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“Like what?” he asked.
“Your name, for a start.”
He stared at his plate, the space between his eyebrows returning to its typical furrow. I pitied him for the way he didn’t seem capable of hiding his emotions.
“That’s what I thought,” I said, taking another bite of my dinner.
He stayed quiet for a long moment before looking back up at me. “My name is Graham,” he whispered.
I studied him, unsure of what to say. Without his last name, I didn’t know whether to react to him as Graham Brennin or just some guy named Graham. The nervousness in his eyes told me he hoped I wouldn’t know who he was, so I decided to let him keep up the pretense.
“Graham?” I asked. “I was expecting somethingmuchworse—like Wulfric. You didn’t need to be so ashamed.Not terribly, anyway.”
He laughed, his face reddening. “Uh, thank you.”
“Really. I met a Wulfric once. And yes, he was as dull as he sounds.”
“Well,” Graham began, “now that you know my name, will you answer a question?”
“It depends on what you want to know.”
He fixed his eyes on me, a flicker of fear passing through them. “Is the book yours?”
My mouth fell open, my composure forgotten. “What?”
“You were carrying it yesterday, though there’s no record of it in the library. You’ve read it and know more than you dare admit. And”—he paused, glancing at my bag on the floor—“I saw you put it in your bag. I could be mistaken, but it looks as if it’s still in there.”
I kept my expression neutral, inwardly hiding my pleasure that he’d come to this conclusion and was still choosing to talk to me. “Maybe nobles really are as clever as they say.”
His mouth lifted in a smile, a dimple forming on one side of his mouth. “Why do you have it? I assure you I’m not making any accusations. I suspect it’s for purely academic purposes.”
“Yes,” I said, my tone flat with sarcasm. “One hundred percent academic.”
He squinted, taking a drink from his mug. “You wouldn’t . . . use it, would you?”
“Why are you so interested?” I said. “Planning to go somewhere?”
He laughed and shook his head. “No. I’m certain to stay inside these walls for the rest of my life.”
I pushed my empty plate away. “What a shame. I was hoping I’d met an adventurer.”
His smile faded and his eyes turned serious. “But”—he swallowed and looked away, toward the blank brick wall—“that’s not an option.”
I lowered my voice. “There are people who have left Cambria.”
“Yes, as banished criminals,” he said in a whisper.
“Not only them. Haven’t you heard about those who disappear in the night and are never seen again?” I asked.
“It’s all hearsay. The Academy would never allow them to leave.”
“You don’t have a very vivid imagination,” I said.
He fidgeted with his fork. “I suppose not. My parents have made sure of that.”
“You’re not a child. Why do you let your parents control the way you think?”
He avoided my eyes. “They have a lot of influence . . . over me.”
