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While I wait for my tea to steep, I change into my favorite gown. Then I perch on the edge of the sofa-turned-bed and start sipping the tea.
The herbal bite to it makes me wince. I force down a larger gulp to get it over with.
It doesn’t matter how awful it tastes. Confining the monstrous urges that trickle out of my soul would be worth just about anything.
I’m halfway through the cup when Stavros strides into the room. I startle with a hitch of my pulse—I’d assumed he’d go straight to the meeting from his classroom.
The scent of the pipe fleece tea must be strong enough for him to get a whiff, because he gives the mug a quizzical glance before lifting his gaze to me. “What in the realms are you drinking—lemon rind mixed with pine needles?”
I make a face even though his assessment of the flavor isn’t totally off. “It’s a trick my grandmother taught me as a kid. Helps bruises heal.”
Julita takes on an arch tone.He’s not going to be happy if you have to admit you lied later.
I can’t answer her, and I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Unless it’ll actually help our larger cause, I definitely don’t want the former general thinking about reasons I might be focusing on suppressing magical abilities.
He chuckles like I expected, his eyes flashing with amusement and challenge. “I give you what you’ve been asking for, and now you’re complaining. Where’s the appreciation, Thief?”
The nickname doesn’t sound quite as insulting in his current tone. And he did offer a little trust by letting me get more involved in his lessons today.
“I have all the appreciation,” I say, matching his attitude. “That doesn’t mean I want to go around in frothy gowns with my arms all black and blue. A lady can have multiple desires.”
He walks over to the cabinet where I’ve learned he keeps his various prosthetics. “And here I thought you’d take any excuse not to wear those heaps of silk.”
I smooth my hand over the skirt of my turquoise dress, not just soft butcleanthanks to the college’s laundry services. “I’m not saying I’ll be bringing them back to the fringes with me, but they might have grown on me a little.”
Or maybe I’m just enjoying not having the constant sensation of grit against my skin. I might as well appreciatethatwhile I can.
“Hmm.” Stavros’s grin comes out. He twists off the metal hook-like hand he favors for hands-on training out of the harness around his forearm and picks out the clay one that looks the most like an actual hand. “I suppose we could keep you in them for one of the practice sessions and you could play damsel in distress.”
I glower at him. “Now that you’ve finally let me properly participate, are you just looking for excuses to never do it again?”
“Oh, I’m simply thinking through all the possibilities.” The former general clicks his new hand into place and strolls over to his desk. He pauses there and glances over at me again. “You didn’t do a bad job of it this morning, I’ll admit. You moderated your more questionable tactics rather well.”
Gods above, did the great General Stavros just showrespectfor my combat ability? A smile tugs at my lips with more warmth than I’m sure I want to be feeling.
But hey, a victory is a victory.
“That sounds like an insult wrapped in a compliment, but I’ll take it!” I announce.
Stavros snorts and reaches for a sheaf of papers left off to the side of his desk.
Julita’s laugh rings out through my head.I knew you two would get along eventually.
I’m glad someone’s totally happy about it.
I haven’t seen the former general do much in the way of paperwork since I started living in his quarters, though I assume all professors must need to do some, no matter how famous they are. A few times, Stavros has carried notebooks or scrolls off to his bedroom as if they contain matters too sensitive to be left in my reach.
Apparently he’s either decided I’m not a security threat or that there’s nothing all that delicate in these reports, because he squints down at them at his desk now. Squints and gives that odd twitch of his head, holds still and twitches again.
As I down the last of my horrid tea, the corners of his mouth tighten in a faint grimace. It occurs to me that there are obvious consequences of his battle injury that I hadn’t considered before.
I set down the mug and get up from the sofa. “Do you have trouble reading?”
Stavros’s eyes jerk toward me again, darkening at the same time as his voice does. “What?”
“I just—” I motion toward the papers. “Julita told me that your injury affected your sight.”
The former general’s entire stance has stiffened, the tensed muscles bulging beneath his shirt. My pulse stutters.
