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 Then to how he looked today, quiet and a bit withdrawn, with those bags beneathhis eyes. I’m worried about how hard he’s pushing himself, and beneath that, I’m worried aboutus. 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 forweeks.”
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.
Chapter 42
Aric
THE ARCANE SPHERE HURTLES TOWARD me, bathed in flames. My legs push me hard, tearing up the runeball field as I sprint to get into position to catch it. One hand raised, I call on my water magic, intending to douse the flames before the sphere can land in my arms.
But my magic doesn’t respond.
I try again, but still nothing.
The sphere strikes me in the chest, singing my tunic and one loose strand of hair that escaped from my topknot, then falls to the ground. Fortunately, the field is enchanted not to catch fire—exactly for this reason.
Mona, who was sprinting ahead of me, waiting for me to pass to her, doubles back while I hurriedly pat the lingering flames from my tunic and check to make sure I didn’t get burned.
“You okay?” she asks. Waving a hand, she summons a light mist, which sprinkles the flaming sphere until the firesplutters and goes out. Then her eyes meet mine, dark and narrowed with concern.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“What happened?” Coach Grayward calls, striding over to us from the sidelines. “What was that, Vandermere?”
“Sorry, Coach.” I glance down at my hands; my magic has never failed me like this before, and definitely not in the middle of runeball practice. My stomach twists uncomfortably.
What if it happens during the game?
“No apologies,” Coach says, planting his hands on his hips and frowning down at me. “Just do it right next time.” He casts a glance over my shoulder, then sighs. “I’d like to run that one again, but practice time is up.”
