I knock gently on the closed door. If she’s in there, she doesn’t respond, so it would seem Alexis’s suspicions were correct. I could peek inside, but with my head still swimming from the ale, it’s probably not the best time to try to resolve anything. Besides, any conversation with her would likely dampen my excitement about Caeo.
Instead, I move my things into the room closest to the bathing chamber, then take advantage of ending my night early by taking along, relaxing bath.
The deep tub can only be filled by incantation—it has three sets of focals and incantations carved into its side: one for filling the tub, one for warming the water, and the final for emptying it. I don’t need them, since I’ve used incantations for such mundane tasks on a daily basis for years, but a pang of pity tugs at my chest for my fellow first-years who’ll likely struggle.
Soaking in the water, I let my fingers wander to my more sensitive areas as my thoughts swirl around Caeo. To have a certain face in mind, imagining where his warm, steady fingers could travel… the sensation hits an embarrassingly new level. My release uncoils all the tension I had left, then I close my eyes, relaxing into a mellow bliss.
Once I’m out and dry, I climb into bed and curl up on a mattress that’s nowhere near as comfortable as what I’m used to, but the heat flushing through me as I recall the feeling of Caeo’s arms around me keeps me cozy until I drift off to sleep.
* * *
I wake to sunlight warming my face, having left the curtains open for that exact purpose—Professor Mallory expects me in her office at first morning bell—but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. I’m besieged by gray, and a dull headache reminds me of last night’s drinks. Thank Fortune for Alexis’s wisdom in sending me back. Not only for sparing me an even worse hangover, but also for…
Caeo.
My back arches against the mattress as I savor the memory of our walk together. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d spend my first night away from home on a romantic stroll with a boy I’d only just met. I still can’t believe how close we got—it must have been the ale. Things certainly wouldn’t have gone so far if I had any experience drinking.
He said he’d find me today, and that motivates me more than anything to pull myself out of bed and find which uniform configuration I look best in. I’m halfway dressed when Alexis bangs on my door, asking if I can heat the tub. After rushing to get the water to a temperature she’s comfortable with—very hot—I hastily finish up. There’s no time to straighten the kinks in my hair, so I twist it into a bun, slipping some locks out in the front to hopefully frame my face nicely.
I arrive at the main building’s entrance with about ten minutes to spare, then struggle to heave one of its heavy wooden doors open. I’ve pulled it wide enough that I can move into position to push it when its weight suddenly lets up.
Reid’s bracing it with his hand. “Allow me.”
I exhale a thanks, and it closes with a thud behind us. He looks as put together as he did yesterday, but the darkness under his eyes reveals he didn’t sleep much.
My stomach rumbles as we pass the dining hall, the scent of bacon and pancakes tugging at us the whole way to Mallory’s office, every step like walking through a world painted solely in gray. She hands us our schedules, informing us that Professor Beckwith expects us to show up early, so we rush through breakfast before hurrying across campus. This afternoon’s history lecture is my best chance to run into Caeo, so I simply have to get through the morning’s lessons in one piece.
We arrive, huffing and puffing, at the Farshaw School of Fire, a building barely distinguishable from the dormitories outside of its name being plastered on the side in thick, angular letters. Scrambling through its pale halls, we find Professor Beckwith’s classroom with a quarter bell to spare.
He looks about ten years our senior, his red hair trimmed short, and is rummaging through papers on his desk on the far side of the room. About twenty pale wooden desks with chairs fill the space between us, and shelves full of off-white candles and various other flammable objects line the walls. At least a couple have color.
“You must be the advanced students,” he says, barely sparing us a glance. He finishes writing something on a sheet of paper, then grabs it and walks toward us. “Follow me.”
He leads us to a small classroom whose desks have all been shoved against the walls, creating an open space in the center of the washed-out room. A row of austere windows, their frames weathered and gray, let in the morning light.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to develop a lesson plan for today, as I already have a full class to deal with. You will therefore spend the morning doing conditional drills.” He hands me the sheet of paper, then moves to a shelf on the left side of the room.
Reid peers over my shoulder as we read the messy scrawl.
20 push-ups, light on down, extinguish on up.
20 sit-ups, light on up, extinguish on down.
30 squats, light on down, extinguish on up.
