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The crispy yet buttery shell and the creamy custard within really are something on the level of the gods. I’d be able to savor the delicacy more if Julita weren’t muttering in my head.
Jealousy isn’t Romild’s only problem if what you said is true. Now Wendos is harassing her?What’s he aiming for there? What are theyallaiming for, sneaking around in the woods again?
The cream sours in my mouth. Casimir and I weren’t able to turn up any other clues about the scourge sorcerers’ apparent woodland ritual—not even enough to prove to anyone who didn’t already believe there’s a conspiracy that the damp earth has anything to do with illicit sorcery to begin with.
All Stavros could offer when I told him about it was a sardonic comment about needing to bring the king more than mud.
As I chew the last few morsels of the roll, my gaze darts across the room instinctively. It snags on Wendos’s dark shaggy hair, several tables off amid a few other students.
If he’s scheming anything right now, it’s how to inhale as much breakfast as possible. I’m still not sure he was exactly “harassing” Romild so much as expressing concern.
What did he notice about her that bothered him? What if it washersneaking around in the woods with the other conspirators?
She did seem awfully comfortable in that setting during the hunt.
We’ve been focusing on Ster. Torstem, but no matter how involved he might be, it seems awfully unlikely that he’s offended the daimon so much all on his own. We’ve got to find his accomplices too.
“Is that a new dress?” Esmae is asking. “It’s a good color on you.”
I glance down absently at the pale lilac silk. “Yes, you know, I needed another after the wine incident—I didn’t bring very much with me from home.”
Imagine if she saw what I usually wear.
“You’ll have to have your family send more.” Esmae perks up. “I could practice my gift for you to get the message there quickly. Nikodi is farther away than I’ve tried, but it’d be good to stretch myself. I’d like to be crossing country borders someday, and—”
As she’s talked, a slender man in the light blue linen tunic and trousers most of the non-teaching staff wear weaves through the tables to stop by Romild. He taps her shoulder and hands her a folded note.
She glances at its contents and frowns. Then she gets up out of her seat, leaving behind a plate she’s only half-cleared.
My pulse hiccups, and I miss whatever Esmae says next. Where’s my rival off to in such a hurry?
I think I’d better find out.
I scarf down one last mouthful of eggs and nudge back my seat as Romild approaches the door.
Esmae pauses, staring at me. “Are you going already?”
I snatch at the first excuse I can think of that would make sense to her. “I just saw someone who said he might have news soon about what’s happened to Julita. I’ve got to try to catch him before he heads to class—sorry, I didn’t notice him before.”
With feet practiced for speed and deft maneuvering, I make it to the hallway just as Romild reaches the corner to my left. As quietly as I can, I hurry after her.
She doesn’t glance backward, her steps brisk and her posture a bit stiff, as if she’s not happy about whatever the message said. The hall outside the dining area provides plenty of cover anyway with students coming and going.
As I turn the corner after her into the longer passageway leading past the main library doors, the traffic thins.
If she looks around, she won’t be able to help seeing me. And wondering why the hell I’m trailing at her heels.
I drift farther back, wishing the hall offered more in the way of columns or pedestals to duck behind, and a perfect solution presents itself in the form of Benedikt.
The bastard’s bastard strolls jauntily out of a nearby stairwell, looking as though he’s making for the dining hall. I dash over before he can get very far.
“Walk with me,” I say under my breath as I catch his elbow. “Pretend we’re having an absolutely fascinating discussion about some favor I’m asking you to do for my employer. And if Romild glances our way, block her view of me.”
Benedikt chuckles and swerves to join me, his gray eyes dancing with good humor. He pitches his voice similarly low. “I don’t know if I’d bother to do any favors for Stavros, but I’ll certainly lend you a hand. Or several, if I can collect them.”
I manage not to roll my eyes at him. At least he’s the most amenable of Julita’s men to playing along.
It’s hard not to appreciate his good humor. And to stop myself from flashing back to my dream when he—
