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I’ve drifted halfway down the row when Alek appears at the other end. After a quick glance to confirm I’m alone, he strides over, his mouth set in a pensive expression beneath the slanted edge of his mask.
“Is everything all right?” he asks quietly. “I saw Wendos come over to you.”
His gaze flicks from my eyes to my forehead. He’s at least as worried about Julita’s reaction as my own, clearly.
I guess I can’t blame him for that, especially in this particular case. “He didn’t say much, just seemed interested in whether I knew where Julita had gone. She’s pretty peeved with him, but he didn’t try anything questionable.”
Alek’s shoulders ease down from their defensive pose. “Good. If she’s right about him, we have to be careful.”
“Oh, don’t worry, she’s made sure I’m well aware of that fact.” I offer a wry smile and then dig out the small, leatherbound volume from the pocket I stashed it in. “I was actually hoping I’d run into you. I found something I thought you might appreciate. The vocabulary and the style are a little beyond me, but I’ve never seen anything like it here in Florian.”
Alek takes the Woudish poetry book from me and flips open the cover. After a moment, his posture goes rigid. His attention jerks back to me. “Did you tell Julita about this? Was it her idea to give it to me?”
I can’t help stiffening up too. Why would he think the gift must be from her?
“No,” I say shortly. “I was thinking about our conversation in the archives. If you don’t want it—”
“I’ll keep it. I—” He peers at me for a moment longer. “Doyouknow what this is?”
My cheeks heat. “Like I said, it’s not the basic Woudish I’m used to. I, er, got the impression it was romantic poetry? But I was thinking of your interest in the language in an academic sense.”
“Where did you get it?”
“A shop in town,” I say, which is only sort of a lie. “It was tucked in a jumble—I don’t think they knew enough Woudish to tell what it was about either.”
Alek lets out a chocked guffaw. “No doubt. It’s poetry, yes, but from what I can tell the focus is less romantic and more erotic.”
“Oh.” I shouldn’t be surprised given where I found it, should I?
My face flares even hotter. Did he think I meant it as some kind of proposition?
Or thatJulitamight have?
The words tumble out faster than I can think them through. “I honestly didn’t realize it was quite that… intense. But it’d still give a different perspective on Woudish phrasing and thought than anything the college will have, won’t it? That’s all I intended by it. I wouldn’t imagine—I’m not an idiot.”
The shock fades from Alek’s face into something more like confusion. “What do you mean?”
My dress abruptly feels too tight against my skin. I dig my fingers into the folds of my skirt. “I wouldn’t have offered it as some kind of seduction attempt. I’m a street rat. You’re a noble. Like I said, I’m not an idiot.”
Alek stares at me for long enough that I think my actual skin has gotten too tight as well. A rough chuckle escapes him.
He glances down at the book, shakes his head, and looks back at me with his piercing gaze that makes me feel as if he’s seen more than I meant to show.
“Just to be clear,” he says, low but steady, “it’s obvious that you’re not just a ‘street rat.’ And those were Stavros’s words in the first place, not mine. I’m not really a noble either. I’m a merchant’s son. A well-off merchant, but nothing compared to—” He waves vaguely toward the rest of the library. “I got here through luck, good will, and working my tail off.”
Now it’s my turn to stare. He’s not noble-born?
I had heard that determined outsiders and those with enough coin to spare could sometimes win a spot in the royal college, but I assumed it was rare enough that it never occurred to me any of Julita’s men would be among those. I guess Alek has never shown quite the same airs as the others, but I assumed that was more his personality than his upbringing.
“I didn’t realize. I still wouldn’t have—”
Alek waves the book before slipping it into his pocket. “I understand. I’ll take it as the scholarly gesture it was. Thank you. I just… I wouldn’t have thought you were an idiot.”
I hesitate, not sure how to interpret that declaration. Before I can sort out my thoughts, laughter and arch voices carry from the aisle, getting louder.
Some students are heading toward us. We’re not supposed to be seen together any more than strictly necessary.
Alek takes a step back, bobs his head in a silent farewell, and hustles away. I turn, planning to amble off in the other direction, just as Anya and two of her friends saunter into view at that end of the row.
