What dinner?
I looked at Lo, confused, and then it hit me.
The magisters’ dinner.
Gods. I’d completely forgotten. I was hopeless at remembering such things, which, of course, also reminded me of the upcoming Academy Ball.
So much for an evening spent staring at the ceiling.
“Ah. That dinner. Right,” I said. “Will do.”
Lo snorted softly as we turned back toward the castle. I had some gathering of wits to do if I wanted to survive tonight.
“You forgotthe magister’s dinner, didn’t you?” Lo said, smirking like a cat that had found the cream.
“It’s written all over my face, isn’t it?”
“Written, signed, and sealed,” he replied, following me down the corridor.
We reached my chambers on the second floor, where each magister kept their private quarters. Mine was modest by court standards, yet large enough to make the cottage I’d grown up in feel like a broom closet. A carved oak door opened onto a small solar with a hearth, a low table, and a cushioned sofa draped in wool. An oak writing desk stood by the arched window, strewn with parchment, half-dried ink, and quills that had seen better days. By most measures, I was a tidy person, but my desk was a battlefield. Shelves climbed the walls, crowded with my old academy books arranged either by subject or by colour, depending on my mood that day.
Beyond the solar, my bedchamber lay half-hidden behind a curtain. The bed was layered in furs against the castle’s chill, with a carved chest at its foot and a mirror standing by the bathing nook. The windows stayed shut, as the Befest wind was sharp enough to freeze my bones.
I still hadn’t grown used to it. My home was Sud, where the sun blessed every season. A city of warm stone and open sky, where columns rose like spears of light and the streets thrummed with life from dawn until the stars reclaimed the heavens. Sud breathed history with every step, fountains older than dynasties, markets with a thousand colors, arches that had watched empires rise and fall. Sometimes I felt as though I had traded a world of sunlit marble for one of rain.
Lo threw his tabard onto the sofa and dropped onto it with theatrical exhaustion. I’d asked him to come mostly because I didn’t want to face the rest of the afternoon—or my nerves—alone. With a lazy flick of his hand, the hearth burst to life, flames dancing across the logs. He undid the ribbon binding his hair, shaking it loose until it shimmered like black silk in the firelight.
Lo was handsome. His elven heritage softened his traits, contributing to his natural charm. High cheekbones, faintly pointed ears, hazel eyes too golden for any human shade. He knew it too, and he wielded that beauty like a blade.
“I know it’s your first magisters’ dinner,” he said, reachingtelekinetically for a pouch from the shelf above the hearth, “but don’t fret. They’re tame once the wine starts flowing.” He popped a walnut into his mouth. “Lots of food and Lutessian red all night. And then everyone wonders why the gutters are starving.”
I arched a brow. “So I’m meant to drink myself into serenity?”
“That’s the trick,” he said, grinning with a mouthful of walnut.
I didn’t usually drink much. Alcohol, like Kael, was a disaster waiting to happen. But I did like Lutessian red wine. I made a mental note to pace myself.
I turned to my desk, gathering the piles of parchment into some semblance of order. Most were half-written reports for Bram, drafts I’d soon consign to the fire. Kael would be there tonight, and the thought of facing him twisted my stomach. And Lo wouldn’t even be there to keep me from dying of nerves. I was suddenly furious that scribes weren’t invited to these stupid dinners.
When I looked up, he was studying me. “What else did you sense in the mountain?” he asked, his tone softer now.
I sighed. I had to disappoint him. Aside from a few fleeting images, I hadn’t seen much else. Echoes were not accustomed to explaining themselves. “Only that something dark stirs there. I saw the goat’s death but nothing more. Nothing substantial.” I stacked the last sheet and straightened. “I’ll return to the village tomorrow. But first, dinner.”
He chuckled. “Try not to wear that face at the table, or they’ll think you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Oh, come on.” I caught my reflection in the mirror across the bedchamber and grimaced. “I don’t look that dreadful.”
Lo stood with a dramatic sigh, crossing the room as if called by destiny itself. “You look fine, darling. You just need the right smile.”
He demonstrated, lips curling into one of those devastating grins he usually reserved for tavern patrons. “Like this. Warm, mysterious, capable of making evenThalen the Battlemageforget how to scowl.”
I laughed despite myself. “That smile could win kingdoms.”
“For the next hour,” he said grandly, “I shall make a Lady of the Court out of you.”
And so we practiced smiles, some meant to charm, some to disarm, some to conquer, and some to survive an evening of magisters.
And for the first time since seeing Kael that day, I truly relaxed and enjoyed the moment.
