Chapter 41
Poppy
ACROSS THE TABLE FROM ME, Aric stares down at his textbook, his forehead furrowed in concentration, a small crease between his thick brows.
We’re seated at our regular table in the library, but the air is colder than usual, even with the fire in the hearth burning bright.
The stained glass window that usually shines with golden sunlight swirls with snowflakes, and even through the academy’s thick stone walls, I can feel the bite in the air.
Winter has officially arrived, and though I’m trying to convince myself that it’s just the gray weather that has me feeling gloomy, I’m not so sure that’s it.
Aric rubs the back of his neck with one hand, brushing the silver chain he wears, and then lets out a long sigh.
Sitting upright, he stretches his arms overhead, then casts his gaze to the window, tracing the snowflakes that tap against the glass.
Something about him looks . . . weary. There are bags under his eyes, and even though he smiled and kissed me when he met me here, he hasn’t cracked a joke all day, and that worries me.
“Are you okay?” I ask. Reaching across the table, I rest my hand atop his, drawing Aric’s gaze away from the snowy window. “You look tired.”
He opens his hand so he can twine his fingers through mine, and a smile pulls his lips up on one side. But the expression doesn’t quite meet his eyes—not like it usually does. And it makes my stomach sink.
“I’m fine. Just thinking about a lot of things.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I offer. “I’m a good listener, you know.”
His smile gets a little bit brighter. “I do know.” Then the smile dims again, like a candle struggling to stay lit in a drafty corridor.
“But it’s nothing. Just been staying up late studying, trying to make sure I can pass my classes.
” A ghost of worry crosses his eyes, and he slowly casts his gaze down at the textbook, then pulls his hand from mine so he can turn the page.
“That’s what tutoring’s for,” I say softly, retracting my hand from where it was sitting, empty and alone, on the table between us. “Is there a specific class or topic you’re worried about?”
He lets out what sounds like a laugh, but I know him well enough now to know there’s no humor in it. It’s more of a scoff.
“All of them.”
My brows pull together.
All of them? But he’s been working so hard . . .
My shoulders slump a bit, and across from me, Aric looks up and says, “That’s nothing to do with you, I promise.
You’ve helped me out so much, Brains. But I’m the one who’s gotta take the tests, who has to pass.
” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a huff.
“I’m sorry. Between studying and extra runeball practice, I feel like I’m running out of steam. ”
A strong gust of wind strikes the stained glass window, and the thin gray light illuminating our table darkens. The storm must be intensifying.
“Maybe you should go back to your room, get some extra sleep.” Then I add softly, “I’m worried about you.”
Finally, a bit of warmth returns to Aric’s hazel eyes, and the smile he gives me feels real, if still smaller than what I’m used to. “You’re too good to me, Brains.”
I shake my head once, noting for the hundredth time how my glasses no longer slide down the bridge of my nose with every movement. “Not true. You deserve it all. And more.”
Aric’s smile remains, and then he slowly casts his gaze back down at his textbook. “Okay,” he says, closing it with a sigh. “I could use a nap. I’m not sure I’ve retained anything we’ve worked on today.”
“That definitely means you need sleep,” I say. “Resting might help you more than studying. Sleep deprivation isn’t healthy, especially when you’re already stressed.”
“Yeah, don’t I know it,” he grumbles.
We pack up our things, then walk through the library and out into the drafty corridor hand in hand. There aren’t many students in the hall, so we’re accompanied only by the sounds of our boots on the stone floor and the drone of wind against the windows as the storm persists.
Aric walks me to the bottom of the north tower. When he makes to walk me up, I stop him, telling him to go get some sleep. When he tries to argue, I press onto my toes and cover his mouth with mine, stealing his words away with a kiss.
“Go,” I whisper against his lips. “Rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
He rests his forehead against mine, then mumbles, “Okay, Brains.”
I send him on his way, and I stand there at the bottom of the stairs until he disappears down another corridor, heading for the east tower.
And then I start to climb the stairs to NT33, feeling about as gloomy as the weather outside.
LYRA LAUGHS WHERE SHE LIES on her stomach on the rug in front of the fire, kicking her feet while Juniper skitters across the parchment she’s sketching on. “This looks so terrible,” she says, then laughs again, her red curls bouncing as she shakes her head.
“I bet it’s not that bad,” Alina says. “Let me see.” She reaches down from where she’s sitting on one of the couches and swipes Lyra’s parchment away. Her brow furrows as she regards Lyra’s drawing, blue eyes narrowing. Then she nods once, lips tight. “Yup, it’s that bad.”
“Told you.” Lyra tosses her quill down and rolls over to prop her head in her hand. “Unless you want stick figures, I’m hopeless. Pops, Maeve, are you having any more luck?”
We’re all working on ideas for the invitations to the Blue Moon Ball.
I was supposed to have this done last week, but between my trip to Faunwood, tutoring Aric, and helping Professor Silvermoon as her student assistant, I’ve been falling behind a bit in my planning duties recently.
And now we’re running out of time to get our design to the printer in Wysteria.
I assess my own design: a simple snowy landscape, pine boughs glittering with frost as a big blue moon rises in the background. It’s okay, but I’m not sure it quite achieves what we’re going for. When I turn my sketch around for the others to see, they make sounds of approval.
“That’s so pretty,” Alina says, then glances down at her own idea. “Much better than mine.” She holds it up, and it’s a flurry of snowflakes falling, not so unlike her own frost magic. It’s nice but somewhat . . . simple.
“Your turn, Maeve,” Lyra says. “Let’s see it.”
Maeve is sitting cross-legged on the couch beside me, her glossy purple hair pulled back at the base of her neck. Her face is focused, eyes narrowed, and she adds a last-minute detail to her sketch before putting her quill aside and turning the parchment around for us to see.
All three of us are silent—not because it’s bad, but because it’s so good.
Maeve’s design depicts an open-air ballroom with silhouettes dancing across the floor while a big moon hangs over them, glittering and casting light onto the dance floor below.
Frost lines the edges of the parchment, giving the sketch the feeling that it’s occurring on the other side of frozen glass, like the viewer has paused on a snowy evening to look through a window at the dancers twirling on the other side.
“You can draw?” Lyra says, crimson eyebrows pinching together. “We’ve known each other for over two years, and I didn’t know this about you?”
Maeve’s lips pull up on one side. “I have my secrets. Keeps me more interesting.”
Lyra pouts, then caps her inkwell. “I give up. Maeve’s drawing wins.”
“I concur,” Alina says. Then she flashes a look at me. “What do you think, Pops?”
I glance at Maeve’s sketch again, and I have to agree—it’s the best of all four, and it hits exactly the tone Professor Silvermoon and I are going for: romantic, magical, and a bit mysterious.
My lips pull up in a smile, but I’m not sure it reaches my eyes. “It’s perfect. Let’s go with that. We just need to design the lettering now, and then I can take it to the printer.”
Maeve studies me in that intense way she does, her head tipping slightly to one side as Isis curls up her arm to twine around her neck. “Are you okay? You don’t seem like yourself tonight.”
The reminder has my mind flashing back to Aric missing our study session, to the way I sat alone in the library, wondering if he was going to arrive.
Then to how he looked today, quiet and a bit withdrawn, with those bags beneath his eyes.
I’m worried about how hard he’s pushing himself, and beneath that, I’m worried about us.
But I really don’t want to talk about it.
So instead, I say, “It’s the ball. It’s only a few weeks away now, and there’s still so much to do.
Starting with these.” I reach for Maeve’s parchment and pull it into my lap, admiring the strokes of ink and how beautifully Maeve brought the scene to life.
“Thank you for helping me. This takes a huge weight off my shoulders.”
“Of course,” Maeve says, but she’s still got me pinned with her stormy eyes, and I get the feeling she knows I’m lying. But she doesn’t push, and I’m grateful for that.
“Well, we have this weekend to look forward to,” Lyra says.
I blink. Why can’t I remember what’s happening this weekend?
At my blank look, Lyra says, “Dress shopping, Pops! Come on! We’ve only been talking about it for weeks.”
Oh, dress shopping. I’m not sure how I forgot that.
Right before Aric and I left the café last weekend, Mama slipped a little coin purse into my hand, telling me to buy myself something nice for the ball. She does so much for me. I’m really going to have to work hard at the café this holiday to pay her back for everything.
“Do you still want to go?” Alina asks. Yuki has climbed into her lap and is curled into a fluffy white ball, and Alina strokes his fur while regarding me. “We don’t have to if you have too much going on.”
“No,” I say quickly, giving a shake of my head. “I want to go. Really. We can drop this design at the printing shop while we’re in Wysteria. It’ll be perfect.”
All three of my roommates exchange quick looks with one another, speaking in that silent language that only groups of women can. But I pretend not to see, instead looking back down at Maeve’s sketch in my lap.
And that’s when I notice a tiny detail I didn’t before: a couple dancing in the periphery, not the focus of the scene, but clear enough that they draw attention anyway.
The man is large, towering over his smaller dance partner.
A slash of ink looks like a tusk jutting up from his lower lip, and the smaller figure has her head turned just enough that I can see what look to be glasses perched on her nose.
My eyes flash up to Maeve, but as soon as I meet her gaze, she smiles and looks away, saying nothing.
In my chest, my heart feels full. But I still can’t shake the feeling that something dreadful is going to happen, that this scene Maeve sketched will never actually come true. And it takes all my effort to bury that thought deep and smile when Lyra asks if I want to go to the bathhouse with her.
Because despite how proficient I am at it, no amount of worrying is going to help me.