“Can’t you put him off a little longer?”
“I’ve already put him off for over a year. He wants to wandfast over Yule and then have the sealing ceremony as soon as I graduate.”
“How long would you like to wait?”
Her face goes tight with anxiety. “Forever.”
I set down my pen and level my eyes at her. “Well, then, why don’t you just do that?”
“You know that’s not an option for me.” She’s quiet for a long moment. “He insisted on bringing me to this secluded spot behind the history buildings so he could kiss me and...” She looks away, blushing.
“And what?” I press, concern spiking. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, no. He’s not like that. He’s just gotten very...insistent. Kissing used to be enough. Now he...grabs at me. I hate it. It’s embarrassing.”
“What do you mean, grabs at you?”
She slumps, her face coloring. “He...he grabbed at my chest.”
I shake my head, angered on her behalf. “Aislinn, they need to find someone else for you.”
“It doesn’t matter who it is!” she cries. “I wouldn’t like these things with anyone! I just don’t like it. I don’t like any of it.”
“Have you told your parents how you feel about all this?” I ask, trying to find a solution.
Aislinn wrings her hands together. “I spoke to my mother about it.”
“And...what did she say?”
“She said that all virtuous Gardnerian women dislike the type of...attentions wandfasting and sealing bring. But that it’s something that has to be endured so we can have the joy of children. I love children, Elloren, you know that. I’ve always wanted to be a mother someday. But I’m shy. I don’t want any man to touch me...not like that. I wish there was some other way to have children.”
I let out a short laugh and grin at her. “What, like laying eggs?”
Aislinn breaks into a small smile at the ludicrous thought, and I’m glad for it. “Laying eggs would be good,” she agrees.
Aislinn stares out the window, over the barren fields pressed down under a cold, dark sky. Another freezing rain seems imminent. Her smile grows shaky, as if she’s apologizing for her thoughts.
“I just feel so miserable lately,” she laments.
“We could walk over to the dining hall. Get some tea,” I offer.
She shakes her head. “No. No, thank you. I’m going to go back to my lodging. I’m tired. I’m going to study for a while, try to get my mind off...everything.”
I get up, embrace her and bid her good-night, and she leaves, shoulders slumped in defeat. I stare after her, troubled and perplexed. Wishing there was some way to get my friend out of this mess.
CHAPTER THREE
Elfin Art
A few nights later I return from my kitchen shift to find Jarod and Aislinn waiting for me in the North Tower’s upstairs hallway, Wynter perched lightly on the windowsill behind them. Wynter is watching us all with a look of curiosity, her dark wings loosely wrapped around herself.
“You’re visiting me!” I cry, made inexplicably happy by the sight of a Lupine, a conservative Gardnerian and an Elfin Icaral bunched together in such a calm and peaceful way.
Aislinn shrugs. “I’m finding that I like meeting new people,” she says quietly. “People different from me. I’m tired of being afraid of everyone.” She looks up at Jarod shyly, and he smiles warmly down at her.
“We’re going to see the Elfin art exhibit,” Jarod tells me, his arm wrapped around a few books. “Your roommate expressed an interest in accompanying us. We hoped you’d join us, as well.”
“We’ve just discovered that we all share an interest in art,” Aislinn tells me, clarifying this strange trio that has sprung up out of nowhere.
“And poetry,” Jarod adds. He gestures to the books with his chin.
They look at me expectantly.
I’m way behind in my Apothecary and Metallurgie studies, I have a Mathematics exam in two days and I’m supposed to have drawings of virtually every species of Verpacian cornflower done by tomorrow.
And I don’t care.
“Just let me throw my books on my bed,” I tell them, unable to contain my excitement at the thought of so many new friends coming together.
*
We reach the Elfin gallery after a long and winding walk, Jarod swinging a lamp in front of us.
I’m surprised to see how different the Elfin architecture is from what I’m used to, the gallery nestled just inside the wilds. The buildings are bone white and all curves, like great seashells, and are topped by wavy, spiraling turrets that remind me of candle flames. They stretch toward the pinnacles of the tall pine trees and are joined to each other by cobbled walkways made of thousands of flat, silvery stones.
Wynter leads us into the largest of the buildings, down a twisting route through multiple doors with strange, curving symbols carved into them.
A large exhibit hall opens up before us, the floor’s inlaid tiles of polished gray and blue stone set in flowing lines that make me feel as if I’m walking on water. The cathedral-like walls are curved and sloping and lit by the green-tinged light of Elfin lumenstone.
There are statues and paintings of Elfin kings and queens on horseback, landscapes depicting strange ivory dwellings built on steep mountainsides and nature studies in which the images of plants and stones appear as if they’re floating above the paper.
And there are things I didn’t even know could exist.
Statues made of swirling mist, tapestries depicting scenes that seem to come to life as you move in front of them, sculptures formed from moving water.
Wynter perches on one of the gallery’s oval windowsills, still as stone, and follows us with her eyes.
I moved from piece to piece as Aislinn and Jarod talk about the art, engrossed in their conversation with each other. I can’t help but notice how happy and animated Aislinn seems, and how bright Jarod’s eyes glow.
“Where is your art?” Jarod asks Wynter.
Wynter cocks her head and considers his question. “My art cannot be displayed here,” she explains in her softly accented voice. “It is infected with my darkness.”
I frown at Wynter, saddened by her harsh statement and casual acceptance of her exclusion.
Aislinn and Jarod are both looking at her as well, Aislinn’s eyes gone wide, Jarod’s face tense and troubled.
“Show us,” I find myself saying.
Wynter hesitates, then reluctantly hops down from her perch and leads us out of the museum and toward an out-of-the-way storage barn built in the Keltic style.
It’s cold inside the large structure, and it smells slightly of mildew. Old furniture and battered frames line the walls, along with abandoned canvas, intricate weaving looms and a variety of worn art tools.
But in the center of this unattractive space, spiraling upward toward the rafters, is a large statue carved in white stone that glows as if illuminated from within.
It’s an Elfin archer on horseback, the horse rearing high, the archer’s bow and arrow pointed into the sky. It’s slightly larger than life, and so real I’m almost afraid to step in front of it, lest the horse’s hooves come crashing down on my head.
Jarod, Aislinn and I circle around it as Wynter trails quietly behind, hugging the shadows.
“You made this?” I breathe.
“Yes,” she says softly.
I turn to her. “It’s your brother, Cael. Isn’t it?”
Wynter dips her head shyly. “Yes.”
“Has he seen this?” Aislinn wonders, her tone one of awe.
Wynter nods.
“What did he say?” Aislinn asks.
“He was very touched,” Wynter answers, almost in a whisper. “He liked it a great deal.” Wynter reaches up to reverently run her hand along the cool white stone of the statue’s base.
“It’s beautiful,” Jarod tells her. “Is there more?”
Wynter nods and gestures all around.