“Oh? Is there an objective standard?”
“Not really.” He grinned down at me as we reached the mid-level landing. “The length of a flourish varies by individual, and they’re all unique. Though some are more noteworthy than others.”
I blinked up at him as innocently as I could manage. “Would it be too bold of me to inquire about the span ofyourflourish?”
Wilder’s brows arched. Then he gave a mock frown. “I blame that question on your recent memory loss.” He leaned close to whisper into my ear. “Before today, you were as familiar with the impressive span of my flourish as I am with the devastatingly tight coil of your swirl.”
My face flamed, but I had only myself to blame for the trajectory that led to this double entendre.
Wilder laughed again at my expression, his head thrown back, blue eyes glittering in the light of a wall-mounted torch. “You’re a much saucier conversationalist today than you were yesterday.”
“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for that.”
We passed a couple dozen students in the second-floor hallway, clustered in groups of two and three, outside of various classrooms.
“Wilder!” A girl with a blue ribbon braided through her pale hair fell into step on his other side, ignoring me entirely. “Are you free tonight? I was hoping to discuss something with you.” Her gaze slid my way. “Privately.”
A bolt of jealousy bristled the tiny hairs at the back of my neck, but Wilder didn’t miss a step. “I’ll make time. Find me in the Mastery student lab, after the evening meal,” he practically whispered.
She squeezed his arm, then pivoted and returned to her friends.
“What was—”
Before I could finish my question, or decide how possessive I should be of his time and attention, a boy broke from his friend group as we passed and began walking backward in front of us, evidently unconcerned about colliding with a classmate.
“Amber, you’re looking well,” he said.
“Thank you. I—”
He turned to Wilder, dismissing me entirely. “How was your summer? Were you able to perfect that decoction we discussed in the spring?”
“I had limited resources at home, but I did make some progress,” Wilder said, his voice lowered into that same near whisper. “Give me a week to take advantage of the lab space here and I’ll have something for you.”
“Good man!” the boy declared with a wide smile. Then he clapped Wilder on the shoulder and disappeared down the hall behind us.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“Later,” Wilder murmured, coming to a stop in front of an open set of tall doors at the east end of the hall. “This is us.”
From the room beyond, several voices were engaged in vibrant discussions, and to my utter frustration, I did not recognize a single one.
“Deep breath,” Wilder whispered when I could only stare into the room full of strangers. Then he tucked his arm into mine again and subtly tugged me over the threshold into a central aisle between two rows of double-occupancy desks.
“Wilder!” A boy with squarish spectacles perched on the narrow bridge of his nose stood from a chair to my right, then wedged himself into the aisle, directly in our path. “Where were you two this morning? Keryth said she heard voices from Amber’s room, then she saw you come out of the Conservatory after class. None of my business, of course, but it sounds like you both hadquitea summer.” But his eyes seemed less delighted with that prospect than his smile would otherwise indicate.
Had I? Had Wilder and I spent the summer in Innswood, with our families? Was that when we’d crossed the line from friendship into…my bed?
Was everyone else as surprised by that as Desmond had clearly been?
“You’re right, Petyr,” Wilder said. “Thatisnone of your business.” But then he winked, and the result was that rather than brushing off the question, he seemed to be hinting that he and I shared some scandalous secret he could notpossiblydivulge.
My face flamed, and Petyr’s brows rose as Wilder led me past him, headed toward an unoccupied table halfway up on the right side.
“Petyr Lorena,” he whispered. But then he offered no more intelligence on our inquisitive, bespectacled classmate, because as we took our seats, the curly-headed girl in front of Wilder turned to face us, one arm draped over the back of her chair, her stiff blue cuffs standing out against her white sleeve at a distinctive, pointed angle.
“Wilder,” she said, then her green eyes focused on me. “Amber.”
“Yoslyn Savva!” he greeted her, and I got the distinct impression that he’d said her full name for my benefit. “How was your summer?”
