Chapter Fifteen
Isla’s eyes blinked up at him as he cradled her head in his lap. Andrew moved some of the hair away from her face as she came around, hoping to make her more comfortable.
The energy she had expelled while attempting to wield throughout the evening, combined with the surge she had just unleashed, had left her collapsed.
It wasn’t uncommon for Aetherians to tire, especially early on when they were still unaccustomed to the strain; the body had its physical limitations.
Channeling Aether by drawing upon bioenergetic reserves required stamina and neural focus.
Overuse could lead to exhaustion, migraines, fainting, or even temporary burnout, a brief loss of their abilities.
The body acted more as a conduit than a battery, and no amount of willpower could escape the strain it placed on the user.
Juliette had walked with George to the medical wing.
He was going to need to see an Aetherian doctor or get stitches, as Terras couldn’t heal themselves.
Before leaving, George had checked on Isla—reluctant to go in case his healing might be needed for her.
Once he was reassured she would be all right, he’d finally gone.
Andrew thought about his kind friend for a moment.
He had never heard George mention being in love before; perhaps they could commiserate over their lack of success wooing their fair ladies later.
The rhythmic scrape of a broom filled the quiet as Edmund swept away the shards of pottery. Isla stirred, her brow furrowing as she tried to sit up. Andrew slipped a hand behind her shoulders, steadying her.
“Oh my,” she breathed, looking around, her eyes wide as the destruction came into focus. “I can’t believe I did this.”
Her voice was quiet, shaken. He wanted to pull her toward him to reassure her but found himself smiling and trying to joke amidst the chaos so she wouldn’t see how much he wanted to keep her close.
“Well,” he said, “you certainly made an impression. Not everyone can claim their first class ended with a bang.”
She turned and scowled at him, putting some distance between them. Maybe not the best approach. Hindsight really was a smug little beast.
“It’s okay, Isla, truly. We all have mishap stories.”
“It’s true,” Edmund agreed as he worked close by, a smile tugging at his mouth. “I once tried to summon a gentle breeze during a garden luncheon—accidentally sent my uncle’s toupee sailing into the trifle.”
Andrew chuckled. “Would you look at that,” he murmured to Isla. “Didn’t think the man capable of a joke.”
“Hey,” Edmund said, his tone perfectly serious. “I can be funny.”
He said it with such a straight face that it had Isla laughing softly.
Andrew called that a win. He caught Edmund’s eye, and the faintest glimmer of amusement there told him it had been the man’s intention all along.
Standing, Andrew brushed the dust and bits of clay from his trousers and jumper. He offered Isla his hand, holding his breath; for a moment, he worried she might refuse—but then her fingers slipped into his, soft and warm, and his heart gave a lurch.
As he helped her to her feet, she swayed slightly, still pale from the strain. He caught her instinctively, a steady hand at her elbow keeping her upright.
“Steady on,” he said quietly. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat. You’ll feel better after that.”
He looked over at Edmund, who was sweeping the last of the shattered clay into a neat pile.
“I’ll stay and finish up,” Edmund said. “You get Isla home and make sure she’s all right.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem. I’ll lock up when I’m done. Feel better, Isla.”
Isla smiled her thanks as Andrew fetched their coats from the pegs.
She let him help her into hers; she must really be struggling.
She looked tired—drained in that way only Aetherians could after exerting themselves—and he couldn’t help but worry.
Once outside, they walked slowly through the quiet courtyard, lamplight flickering over the stonework, the crisp air catching at the loose strands of her hair.
Isla walked a little unsteadily beside him, her exhaustion plain, though she tried to hide it.
When she stumbled slightly on the uneven path, he offered his hand for the second time that evening.
He was pushing his luck—but after a brief hesitation, her fingers slipped into his.
The contact was light, tentative, yet it settled him probably more than her.
“Where are we going?” Isla asked in a tired voice.
“We’re going to see a woman who specializes in restorative treatment for Aetheric strain. I’ve made ample use of her expertise myself.”
“Is she a doctor?”
“Not by title, no—though I daresay her prescriptions are far more pleasant than most physicians, and her results are beyond dispute. Her cures have saved my life more than once.”
“She sounds very talented.”
He gave her hand a little squeeze. “You have no idea.”
The university’s lower kitchens were still busy, even at this late hour.
Warm light spilled from the open door, carrying the scent of sugar, butter, and freshly baked bread.
Inside, the space was alive with a gentle hum—the clatter of bowls, the low hiss of a simmering pot, and the comforting rhythm of ordinary work.
Mrs. Pember, the head cook, stood at the great oak table dusting a Victoria sponge cake with icing sugar, her sleeves rolled to the elbow and her graying hair pinned in a practical bun.
Her skeletal staff worked around her, preparing food for the morning breakfast. She looked up as they entered, her face brightening.
The enormous range behind her glowed faintly, keeping the room pleasantly warm.
“Andrew!” she said, her broad smile bright beneath flour-smudged cheeks. “And Professor Cole, isn’t it? You both look like you’ve been wrestling chimneys.”
Andrew gave a quiet laugh. “Close enough. We’ve had a bit of an eventful evening.”
She looked at him knowingly.
“Well, sit yourselves down,” she said, already cutting two generous slices of sponge cake. “Cake first, explanations later.”
Andrew chuckled as they settled at the long wooden table. Mrs. Pember fussed about them for a moment, then set down two generous slices of the cake she had only just finished.
Isla took a few eager bites, the color slowly returning to her cheeks—a faint, reassuring flush of pink. She looked better now, more herself.
“See?” Andrew said lightly. “Mrs. Pember’s cake is better than any prescription.”
Isla raised a brow, amusement flickering in her tired eyes as she put the pieces of their conversation together. “This is the miraculous treatment you spoke of? The one that’s saved your life on numerous occasions?”
He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “What can I say? Mrs. Pember’s remedies have seen me through many a crisis.”
The older woman gave a warm chuckle as she wiped her hands on her apron. “A good slice of cake and a hot drink can put most things to rights, I always say.”
Isla smiled at her before taking another large bite. “I’ll admit, she said around her mouthful, “it’s effective medicine—but Andrew made it sound as though I was about to undergo a medical examination.”
Andrew’s mouth quirked. “Ah, yes. I do have a flair for the dramatic. Occupational hazard of academia, I’m afraid.”
“Have you been teasing this beautiful young lady again, Andrew?” Mrs. Pember scolded affectionately, hands on her hips.
“It seems to be a habit of his to vex me,” Isla replied, though the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile.
Mrs. Pember laughed, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, I’ve heard quite a bit about you, dear. Our Andrew does like to chat over a slice of sponge—though he never quite said you were this lovely in person.”
Andrew felt a flush rise to his own cheeks.
Even after being married to Isla before, he felt rather embarrassed right now.
He cleared his throat, reaching rather unnecessarily for his teacup.
Maybe introducing Isla to Mrs. Pember hadn’t been wise; she would release all his secrets.
Hindsight really did love to gloat, and it was doing a fine job this evening.