Caleb cleared his throat. “I’m going to give you two some privacy for your lesson today. I’ll be within earshot. Call if you need me.” He bowed.
The crunch of leaves marked the guard’s absence.
“I do have to admit…” Thom said, his gaze never leaving mine.
“Yes?”
“I’m surprised someone like you is settling down so early in life.”
“Because it’s not how you would do it, I suppose?”
“Because of all your potential.”
I fell silent for a moment, considering his words. “I thought I was a poor student,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re always criticizing me and raising the bar. I never get it right.”
“I’m challenging you, Lyra. I apologize if it comes out harsher than I mean it.”
“It does.” I lifted my chin. “But it’s made me more determined to best your expectations. So I cannot stay mad at you for that.”
Thom stepped closer to me, and I could feel every inch between us humming with an energy I’d only ever felt in the library. An energy foreign to even my afternoons with David. My confusion deepened.
“Shall we…” I trailed off, lost in his eyes. “Shall we start today’s lesson? Or debrief about the research I’ve done so far?”
He adjusted his glasses. “Yes, the research. I’d love to hear yourthoughts about what you’ve discovered.”
I sank into the clover, which tickled my limbs beneath my nightgown. Sitting side by side, our arms occasionally brushing in ways that hindered my focus, we dove into a discussion on the plague. There was a mystery there: the randomness of infections, the complete immunity certain members of the population seemed to have for no reason. The strange recognition that physicians who’d treated the sick sometimes caught the disease, but no healing mage had ever fallen ill.
“So it doesn’t target the nonmagical,” Thom said.
“The disease certainly prefers them,” I told him. “The nonmagical make up eighty percent of all cases.”
“And the mages who fall ill?”
“Most are working class. Perhaps the disease thrives amongst poverty?”
“But Evelina.” Thom’s brow furrowed. “And a number of other nobles still make up a significant number of cases, albeit a lower percentage.”
Blast it. I hadn’t considered the late Princess Evelina when forming my latest theory.
I twisted my lip in thought. “So I might still be missing something.”
“You’ll get it. I know you will.”
In turn, Thomas shared about his latest experiment, about how he wished he could work with famous potion-making families like the Blackwoods, but he trusted no one with his research. Not yet.
Inside, my body buzzed with excitement. I was the only person alive to be let in on this great secret. But I also knew that in Thom’s eyes, his confidence in me had more to do with my usefulness than his trust.
Then again, mistrust ran both ways. How could I ever trust the man who helped ruin Ella’s life? Who tried to kick me out of the palace grounds the day my Papa died, and held my fiancé in such disdain?
I thought back to his earlier comments. He was a toad, in many ways. A stubborn, warty, arrogant creature. But here in the night, some of those flaws were hidden in the darkness. When I looked at him, his eyes were focused on the pond’s ripples, the way the stars shone on the surface of the water. Watching his wiry spectacles glint with starlight, I remembered the vital lessons he’d taught me, his affection for his mere guard, his unexpected tenderness toward me.
And I doubted.
At one point during our discussion, he reached out as if to push a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His hand hesitated in the air, then dropped to his lap, as if he’d never attempted the maneuver at all.
My chest sparked and fizzled anyway.
I shoved a wave of disappointment down.
