Page 3 of Prince of the Sun

My eyebrows must climb almost all the way off my forehead. I corral them as quickly as I can. No sense in letting them see how shocked I am that he recognizes me.

“Yes,” I whisper. “And I need that book to do our homework.”

“I’m using it,” says Daerios. They’re the first words he’s ever spoken to me, and they’re sharp, like a reprimand.

I eye its uncracked spine. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

Berendir covers a snort.

My stomach feels like it’s crawling up my throat. Why the hell did I choose today to get courageous with an elf? And, of all the elves on campus, why did I choose aprince, for God’s sake? This is what Mom meant when she said I’m all book smarts and no street smarts. This is what she meant when she said it could get me killed.

But it’s too late now. I lean right up to Daerios’s smug, handsome face, trying to still my racing heart, and whisper, “Ve-li e’ hain, Varrië.”

Give me the book, Prince.

Berendir lets out a low whistle.

Apparently, I do have a death wish.

“You speak Lukkarin,” Daerios says flatly. “Very impressive.” He taps the book. “Looks like you don’t need this after all.”

My hands squeeze into fists. I bite back the profanities inching up my tongue.

“Careful, Daer.” Berendir eyes my whitening knuckles. “The human might punch you.”

Daerios glances down at my fists, then back up to my face. This close, I can see that his eyes are more silver than grey. They’re so bright they almost seem to sparkle.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Smug bastard. I bury my eyes as deeply into his as I can.I amnot afraid of you, I tell myself.I am not afraid.

You are shitting your pants, human,my brain replies.Don’t kid yourself.

“Fine,” Daerios says, breaking eye contact and waving a dismissive hand. “For your bravery and utter stupidity in coming here, mortal.” He picks up the textbook and passes it over. It flops lightly in his hand, as if it’s no heavier to him than a sheet of paper. “One copy ofBoring Linguistics 101.”

I eye the volume suspiciously.

“Go on, then.”

I reach out and grab the spine.

“However—” Daerios doesn’t let go. In fact, he uses the book to tug me even closer. I blink as his silver eyes draw dangerously close, voice lowering to a hushed rumble. “Now that I’ve done you a favor, you shall have to do me one in return.”

I swallow. “Wh-what kind of favor?” I curse the waver in my voice.

He releases the book, teeth flashing in the sunlight. “When it’s time to collect,” he whispers, “you’ll know.”

I run down the steps of the library, blood pounding in my ears. The concrete is slick beneath my feet, dusted with the morning’s light rain.

Breath drags itself out of my lungs. What the hell did I just do?I spent all of last year holding my tongue around the elves. I couldn’t take one more day?

I don’t stop at the bottom of the steps. I keep going, down the concrete path, skirting a cluster of green-clad Wood Elves on horseback. I sprint straight out of the Yard gate and cross Massachusetts Avenue. A garbage truck honks. Jagged cobblestones clunk beneath my sneakers, threatening to twist my ankle with every step.

I tear down Plympton Street, sweat beading on my forehead. I always forget how hot Boston is in September. When I picture Cambridge, I see blankets of snow, faces muffled by scarves, icicles hanging from Annenberg Hall. Long nights, long winters. I don’t see sunshine.

Yet here it is. It rises over the eastern curve of the Charles River in a colorful display of light, oozing over the horizon,dripping into the water. Summer lingers, in Boston.