Page 16 of Adam, Mine

Professor Krempe was staring down at him, curious.

“I said, are you quite all right? You haven’t been much yourself these days,” Krempe said. “Though I’m pleased for the lack of . . . histrionic classroom argument. But I would be remiss for not asking after a student that goes from a chatterbox to near silent almost overnight.”

Victor swallowed. He couldn’t talk about this. “Am I missing any assignments?”

“Well, no.”

“Have my exam or essay marks slipped in any way?”

“No, Victor. You seem even more committed if anything—”

Victor stood. “Then everything should be fine. Thank you. I don’t need any assistance.”

Victor left the classroom, then left the building entirely.

He needed to think. He needed to clear his mind.

Rome

Victor left the chatter and bustle of the center of town and headed out toward the wood.

He walked until the city quiet turned to the sound of wind in the branches.

Walked until the sun was starting to go down and he really should have been heading home. But he couldn’t stop thinking, and he felt like he was either close to revelation—or panic attack.

Just when hunger began to gnaw at him, the light from a small town brightened his path. He rushed through their dusty streets until he spotted the village tavern at the end of the square.

Victor wiped the sweat from his brow, threw his shoulders back, and pushed open the door.

Unlike the taverns back in Ingelstad, this place was homey and bright. The air wasn’t clouded with smoke; there weren’t men arguing, yelling angrily. There were families, people talking quietly and eating dinner. Like a great mess hall instead of a watering hole.

Victor slid onto a stool at the bar and took off his hat. A woman with bright red hair braided in a crown around her head approached him at once to take his order.

She was very pretty, fluttering her lashes at him like she knew he could afford a nice tip. And she wasn’t wrong. He was the only man in the room in a proper woolen cape and shined shoes. The rest of the people here were—to put it lightly—peasants.

She gave him her name—Magda—and flounced away to put in his order and get him a beer.

Victor closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.

“Excuse me.”

He looked up. A man with a washrag in hand smiled at Victor and gently wiped the bar in front of him with clean hot water scented with pine.

“Sir, what time is it?” he asked the man, who was already scrubbing the other end of the bar.

“It’s near four. If you’re headed back to the city, you can buy a torch for your way. We have a wagon that takes people, but the driver is ill now.”

The man’s voice was incredibly soft and resonant. Victor found himself looking harder at him than he ought to in any other circumstance.

The barkeep was thin to the point of pain but moved with grace and confidence. He and Victor were close in height, close in age. His hair was long, unbecoming for a man in the city, but perhaps that didn’t matter in such an unimportant village.

The barkeep’s face was sallow and sharp. His eyes were soft, brown, and long-lashed like a girl’s. His mouth was too wide to be pretty but managed it just the same.

“Here you are, duckie.” The barmaid, Magda, swanned back to him, placing a bowl of steaming venison stew and a frothy mug of beer in front of him.

“Thank you.” Victor reached out a hand before she could disappear again. “That man said I could purchase a torch for my walk home?”

Magda leaned over, perching on the counter. “Oh, for you, sir, I’ll lend my best lantern if you promise to come back?”