18

Valere reached the Panini halls and made his way to Ryska’s room. He lifted his hand toward the door, but before his knuckles could touch the wood, he stopped.

Ryska sat upon the edge of her bed, her head bowed as she struggled with the laces of her boots. Her fingers trembled so badly that the knot kept slipping apart beneath them. She tried again, slower this time, but the leather crossed beneath her shaking hands and fell loose once more.

Her throat moved as though she was holding the tears back, he pushed the door open quietly and before she could speak, Valere lowered himself to one knee before her. He took the loose laces gently from her trembling fingers and began working them himself, his hands moved steadily, crossing the leather, drawing the loops tight, and securing the first knot. Then he took the other boot and did the same, his fingers patient where hers had refused to obey.

When he finished, he looked up at her, lifted one hand and rested it against the side of her head. “You haven’t done it.”

The words broke whatever strength she had been holding together; tears slipped down Ryska’s cheeks and for one aching instant, she wanted to throw her arms around him. She wanted to lean into him and let the grief leave her body through the simple mercy of being held.

Valere wanted the same, but he couldn't bring himself to pull her into hug, and neither of them reached. They simply looked at one another while the distance between them held, Ryska wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand after a moment and murmured.

“Thank you.”

Valere rubbed a hand on back of her head, reached for the parcel he had carried and placed it upon the bed beside her.

“Aldene spiced waybread,” he said. “It keeps well and travels well, and it tastes better than anything the dining hall will put before you. Try a little and pass me your judgement later," he rose despite himself, seemed reluctant to leave, but then he turned and walked toward the door.

The three girls passed him as he stepped into the corridor, and they entered the room moments later, their gazes followed him briefly before settling upon the parcel on Ryska’s bed.

“Did he bring that?” Erynae asked.

Ryska looked at the parcel, even now, he had hidden his concern beneath those foolish remarks of his, wrapping kindness in jest as though sincerity were something he could never quite bring himself to show plainly. He had come because he knew she was hurting, yet instead of telling her that he had come to check on her, he had brought her food and complained about the dining hall.

Ryska nodded after a moment and Cyren immediately leaned closer. “Can I taste it?”

The question caught Ryska by surprise, and it made her feel something closer to comfort. “You can," she offered it.

"What is it?" Cyren smiled while opening it.

“Aldene spiced waybread," she said as she offered Erynae and Nehara a piece and soon opinions began to pass between them, followed by small smiles and a few reluctant laughs.

Ryska looked at them, the grief had not vanished, the whispers beyond their door had not vanished either but for a little while, the room felt less heavy and she found that, somehow, she was glad he had brought her something to share.

The walk from the rooms to gate took longer than usual, her hand kept finding each other, fingers laced and unlaced, as if searching for something to hold onto against a wind that seemed to press something unseen against her.

Then she saw him at the gate, her shoulder eased, her hands stilled and the breath she hadn't realized she was holding left her in one long exhale, it wasn’t quite an exhale, more like the tension had found a wall to lean on and finally let itself stop standing alone.

"Thought it would be wise to walk someone to university on their first day in my city," he flashed his smile.

"Wouldn't you be tired of walking two hundred and ninety-eight people to university?" She stopped briefly.

He smiled in amusement and fell in step her. "There are any techniques that are hidden from the world, and I am eligible to learn it?"

"I am not great at teaching I am afraid," she kept her eyes on road.

"So are you great at demonstrating," his eye caught on her hand where it hung at her side, close enough that a single step would close the distance.

His mind conjured it, his fingers slipping between hers, the shape of her hand fitting into his like it had always belonged there. He shoved his hand into his pocket instead, almost startled by himself, as though the only way to keep from actually reaching for her was to take the choice away from his own hand entirely.

"I would say so," she nodded.

“What are you doing this evening?” He asked.

"What do you wish me to do?" Ryska turned her head toward him.

Be with me, he thought and then he imagined her within his arms, her weight against him, and his mouth finding hers again and again until the world beyond them ceased to matter.

What the hell am I thinking? Valere blinked, clasped his hand on both his ears and shook his head. He then cleared his throat and fixed his hair. “Join me at the market?”

“Why?” She asked.

“Sunlight hurts me,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the bright sky. “I need curtains and I might as well find something to decorate the room while I am there. It is far too plain, and the empty walls are beginning to offend me.”

“All right," she nodded. "I shall join you if I am not doing anything more important.”

"Then we have a plan," Valere kept his expression composed despite the quiet satisfaction settling within him and they continued along the road, and before long, the great gates of Aethoria came into view ahead.

Students streamed through the entrance in a steady tide and the academy stood beyond them, its spires reached toward the sky as though they had been carved from the very horizon.

Valere looked toward the gates then toward Ryska and for reasons he could not quite explain, the walk suddenly felt far too short.

They stepped in and headed to Ashwing Hall with three hundred five and seventy students, to collect their official admission letters, uniform, and a few words from the Vidhya. Cordaelae’s speech seemed to hold little interest for them, a fact plainly visible on every face.

“The university holds a Patronage Programme, as mentioned in the invitation letters. Students sponsored by three..." He froze as correction caught up to him.

Ryska's heart stung, three should have been right, three had always been right, and hearing it corrected away into two felt like watching something she'd counted on quietly erased in front of her.

Valere glanced at her, catching whatever emotion flickered across her face before she could hide it, her empire gone once more.

"Students sponsored by two empires, and the sixteen kingdoms shall be required to serve the house sponsoring them for five years after graduation," Cordaelae said. "The rest of you fall under Aethoria's general scholarship, funded jointly by two and fifty kingdoms, holdings, houses and temples who see fit to contribute," he glanced at crowd as though searching for something. "Those who have come with the documents may submit them in the Record Office by the end of the day. The record office will have the standing verified in a fortnights time, falsified claims will see the offer withdrawn, sponsorship and general scholarship alike," he cast a last gaze at hall.

"Let it be understood, plainly and without exception, that every student admitted through these gates is bound thereafter to the whole of Aethoria's charter, in full, and without selective observance. Those who fail to uphold it shall answer for the failure severely, whatever their standing, whatever their sponsor, and such failure may well result in suspension, or in the gravest cases, outright eviction from these grounds entire."