I’ve never attended any of these banquets as a first year because honestly, getting to know my professors was the least of my concerns, but this isn’t a wholly unfamiliar concept at the academy. It’s a unique way for professors and students to bond, especially since we usually take our meals separately and only see each other in the classrooms.
There only being four seats is a bit concerning though, usually when a professor holds one of these his whole class is invited.
But the invites for this one seem to have been very selective.
And somehow, I made it to the list.
I swallow, glancing to Wilder for support before I remember that he is probably the last person I should look to for that. Still, he notices my glance and gives me a small smile. His hand reaches out, snagging mine, and he gives it a small squeeze.
I stare down at our interlocked hands unsure if I’m more shocked by the gesture or the fact that he hasn’t released my hand yet.
I’m startled out of this line of wondering by the sound of a chair leg scraping against stone as it is pulled out.
“Please make yourselves at home,” Professor Morozov says, gesturing to the table. “Our final guest will be arriving shortly.”
Wilder raises his eyebrow; I can see the curiosity clearly written across his face. He has no idea who this fourth party is. He moves over to the table first pulling out a chair for me beforesliding into his own, not staying to push me in. He has his chin resting in his hand a worried and confused expression written across his face.
I slide into my chair and turn glancing at Wilder, but I don’t say anything until Morozov gets up to go over to a table across the room where he pours himself a glass of dark liquid that could be wine… or something a bit more sinister.
While he is preoccupied, I lean closer to Wilder. “What is it?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “It’s probably nothing, I just don’t know who Morozov would invite for dinner unless it was…” he trails off, his voice getting thick. He is so unnaturally pallid, even for a vampire and when I look down at his hand, I notice that he is gripping the arm of his chair so hard that his tendons are popping out of the back of his porcelain pale skin. Without thinking I reach out, resting my hand on it.
“Who do you fear it is?” I ask rubbing my fingers across the back of his hand, trying to massage some of the tension out.
“My father,” he says, stark fear flashing in his eyes at the word.
His father? The man is no student, why does he fear he will be visiting? He did not do so last year, but then Wilder wasn’t wrapped up in whatever scheme this is last year.
I want to press him further, but just then Professor Morozov returns. So, I say nothing and settle for just giving his hand a light squeeze to let him know that I understand. I’m in this danger with him.
If his father is here, then he will reveal that I’m not actually Wilder’s fiancé, and I very well may end up being supper after all. Now, that would be ironic. All my life I planned on becoming a vampire, but now am I to die at the hands of vampires because I put off becoming one for so long?
No, not while I have something to say about it. If I die then I doom my family, my father has always told us that his kindcannot survive a great heartbreak. While seemingly immortal Lower Elves are born with one great flaw, anything that they love, they cannot bear to live without. Not for all eternity.
And so, if they lose that love, they lose the will to go on.
They die from heartbreak, so to speak.
I will not be responsible for my father’s undoing; I will not be the reason his empire falls. Not because of Wilder’s father.
My other hand moves to my spellbook, I rest my fingers gently against it, right where the clasp is. I start mentally going through my memorized fire spells. Like most things that are semi dead, flames work the best in purging them from the world. Despite my interest in water magic, what are waves going to do? Wash them away?
That is why so many ignore water magic in favor of fire magic that is deadly and powerful and all too effective.
I will fight and kill anyone in this room who tries to touch me. I don’t know if Wilder will help me, but I have to hope he will. In the very least, he had better not stand in my way.
He glances over at me out of the corner of his eye, and I try to discern what he is thinking and if he feels any true loyalty to me. Loyalty enough to choose me over his own father?
Not likely.
I notice his eyes dart down to my hand tapping a nervous rhythm on the cover of my spellbook. He stares at it for a second before looking away. His neck bobs as he swallows hard.
Before I can quite discern what I should make of that, there is a creak as the door opens. I turn, holding my breath, half expecting to see Wilder’s father stride through the door, but instead I find myself starting into the familiar face of one of his two lackeys.
This is the thinner one, with the angular face as opposed to Asimov’s fuller square shaped head and physique.
Gregos.
