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To anyone else, that might sound like an insult, but I know it’s a compliment of deep meaning.
Once, when we were drunk in the dead of night, he confessed to how much he loved my silliness. He said it helps him forget all that has happened.
That he is an exile’s son.
Though I very much wish to still be mad at him, his smile disperses the remnants of my rage.
I let out a sigh and sink into his arms, allowing them to support my weight. “You are the most awful boyfriend in all of Imyria.”
“And the most dashing.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Don’t think I’ll let you off lightly.”
“Oh, I know. I expect to be groveling for weeks.”
“I suggest you start groveling tonight.”
“In that case, how about I take you to The Violet Tree and buy you all the wine you can drink?”
I flash him a triumphant grin. He knows me so very well—even if he did forget my birthday.
But before I can respond, footsteps thunder from behind. The sound ricochets through the vaulted ceiling.
“What do you two think you’re doing inside my library?” Erma snarls, glaring at us through her small, circular spectacles.
If I were not preoccupied with leaping away from Arluin, I might have pointed out that this isn’t her library. It isn’t even my father’s. It belongs to Nolderan.
“N-nothing,” I stammer, my cheeks burning a crimson so vivid that my expression alone is evidence enough of the lie.
Arluin is a little less flustered than me. “We were just leaving,” he says, hurrying over to the books lying heaped beneath the bookcase.
Erma’s temples twitch as she examines him and the fallen books. “Good,” she snaps, whirling around. “They had all better be returned to their rightful places, or else I will be informing Archmage Gidston of your insolence.”
My shoulders sag with relief as Erma’s purple robes disappear around the bookcases. While our position was rather compromising, this isn’t the first time Erma has caught us—or other adepts—locked in amorous embraces.
“Come on,” Arluin murmurs, gathering the books. “It seems we ought to get going.”
Four
Handinhand,weleavetheGrandLibrary.TheArcanium’satriumismostlyemptynow,andwestrollthroughthelarge,circularspace.
We reach the other side of the chamber and pass the rows of pillars standing sentry outside the Arcanium’s entrance. Floating crystals illuminate our path as we follow the staircase around Grandmage Delmont Blackwood.
When we’re at the bottom, I turn to Arluin. “So, we’re going to The Violet Tree?”
“Indeed, we are.”
“And you really meant what you said about buying all the wine I can drink?”
“Of course.”
“You know I can easily drink all your wealth in a single night.”
“We’ll see about that,” he says with a laugh.
We continue through the Arcanium’s grounds, passing the dozens of towering statues which line the path. Many depict my own ancestors since the Ashbourne family has produced the most Grandmagi throughout history. One day, my father will also likely have a statue erected here in his memory. I can’t say the same about myself.
We slip beneath the archway, Arluin’s hand still clasping mine, and step out onto the cobbled streets.
