“I see you like books,” she tries.
He glances at the bookshelf, and just like that, Veda briefly loses his attention until hazel eyes slide back to her.
She clears her throat. “Do you want to pick out a book?”
He shakes his head.
Veda sits on the floor and watches him. No wrinkles are present on his clothes, his black knitted bow tie is perfectly straight, and his hair is as severely parted as it was when they first met. He’s careful, first with his blazer, hanging on the chair, then with Peter’s books, as if he understands actions have consequences. Curiosity grabs Veda and doesn’t let go. What would he sound like laughing? Telling a story? Would he be animated? Does he get distracted and jump from subject to subject until he can’t remember how the story began?
Why do I care?It’s a question for which Veda has no answer.
Antaris catches her staring.
“Your grandmother wants me to tutor you. What do you think about that?”
His expression grows even more puzzled.
“You can shake your head no.”
He doesn’t.
“You can nod your head yes.”
He doesn’t do that, either.
“If you had five minutes to do anything, what would you do?”
Antaris looks as though he’s never considered it.
She holds up her hand. “I mean it—anything.”
It’s a question Veda has asked before.Mud pieswas August’s answer, but Antaris is a much different child. He proves this by walking out of the room. Veda scrambles to follow, locking Peter’s office before chasing the boy down the corridor. She finds him waiting by the academy’s door to the grounds. Of all the things he could ask for ... “You want to go outside?”
This earns Veda a hesitant nod.
“Okay.” When she opens the door, Antaris pauses, casting a tentative gaze up at Veda for confirmation, which she gives by saying gently, “Five minutes starts now.”
Antaris steps onto the deck with a panoramic view of the grounds. The sun shines above the trees; mountains frame clear blue skies. They can hear clucking chickens and the distant mooing of cows grazing in the pastures. It’s beautiful, peaceful, but Veda isn’t the only restless soul. Antaris closes his eyes, breath hitching. Hazel eyes fly open as he quickly scrubs at them, then tries to exhale slowly, mouth pursed—but it doesn’t calm him.
Dread settles into Veda’s bones as she bears witness to his struggles. Drowning doesn’t always look like drowning. The ones in the most trouble don’t kick, splash, or cry for help. Every shred of energy is used to stay afloat. Antaris has been treading water for Cosmos knows how long, and he’s exhausted. She tosses the only lifeline she has. “Your grandmother wants me to tutor you in hopes that you’ll talk, but I told her no.”
There’s no wonder in his eyes, only scrutiny.
“I’m ... I ...” Flustered, Veda fumbles over words. “I won’t say no ifyouask.”
Antaris’s breath catches.
“You don’t have to speak. I won’t push you. We can sit outside every day, rain or shine. We can color or read books, work through your workbook, or do nothing at all. It’ll be your time. Sometimes, we all need a place in the day that’s just ours. I’d like to give you that.”
Antaris worries at his bottom lip, gaze drifting toward the trees and beyond. When he turns to her once more, Veda knows this is her last shot. She holds up a finger. “How about this? Touch my finger once for no, twice for yes.”
The oar is cast, and Veda has done what she can. Antaris must do the rest, but she wonders if he’s too deep in silence to grab the lifeline. Her own problems are louder than this silent child, yet empathy compels her to keep reaching into the harsh seas of his misery, hoping to pull him to safety.
“It’s your choice,” she says, finger still raised.
Hope takes many forms and wears many faces. Today, it’s a boy timidly pressing a finger against hers. Once, then twice.
Unseasonably warm weather draws a large crowd to Proventia’s outdoor farmers’ market the first weekend of April. The atmosphere is surprisingly friendly and festive with Mages and Seers intermingling. They wander between vendors trying to outshine one another with an array of crafts, produce, meats, and art. A local cover band plays popular songs from two decades ago. Enforcers patrol while people sit on blankets, eating and talking, their dogs relaxing, playing, or nosing around the grass for dropped treats. An undercurrent of tension remains, a heightened awareness that Veda likens to the feel of magic. Often, it roars. Today it’s a dull thrum.
