Wilder only grinned as he removed a small flame from beneath a suspended flat-bottomed vial full of a murky brown liquid.
“And regarding practical application…well, I’ve managed none of that so far. There are only four weeks left until the first trial, and I haven’t managed to produce a single elixir.” I yawned into my own closed fist. “I don’t suppose you’ve started any tea? The stronger the better?”
“Um…no.” Wilder left the vial to cool while he began counting out weights onto one half of the scale he’d just set up. “But you’re welcome to boil some water over that flame, if you’ve brought some tea leaves. If not, Yoslyn keeps a pouch of loose leaves in the cabinet under her table, and she won’t notice if you pinch a few.”
“What makes you think she wouldn’t notice?”
He shrugged. “She’s never noticed when I borrowed a pinch of her powdered cinnabar.” He set the vial on the scale, having accounted for the weight of the vessel first by placing an identical empty vial on the other side; then he took note on a sheet of parchment of how far the scale dipped. “Life would be very difficult for me around here if our classmates actually kept track of their supplies.…”
After another moment he set his quill down and met my gaze. “Okay! I guess we should get your lab station set up.”
“Yes. And in that vein, I have two questions. First, which of these is mine, and second, why do you appear to have three?”
“This one is mine.” He laid one hand on the center of the three occupied tables. “That one is yours,” he added with a gesture to the table on his left. “I’ve been borrowing it at night, considering that it’s thus far been unoccupied.”
“I see. And that one?” I said with a glance at the far table, where two different solutions sat cooling over extinguished open-flame burners.
“Lennox’s station.”
“And should I assume he’s ignorant of this arrangement?”
“I think we should both assume that Lennox’s ignorance knows no limits. Thus the congealed tincture.”
“Even if that’s accurate”—though in truth, he seemed like a perfectly competent alchemy student, based on my limited interactions with him in class—“isn’t it against the rules to borrow other students’ space and supplies without permission?”
Wilder gave me an odd look, coupled with a strangely soft, quiet smile. “What use have I for rules, when it is results that matter?”
“That sounds like a quotation. Are you referencing a textbook?”
“Awalkingtextbook, of sorts.” His smile seemed to…sadden. “I am quoting the great Amber Katherine Fallbrook, alchemy student extraordinaire.”
“Isaid that?”
Wilder nodded. “As often as you said ‘Good morning, Wilder. You’re lookingparticularlyvirile and attractive today.’ Which, in case it wasn’t clear, was quite often.”
I laughed. But the sound faded when I glanced across all three occupied tables. “What time do the other students usually arrive?”
“Not until after morning tea, which is served an hour later on the weekend.” He glanced through the window, clearly judging the quality of the light. “We have around three hours, by my best guess. And that’s perfect, because I havejustfinished with your station and am now free to show you how to clean the equipment and set everything up fresh.”
“You say that as if it’s part of the favor you’re doing me, yet I feel as if I’ve been manipulated into doing your chores for you, as when we were children.”
“I never manipulated you!” he declared as he began corking the open vials suspended on iron frames on my workstation. “Grab the colophony, will you? Third vial from the right, on the storage shelf.”
Colophony, I thought, taking advantage of the opportunity to quiz myself on recently relearned vocabulary.Tree resin often used for airtight sealing of glass vessels.
“You never…” I scoffed as I proffered the requested vial.
“I’m afraid the facts are on my side,” Wilder insisted with a cheeky grin. “Your memory is demonstrably faulty, andmyrecollection of the situation is that youwantedto help me with my menial obligations so I could accompany you to the pond for swimming.”
An image flashed in my mind of Wilder, standing in the local pond, naked from the waist up and glistening. We’d been sixteen or so, and water—
—runs down Desmond’s scowling face in a dozen rivulets, dripping from the thick length of his lashes. Dangling from his nose and the hard line of his clenched jaw.
I laugh, going up on my toes. My tongue darts out to catch the drop threatening to fall from his chin, and before I can lower myself again, his hands catch around my waist, holding me in place while his mouth crashes down over mine.
Desmond tastes like tea, and iced sweetbread, and like the cold, fresh rain pouring over us in the dark, drenching my hair and sweetening our kiss, making me shiver against the warmth of his body pressing the length of mine.…
I finally pull away, breathing hard, my hands clutching around damp handfuls of his cloak. Heat blossoms low in my belly, an aching hunger that food could never satisfy. But when I look up, his copper- brown eyes have brightened into a sparkling cerulean.…
