home.
As my sponge plunged into the bucket of soapy water, which sloshed over the rim, I kept thinking of that pillar of water, so much larger and grander than any magic I ever thought possible.
And inside, I tried my best to silence the questions that raged within my chest: could that one day be me? And if so, what ifthatwas the future I wanted?
“Did you see the demonstration?” I asked David as we strolled through town, hand in hand.
He shrugged. “It was alright.”
A twinge of disappointment pricked at me. “I suppose. But have you ever seen its equal?”
His hand tightened on mine as he swerved down an alley behind a dilapidated cobbler’s shop. We were surrounded by shadows and the sound of our breaths. My pulse quickened.
“You’re a much more enchanting sight.” He wrapped his hand around my waist.
I swallowed, pulling back. “David…”
He tugged me closer, and I put my hand against his chest firmly.
“David,” I repeated.
He paused, his eyes softening. “Are you alright?”
I took a shuddering breath. “My mind is whirling right now. I had no idea magic could be so—”
“Showy?” He grinned.
“So powerful,” I finished.
A shadow fell over his expression. “Lyra…”
I levelled my chin. “What?”
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“Because I’m only a textile mage? One who will never find a master?”
“No.” He shuffled closer, wrapping his arm around the small of my back again. This time, I let him pull me close until only inches lay between us. “What you do is important,” he whispered. “It’s impressive in its own way.” He reached up to touch my kerchief. “You made this one?” he asked, recognizing my work.
I nodded.
He let his hand trail down it gently, over the strands of my hair which tickled my neck and made me shiver. “You’re an incrediblytalented mage.” His voice was raspy and soft, reminding me of countless late night walks and embraces. “But I don’t want to see you reach for the sun only to come crashing back down. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
My shoulders sank.
His thumb rubbed my lower ribcage as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. My chin tilted up. Pity filled his eyes.
“I don’t like saying these things to you,” he admitted.
“I don’t like hearing them.” The anger within me had dimmed from a hungry flame into smoldering cinders. My heart slowed.
He leaned closer, pressing his lips to mine. I let myself get lost in the feeling of his embrace, of his tenderness, soothing the woundI’d exposed out of foolishness.
When we finally parted, he was flushed.
