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“Traitor,” I mutter, but I eat the pastry, because part of me knows he’s right.
Caramel hits first, then vanilla. My eyes lift to his in surprise. “You made these?”
“You like?” Damaris grins, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Obviously.”
“Good.” Dropping into the chair beside me, he glances around the hall. “Because I made a whole batch before we left. I had no idea what they’d feed us here, and I’m not trusting rich people with breakfast.”
Despite myself, I laugh. Damaris wouldn’t be Damaris if he hadn’t packed enough food for a small emergency. I still have no idea how he got half of it onto the shuttle.
He glances up at the Noctis, and when he looks back at me there’s something warmer in his face than teasing. “So? How is it?”
Looking down at the instrument in my hands, I honestly still feel a little overwhelmed by the feel of it against me. “Amazing.”
His grin softens. “Good. You’re going to do so well, by the way. They’re not going to know what walked into this academy.”
“You have to say that.” I shake my head. “You’re legally obligated.”
“Exactly.” Damaris reaches for his coffee with a smug grin, proving his own point before he opens his mouth to say something else, then stops.
“Mr. Ashford.”
Professor Halvern is already halfway down the aisle, silver hair combed flat, his dark academy uniform so perfectly pressed it barely looks worn. At registration yesterday, he informed me that Caervast does not usually offer Noctis scholarships, as though he still wasn’t entirely convinced it should have happened.
This year, apparently, they made an exception.
The professor seems to have the unsettling habit of looking at people like he already knows something they haven’t told him yet. I’m not sure whether that makes him a good teacher or a dangerous one.
“There you are. We’re about to begin.” His gaze moves from the Noctis to me, cool and assessing. “I do wish the invitation had reached you sooner. Messages to Düren are not always especially reliable.”
He says Düren the way you’d name something that arrived damaged.
“I trust the instrument isn’t giving you any trouble?” He glances at the Noctis again. “Some students find the ceremonial models rather more demanding than the instruments they’re used to. If you’d prefer additional time before the hall fills—”
Damaris doesn’t stand. He just leans back in the chair and cuts in before I can answer. “He doesn’t need additional time.”
Halvern turns his head toward my friend. Then his eyes drop to the seat he’s occupying. “Those seats,” he says, each word clipped clean, “are reserved for honored guests.”
Damaris crosses one leg over the other and settles in more comfortably. “I am an honored guest. To the performer.”
For a beat, nobody says anything. Then Halvern gives him a thin smile and keeps walking.
Damaris waits until the professor is far enough away, then turns back to me, eyes bright. “Well, he seems horrible.”
Despite myself, I huff out a laugh.
“You can still leave with me,” he adds. “I’ll tell everyone the academy misplaced you.”
“You’d enjoy that far too much.”
“Obviously.” He tilts his head. “I’ve already planned the escape route.”
I snort. “Get out of the reserved section.”
“Absolutely not.” He settles back, pleased with himself. “Go play. I’ll be right here.”
I shake my head and turn back to the Noctis, but it’s easier to breathe than it was a minute ago.
