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Even my father, who sits on Spearcrest’s board of governors, knows very little about the programme.
I expected it to be as challenging as Mr Ambrose describes it—but I could never have expected the prize he might offer for the best student in the programme.
By the sudden tension in the room—none of us had.
By the sudden tension in the room—I’m not the only one who realises the implication of such a prize.
Mr Ambrose nods solemnly.
“I would like to give you all one week to seriously consider whether or not you wish to accept my invitation. One week—a full week. I do not wish for any answers in the meantime. I ask you all to think about it—really think about it. What you want out of your final year in Spearcrest; if this programme is right for you, if it is something you desire or something you covet. If it will fulfil you or break you. If you decide to accept my invitation, return to my office at the same time next week, and you shall receive your programme schedule for the winter term.”
He stands, thanks us warmly for coming, and then dismisses us from his office, leaving us all reeling.
Chapter 20
Broken Goddess
Theodora
MrAmbrose’swordswashover me like waves over the listless body of a beached sea creature. I roll and sway under their movement, longing for them to drag me away into their current.
When he dismisses us and everybody’s leaving the room, his eyes find mine, and he gives me a slight frown with a question inside of it.
“Thank you, Mr Ambrose,” I answer.
I stand and leave the room, melting into the line of students trickling out of the office.
Desperate for some fresh air and space, I make my way to the back of the building, which leads out to a small courtyard garden with four benches surrounding a small marble fountain. A hand brushes my arm, startling me.
“Hey—Theodora.”
Zachary’s warm voice is different, his stiff formality replaced with gentle worry.
I turn and look up. He’s taller than he was the last time I saw him. I’m not sure when Zachary stopped looking like a boy and started looking like a man, but that’s what he looks like now.
Brown eyes full of intelligence, framed by thick, curly eyelashes. Handsome, regal features, graceful cheekbones over carved cheeks. A tall stature, elegant posture. The emotive, romanticised masculinity of a Hellenistic statue.
My heart strains in my chest when I see him. I want to throw my arms around his neck and hang on his chest like a medallion.
My own heartbeat has felt so distant lately; would his make me feel alive again?
“Hello, Zachary.”
He caught me just as I was leaving the building. I know better than to try to escape him anyway, and I’m too light-hearted to walk back to the girls’ dormitory anyway.
So I put my arm through his with an affability that’s designed to keep him close while keeping him at arm’s length and lead him to a bench.
“Did you have a good summer?” I ask. My voice sounds faraway and mechanical. “Congratulations on being invited to Mr Ambrose’s Apostles programme, by the way.”
He watches me as I sit down but doesn’t sit straight away. His eyes search my face, but no matter how clever Zachary is, he won’t find anything in my expression.
There’s nothing there because I feel nothing inside.
“My summer was fine,” he answers finally. “Far from perfect, but adequate. Thank you for asking.”
He draws closer and takes a seat on the bench next to me. Not facing the fountain, like I’m doing, but facing me, one leg folded in front of him, the other pointing towards me, his knee against my thigh.
“How was yours?” he asks.
