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I don’t relish the idea of talking to the former general about last night’s encounter just yet either.
With a huff of breath aimed mostly at myself, I step out into the hall and make my way to the Domi’s small back stairwell. Fresh air to clear my head can’t be a bad thing.
I wander through the inner courtyard, but there are still too many students milling around in the descending dusk. I spot Petra emerging from the Quadring and all but bolt in the opposite direction.
A conversation with her seems like a bad idea too.
I end up meandering through one of the Quadring’s halls to the larger outer courtyard. The dark sprawl of the campus woods looms at the other end of the field, but I don’t let myself focus on it. I stroll through the grass, taking in the statues positioned along the tall stone wall.
The one of Elox tossing a rippling blanket into the air is a particularly impressive feat of carving. I’m admiring it so avidly that I nearly trip over my feet when I step past it and my gaze jars against the figure on the other side.
The guard with the too-beautiful face and the magical vibes is standing by the wall a few paces down. He’s wearing his deep blue uniform, so presumably he’s on duty and meant to be patrolling, but he’s standing stiffly still, his attention fixed on the arm he’s raised in front of his chest.
At a twitch of movement, I realize there’s a butterfly perched on his jacket sleeve.
The insect’s yellow-and-blue wings dip down and back up again. The guard stares at it, his expression uncertain, as if he isn’t sure what to do about the situation and worries he’ll make the wrong choice.
Does he imagine it’s going to attack him?Julita murmurs with amusement.
It’s a bizarre enough scene that I stall in my tracks rather than hurrying past him. Which means I’m still staring athimwhen he lifts his gaze and notices me standing here.
I expect him to snap at me for gaping at him, the way high ranking people tend to do if you catch them in an awkward moment. Instead, his eyes open wider, almost pleadingly. As if he’s making an appeal for help.
It’s ridiculous. He obviously doesn’t actually need help.
But everything about the situation is so absurd I find myself walking closer. “Have you been assaulted by that butterfly?”
The guard’s gaze jerks back to the insect. He adjusts his arm a little higher, but the creature keeps clinging to it.
“It landed on me a few minutes ago,” he says, his voice as puzzled as his expression, and points to one of its wings. “I think it’s hurt—it might not be able to fly any farther. I don’t know what to do.”
Is he that concerned about the fate of a butterfly?
An uneasy pang runs through my chest. Somehow I can’t simply dismiss him when he’s showing such an unusual display of compassion.
Most of his colleagues would probably have shaken the creature off or swatted it dead and been done with it.
I study the wings and note the tattered edge on the one he indicated. Can a butterfly recover from an injury like that?
I don’t know, but we might as well give it a chance.
Glancing around, I motion toward the woods. “Let’s bring it someplace it’ll have shelter. If it’s going to recover, it’ll be better off in a spot where no predators will notice it. Assuming you’re not going to carry it around for the next day or two.”
“No,” the guard says as if he’s taking my suggestion seriously. “It might get more damaged riding on me.”
“Then it’s settled. Come on.”
I stride toward the line of trees, ignoring the apprehension that fills me at the sight of the woods after all the things I’ve done within them. The guard trails behind me, holding his arm steady so as not to disturb his cargo.
When we reach the nearest trees, I peer through the brush and point out a leafy twig jutting from a sapling. “Put it here. The branch right overtop should stop any birds from spotting it.”
The guard eases the butterfly onto his finger gingerly. It grips his skin with its tiny feet, but when he nudges it against the twig, it springs onto the bark with a flutter of its wings.
Studying it in its new resting place, the guard’s stance relaxes. He glances at me, and another tingle of that magic he exudes brushes against my nerves.
I do my best to hide the tensing of my muscles, but a small furrow forms in his porcelain-smooth brow. “I make you nervous. This place does too. But you helped anyway.”
My chin comes up automatically. “I’m perfectly fine. You looked like you could use a little direction. I’ve got other things to do now.”
