Page 241 of Zenith Hall


Font Size:

The covered basin sat dark in the corner, weighted cloth still in place. My coat lay over the back of a chair. Caspian’s note was on the desk where I had left it.

Caspian stood at the window in yesterday’s rumpled shirt, open at the throat, blond waves loose from sleep, bare wrists crossed in front of him as if he had been holding them there for a while.

The sight of him did something to my chest.

He turned before I spoke.

“Astra.”

My name sounded different after last night. Less like a thing he was being careful with. More like a thing he had learned the weight of.

“If they corner you before the formal,” he said, “send for me.”

“And if they intercept it?”

“They will, but I will come anyway.”

I should have made a joke. Something sharp enough to put the space back between us.

Instead I said, “All right.”

I found my underthings at the foot of the bed and pulled them on beneath the sheet with what dignity I could manage. Caspian looked at the covered basin as if giving me privacy from a bowl of water required the full force of Ashford discipline.

My hands were clumsy on the buttons. His were worse when he handed me my coat.

He didn’t ask me to stay.

I appreciated him for understanding that he couldn’t.

At the door, he stopped.

“Last night was yours,” he said.

The latch was cold under my palm. I had been about to open it. For one breath, I forgot how.

“I know.”

“So is today.”

I looked back at him.

He stood three paces away, obeying the space between us only because I had not told him otherwise.

“You are getting alarmingly good at this,” I said.

His eyes warmed by a fraction, which from Caspian Ashford was practically reckless.

“I’m trying.”

Then I left before the room could make either of us braver than was wise.

The corridor outside his rooms was gray with early light. My hair was half-loose. My coat was unbuttoned.

By the time I reached Room 114, the first-year corridor had begun to stir.

The room was exactly as I had left it and completely changed.

The dress box stood at the foot of the bed, my mother’s name written on the tag.