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’tmany 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 notthatbad,” 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’sokay, 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’ssogood.
Maeve’s design depicts an open-air ballroom with silhouettes dancing across the floor while a big moon hangsover 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 candraw?” 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?”
