Page 149

For someone who claimed to care so little about politics, Professor Halvern always seems to be standing remarkably close to the center of things. Even now, I can’t decide whether that makes him dangerous or simply honest enough not to pretend otherwise.

Damaris bends to gather his things. Shutting down the machine, he hooks his bag over one shoulder and tucks the invention beneath his arm. “Light, that man gets stranger every time I hear about him. What’s he actually like in class?”

“You mean besides cryptic and impossible?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Honestly? About the same.”

“Terrifying.”

“That makes two of us. Unfortunately, he’s still my professor.”

Damaris huffs out a laugh and starts down the path. “Yeah, well, come on. That’s enough learning for one day. I stopped by the market earlier.”

I push off the bench and fall into step beside him. “Oh, did you now?”

“Thought you’d probably be starving after disappearing for days.” He glances sideways at me. “Unless the Virels were feeding you better than the rest of us.”

I roll my eyes at that.

His grin only widens. “What? Fresh ingredients were on sale. Figured I’d take advantage while my mysterious fortune lasts.”

“Your mysterious fortune.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You know that’s not suspicious at all.”

“Thank you. I work very hard at seeming trustworthy.” Damaris grins when he catches me laughing. “And just because I’m such a wonderful friend, I’m making you a traditional Sero dinner.”

Once we’re back at the dorm, Damaris takes over the tiny kitchen corner, humming under his breath while stirring something steaming on the stove. A smell I can’t quite identify settles over the room.

“What exactly did you put in that?”

“Rell root, smoked korin, and enough fireleaf to put hair on your chest.”

I glance over my shoulder from where I’m clearing a stack of music sheets off my desk. “I don’t think that’s reassuring.”

“That’s because you have no appreciation for culture.”

I shake my head and return to sorting the mess I abandoned before disappearing into the city.

A few minutes later, Damaris appears beside me carrying a steaming bowl and looking far too proud of himself.

“This,” he announces, “is kallan stew. Apparently every Sero grandmother in existence makes it whenever someone is sick, sad, cold, hungry, or mildly inconvenienced.”

I take the bowl from him and peer down into the dark broth. Garlic, smoke, and unfamiliar spices curl up from the surface. I absently undo another button on Ciaran’s shirt and wonder if this is the sort of thing he’d eat. “Is it supposed to smell this intense?”

Damaris ignores the question, turning his spoon slowly through the broth. “Hey. You know what I said earlier? I meant it. You’ve got a lot going on right now, boo. With Sola, with whatever’s happening around you, whatever sent you running into the city by yourself. You don’t have to carry all of that alone.”

I stare down into my soup. “I know.”

A knock sounds at the door, but neither of us looks up.

“Good.” Reaching for his spoon again, Damaris studies me. “What the hell were you doing in Tolian?”

My stomach sinks. I should’ve known the bastard would bring us right back here.