Chapter Six
Six
I tossed and turned all night—my sleep patterns not helped by a bizarre storm that rolled through in the early hours of the morning, whipping the winds and raising the heat to near unbearable temperatures before it broke just before dawn.
I woke next to the sweet scent of ground coffee beans.
Amazing. Less amazing was needing to put on a bra before entering the living room.
I gathered the clothes I planned to change into post-shower—in the bathroom; I wasn’t ready to cross the living room in a towel—then cautiously opened my door.
“Good morning?” My words ended in a question mark.
The living room was recognizable but—better somehow?
The rug seemed brighter, and the floorboards gleamed.
And the nest of cushions and blankets on the floor—where Daziel had slept—contained vibrant blankets I definitely didn’t own and pillows with silk cases.
There were plants I hadn’t had before: a pear tree bearing fruit in the corner and ivy hanging from the ceiling.
“Good morning,” Daziel said, distracting me from trying to determine how the ivy was attached.
I was becoming slowly used to his appearance, to the sharp black nails, the pattern of feathers on his neck, though every time I saw it anew, it was somewhat startling, his inhuman beauty distracting.
Today he wore a light gray outfit, crisply ironed (with what iron?). “Did you sleep well?”
“Um—the storm woke me,” I said, taken aback by both the change in my apartment, his politeness, and the fact that in addition to coffee he’d somehow acquired a spread of croissants.
His head snapped up, a little too quickly to be human. “You too?”
“It was weird, right? And the heat…Any idea what caused it?”
He shook his head. “I’ve heard of similar occurrences—but the conditions are usually different. It was…unsettling.”
I was unsettled that the magic in Talum was strange enough to unsettle a demon. I smiled awkwardly and retreated to the bathroom, where I showered, dressed, and questioned all my life choices.
Not enough to refuse the coffee and croissants when I reemerged, though. “How did you pay for these?” I asked, breaking off the corner of one golden brown crescent, buttery flakes clinging to my fingers. I recognized the bag they’d come in; they were from the fancy boulangerie. “Did you pay?”
“Of course.” He sounded affronted, then started coughing.
My concern grew as his cough worsened in roughness and volume. “Are you okay?”
He waved a hand but didn’t stop.
I’d heard if you were coughing, you couldn’t be choking because you could still move air through your airways. Still, I touched his arm. “Do you want me to pound on your back?”
He curled forward and gave one final, horrific cough. Something large and shiny hurtled out of his mouth and into his hand.
He held it up triumphantly. “Ta-da!”
It was a polished, multifaceted green stone. It looked like it should be showcased in a crown, not covered in saliva. I blinked rapidly, not knowing what else to do with my surprise. “Did you—is that—an emerald?”
He wiped the saliva away on his trousers. “I paid,” he said happily.
“What?” I swallowed. “We can’t—people don’t pay with emeralds. How—where did it come from? Is that, like, your breakfast?” At his smile, I winced, deciding I didn’t need the details. “Did it hurt coming up?”
He beamed. “Are you concerned for my welfare, Naomi?”
“No! I mean—I’m curious. Grossed out a bit, but curious.”
“I think you are,” he mused. There was a glint to his eyes, a delight in teasing me. “You worried I was choking. You stroked my arm.”
“Let’s move on,” I said. “Thank you for breakfast. Maybe take any more jewels you cough up to a jeweler’s instead of paying with them directly.”
“Noted,” Daziel said. “What is our plan for today?”
I finished a second croissant—they were very good—then began loading my rucksack with the relevant folders and books. “My first class is at nine.” When he didn’t respond, I clarified: “School.”
“Again?”
His outraged tone stole a smile from me. “That’s how I feel too.”
Leah and I walked to the Lyceum together on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, so I knocked on her door.
When she opened it, she dragged her hand against her brow in exaggerated relief.
Last night, when I’d woken her to say I was letting Daziel stay, I’d asked if I was making a terrible mistake.
She’d looked dubious, and said, “Probably. But I can hear you through the walls if you scream.”
I offered her a croissant. “Good morning.”
She considered it. “Is it bespelled?”
“I don’t think so. I recognized the bakery bag. I’m not taking any chances with my new pear tree, though.”
We headed to school, Daziel behind us. Leah had no qualms about handing him her rucksack to carry, and after a moment, I did too. “You don’t seem to be murdered,” she said. “Seduced? Aren’t demons into seducing people?”
“I suppose coffee and croissants are a form of seduction.” Maybe I could become the kind of person who airily spoke about seduction. It should be easy to joke about, as Daziel wasn’t trying to seduce me, just use me to hide from his parents.
I wondered what it would look like if he tried to seduce me.
Leah let out a thoughtful hum, and I shut down my thoughts. “Maybe I should pretend to be betrothed to a demon.”
Daziel followed me to my classes. In addition to Old Cinnaian and hieroglyphic Keft, I studied Tzorybia, the language of a sprawling northeastern empire that had been one of the premier centers of scholarship for centuries and in whose tongue much modern scholarship had been done.
These classes didn’t interest Daziel. He slept through them, curled up on the floor in pools of sunlight, Paz draped over his head.
I didn’t say anything, and neither did the other students or professors. It seemed wiser not to.
They watched, though. It had been twenty-four hours since Daziel first stepped on campus, and the entire student population now knew about him.
Both casual acquaintances and people I’d never talked to stopped by to say hello, expressions bright with curiosity.
“I didn’t realize you were betrothed,” Sara Apter from my Intro to T3 class said, leaning over from her desk. “How’d you guys meet?”
“Picking flowers,” I said. Best stick to one lie.
Overall, people didn’t seem to view Daziel with too much fear or suspicion. Since I’d theoretically vetted him, and because he didn’t pay anyone but me any attention, they mostly left him alone, as one would anyone’s guest.
They did stare a lot more, though.
The only class Daziel showed interest in was Intro to Spellwriting.
“This is how you write your spells?” he asked, studying my worksheet on Taro Islands seals.
Most spells in the countries surrounding the Long Sea used the thirty charaktêres of ring letters, but students at the Lyceum also learned the seals used in the Taro Islands and the far-off Green Continent, along with the seven symbolic string letters used by eastern civilizations. “You make things so complicated.”
I felt vaguely insulted on humanity’s behalf. “And how do you do it?”
“We just ask for what we want. It seems much easier.”
“Well, excuse me for being from a species not imbued with magic.”
“You are excused,” he said politely, which made me want to kick him.
He proved to be an able tutor, though, making good on his promise to help with my language studies.
He was almost too tough, forcing me to complete practice after practice, insisting I work on my Old Cinnaian L until he deemed it passable.
“No one even speaks Old Cinnaian anymore,” I muttered, irritated. “Why do I have to say the L correctly?”
“Scholars speak it,” Daziel said. “Their keeping it alive is the only reason I can understand it. And if you want to honor it, you will speak it correctly.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he looked embarrassed. “Sorry. My tutors were—exacting.”
“Hmph,” I said. “Well. I’ll try to say the L right.”
~ ~ ~
On Friday, he followed me to my cryptography seminar.
Anxiety wound my nerves tight as we made our way to the Keep.
I cared about my work on the scrolls more than anything else—I needed this interaction to go well, but I had no idea how my professor or his other three students would react to Daziel.
Most importantly, I needed Professor Altschuler’s respect—or at least for him to consider me a worthwhile, serious student. He’d accepted me to the Lyceum, and he would decide if I received a scholarship next year. If I wasn’t talented or valuable enough, he might dismiss me.
“You have to behave,” I told Daziel as we approached the Keep, in the same tone I used to tell Michal not to so obviously sneak food on fasting days or Adina not to flirt during shivas. “No weird stuff. Professor Altschuler is tough.”
It was nearing four and the last hour of classes for the day. We climbed the Keep’s stairs, stopping at the fourth floor, where Professor Altschuler taught his cryptography seminar. I took a steadying breath, gazing out the windows at rain dripping from the flat sky into the blue-gray river.
“When have I ever done anything weird?” said the person who’d spent this morning talking an acorn into sprouting into the tiniest oak in one of my coffee mugs. Admittedly, I hadn’t minded. But it warranted a warning glance as we stepped into the room.
Professor Altschuler’s three other students were inside, spread as far as possible from each other in the dozen seats. The professor hadn’t arrived yet, which was standard—none of us would dare be late for this class.
“Hi, guys.” I tried not to sound nervous. One would think since the four of us spent so much time together, we’d have formed a fast friendship. Instead, we were wary rivals. “This is Daziel. He’s visiting.”
All three glanced up. I was the only first-year of the bunch—Yael and Stefan were in their third year, Gidon in his second—and I wasn’t used to having their undivided attention.
I looked first to Yael. Elegant and intimidating, she was the scion of a wealthy family and usually impossible to ruffle.
Now, though, she looked astonished. Fine lines crumpled her brow, and she ran a hand through her short blond hair.
“Whoa.” Stefan examined Daziel with interest. He was the most sociable of our cohort, a partier when he wasn’t working on the scrolls, and I got the feeling he found the rest of us tediously boring. “I did not see this coming.”
Gidon, younger than the others and more timid, stayed silent, but his wide eyes proved he was equally as intrigued.
“Is he—” Yael said to me, then realized that was rude and addressed Daziel directly. “Are you going to be helping Naomi?”
Are you more competition? she meant.
“Daziel’s coming to all my classes.” Like always, I was torn between wanting to impress Yael and wanting to reassure her I wasn’t a threat for Professor Altschuler’s regard. Of all our cohort, she was the one I wanted to like me.
The door creaked and we all stiffened. The professor swept in, talking as he moved. “Today we will be discussing—”
He stopped abruptly, staring.
“This is Daziel.” Maybe if I acted totally normal, everything would proceed as usual.
“I’d heard you were keeping company with a demon,” Professor Altschuler said, “but I’d hoped it to be rumor.”
I hesitated. I’d only dealt with student reactions to Daziel so far.
A few professors had lit incense, since demons were supposed to hate strong scents, and one brought in a potted kero masa tree, the shadow of which was supposed to harm demons.
But no one had thrown a fit. You might as well yell at a cat or curse the strengthening winds.
Besides, banishing a demon was probably above an academic’s pay grade.
“Not rumor,” I said. “He’s very real. I thought it’d be all right if he sat in today?”
“No.”
Taken aback by the professor’s sharpness, I added, “He won’t interfere—”
The professor ignored me, his gaze trained on Daziel’s. “You should leave.”
“I don’t want to,” Daziel said in a silk-smooth voice.
My stomach twisted, bile rising. I didn’t think my skills in handling my little sisters’ fights would help me manage this situation.
“If you don’t depart at my request,” Professor Altschuler said, voice like ice, “Bylaw 174 permits me to cast banishment—”
“Bylaw 174 permits such after ‘reasonable attempts at discourse,’ which have not occurred,” Daziel interrupted.
Altschuler’s jaw twitched. “I have told you what I want—”
“And I’ve told you what I want.” Daziel moved sinuously closer to the professor. My brain said he must have stepped, but I wasn’t sure that was what I’d seen; it felt more like fog rolling over the hills, until he stood right in front of Professor Altschuler. “Perhaps we must compromise.”
The professor’s lips drew up in a sneer.
“Daziel.” I grabbed his arm and shot Professor Altschuler an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry. One second.” I pulled at Daziel’s arm. For a moment, I thought he might resist; tugging at him felt like trying to drag a heated pillar. Then he softened and followed me into the stairwell.
Where he drew to a stop, all ruffled pride. “You’re going to take that man’s side?”
“I’m not taking a side.” I pulled him down a bend in the spiral staircase so we weren’t so easy to overhear. “He’s my professor. He’s in charge.”
“You made me leave.”
“I need my scholarship. I can’t afford to piss him off.”
“You don’t mind pissing me off.”
“It’s his classroom.”
Daziel scowled. “You’re my betrothed.”
That gave me pause. Because while our betrothal was only technical, Daziel’s statement made me realize I was the only person he really knew in Talum.
The only person he could expect to stand up for him.
“I’m sorry. But you’re not one of his students—I think he’s allowed to say nonstudents can’t be in his classroom. ”
“Fine.” Daziel’s ears twitched, and he vanished.