As I left the knotwork gardens behind, the landscape ahead turned rough and rocky, and I found myself, for the very first time, rather regretting that lost opportunity for knowledge.
The reality of elves might be lost in the mists of time in my own home county, but here, I could quite easily imagine a pair of elven riders, white and glittering as the snow themselves, emerging from a hidden doorway in any one of the high, sprawling hills that rose around me.
There were no neat, plowed fields in this area; only sheep and cattle roamed the bleak beauty of this land, and they were all safely enclosed for the winter. Lady Cosgrave’s tenants themselves were, too, in tightly shuttered cottages scattered here and there along the rocky ground. Lights glowed through the thick cloths that covered the windows, but not a single curtain twitched to mark my passage.
It all felt astonishingly freeing. I found myself swinging the lantern in my hand as I walked up the rocky hills, crunching my way through the thin layer of snow and humming a scandalously bawdy old magicians’ ballad—one that I had never been meant to learn from my fellow students at the Library when I’d finally, reluctantly been admitted to their company.
I had learnt it, though, of course, absorbing that knowledge with the same greedy joy as the spellwork that I’d fought so hard to master. I still remembered the night I’d first heard it—in Trinivantium’s local coffeehouse, which we’d all tumbled into for the evening, collectively tipsy with jubilation from leftover magical residue and the exhilaration of a challenging project well-mastered. As we all found our places along the two long, battered tables in the dark, crowded room, my black academic robes covered every inch of my gown every bit as neatly as the others’ robes covered their own trousers and coats; and I think several of them had nearly forgotten by then, after all the initial noise and drama of my arrival, that I wasn’t one of their gender as well as their colleague.
It was by far the best evening I had ever had in my life. Free of all chaperones and disapproving tutors, we all sang together late into the night and sent spells crackling with sparkling showers of light over our heads. And then…
When the coffeehouse owner finally, pointedly began to extinguish the candles around us, well after midnight, Rajaram Wrexham had detached his long, lanky figure from the opposite wall, where he’d spent all evening absorbed in conversation with the other scholarship students—
—or at least, he had seemed to be utterly absorbed, every time I’d sneaked a secret glance in his direction—
—and walked with unmistakable purpose straight to me.
“We’d better escort each other home, don’t you think, Harwood? The streets are dark this late at night.”
“You think I can’t protect myself?” I demanded.
His dark eyebrows shot up in response. “Hardly. I’ve seen you at work, remember?”
Aha. A delicious frisson of satisfaction ran through me as I met his intent gaze and finally realized: he had been watching me, too...
Crack!
The unmistakable sound of a branch snapping came from directly behind me, startling me out of my reverie. My heart juddered uncomfortably in my chest as I scanned the rocky hillside around me through the shimmer of falling snow, taking in my surroundings for the first time in far too long.
There were no trees on this barren spot of land. So where had that snapping branch come from?
The last ones I remembered passing had been… Oh.
I turned with mingled dread and anticipation, already knowing, somehow, what I would see.
Wrexham stood three feet behind me.
My ex-fiancé’s tangled black hair showed the disorder of his spellcast travel; the branch that lay before him must have snapped off one of Lady Cosgrave’s elaborate knotwork hedges, caught up in the whirlwind of his passage.
The contrast between the vivid memories that I’d only just escaped and the reality of his presence before me now was so striking that for a moment I couldn’t speak. For one dizzying instant, the two figures—Wrexham then and now—seemed to overlap each other in my vision.
Of course he wasn’t that lanky twenty-year-old boy anymore, the intense scholarship student from a Maratha-Anglish sailor’s family, with too-long hair, secondhand robes, and the most brilliant magical mind in our class…at least, until I’d joined mid-year and become his competition.
First, we’d competed for top honors. Then we’d egged each other on. And then…
He had grown into himself over the years, his lankiness filling out into a hard, lean strength. And his work for the Boudiccate had brought him honors far beyond any that we’d ever competed for in our years at the Library, along with comfortable financial security. The gleaming polish on his knee-high boots, and the elegant, multi-caped greatcoat he wore now, were both unmistakable reminders, snapping me out of my daze:
The man I looked at now wasn’t the boy who’d once dazzled me. No, he was the adult I’d shouted my most venomous words at two months earlier, when he’d arrogantly and unforgivably refused to understand what should have been obvious for any simpleton to see.
He was the one I’d driven away to save us both.
There were shadows under his eyes now that I hadn’t seen two months ago. His light brown cheeks, still dusted with dark stubble from his journey, looked disconcertingly hollow.
But I would not worry about him. I would not.
Instead I looked pointedly from his tangled hair to the branch that lay at his feet. “You were in too much of a hurry to protect Lady Cosgrave’s hedges? Not very well-mannered for a houseguest.”
He arched one dark eyebrow, his narrow lips quirking into a half-smile. “And you’re worrying about propriety now? You really have changed, Harwood.”
The familiar name ran like a knife beneath my ribs, making me suck in a breath. “Miss Harwood,” I said icily, “if we’re worrying about propriety. We’re no longer affianced, if you recall.”
“Oddly enough,” said Wrexham, “I have no difficulty at all in remembering that small detail.” He nudged the branch with the toe of one gleaming boot. “You needn’t fear that Lady Cosgrave will kick up a fuss. She was the one who urged me to catch you up ‘with all haste.’ She was concerned about your welfare, apparently.” There was a decidedly sardonic tone to his last words.
I could have hissed with exasperation. Curse our hostess! Once a politician, always a practiced maneuverer of people—and of course, she was one of Amy’s closest friends. I knew exactly what she’d been up to with that humiliating strategy.
Letting out my held breath, I crossed my arms and glared up at him. “And you? You thought you had to come running to…what? Save me from the terrible dangers of a snowstorm?”
“Hardly,” Wrexham said. His smile reappeared, turned rueful. “I’ve seen you at work, remember?”