William looked up exactly then, and met Tess’s eyes across the crowd. His smile deepened, and he winked at her. She felt warm all the way to her toes.
The song had broken the back of the debates; there was no restoring dignity. Ondir said a few stern things about rules and order, but nobody minded him. The crowd, having gotten more scandal than it could have hoped for, began to disperse.
Kenneth seemed in no hurry to leave. He laughed and chatted with Lord Rynald at the back of the nave, finding reasons to hang about and keep talking. Tess stood by, fidgeting, glancing at William, who was still at the front of the hall.
She thought about walking up to the dais but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Six-year-old Tessie would have, half a lifetime ago, before the ungovernable wildness had been spanked out of her. Before she understood what manners were for, and that you can’t make a good impression by acting like a silly, bossy little girl.
She bit her lip, struggling. Keeping a lid on her impulsiveness wasn’t trivial.
Then Will was crossing the room toward them. She did not boldly meet his eye but looked away demurely, as she’d been taught.
She risked a glance to see if she’d made a good impression.
He smiled at her, as warmly as the sun after storms. Tess had never been the recipient of such a smile. She’d behaved like she was supposed to, and had been rewarded.
She could do this. She had the tools. The possibilities were unfathomable.
“I’m so pleased you came, Therese,” William said, drawing near. “You recognized the object of my little paean to encouragement, I trust.”
“Indeed, thank you,” said Tess, striving to keep her voice steady and dignified. “I’m astonished I could be of any help to someone like you.”
That was laying it on a little thick. She cringed, worrying that she’d misstepped, but he seemed not to mind.
“You may yet be more help,” he said. His fair hair flopped endearingly. “The faculty library has been of some use, but I’m sure your quigutl friend told you more useful tales than anything I’ve uncovered there. I’d love to compare notes sometime.”
Tess’s heart fluttered. Actually fluttered. She’d always thought that a silly metaphor, but now she felt it. “I’d like that, too.”
“What are you doing next?” he said. “We could go to the Mallet and Mullet.”
Tess cast a lightly panicked glance at Kenneth, who was engrossed with Lord Rynald. William caught on and said cordially, “Of course, your young man must come along, too.”
“He’s just my cousin,” said Tess hastily.
“All the better,” said William, his voice regaining its warmth at once. There was nothing suggestive in it, and yet Tess found herself pleasantly flustered.
“Will!” cried Lord Rynald, finally noticing they’d been approached by the hero of the evening. He held out a slim hand, which William clasped in his larger one.
They were all taller than Tess. She felt like a mouse.
“Very amusing,” Rynald said. “Ondir will make you pay for humiliating his pet toad.”
Will shrugged. “Spira humiliates itself just by existing. The truth had to be told. Come to the Mullet, you and your friend. I’m gathering a posse.”
Minutes later, William, Tess, Kenneth, Lord Rynald, and a gaggle of friends and hangers-on were in the street laughing raucously. Someone threw a shoe at them from a window, which only made them laugh harder. Tess was the only girl in the group, but she wasn’t frightened. Kenneth wouldn’t let anything happen—if he could pull himself out of Rynald’s eyes—but anyway, what was going to happen? They were delightful, these lads; they spoke to her like an adult and not a recalcitrant child. She felt every year of the sixteen she was pretending to be.
She felt like queen of the world.
Will ordered everyone cakes and ale. Tess, who’d never drunk anything but small beer and well-watered wine, found the ale appallingly bitter. She struggled not to gag. It was strong and likely to make her tipsy in any case, so she paced herself and made sure she ate enough cake.
The students of St. Bert’s quaffed freely, growing more hilarious by the hour. Stories were told of pranks played on professors and other students, of the foibles of Spira (who seemed a genuinely eccentric and uncouth person). When the stories veered toward amorous conquests and the suspected proclivities of one female dragon professor, Tess grew uncomfortable, crumbling her cake and avoiding everyone’s eyes. William, bless him, noticed and swatted the tale-teller on the back of his head, saying, “There are gentle ears present, villain.”
He was considerate; that went straight to her heart’s tally. She flashed him a grateful smile, and he reflected it back tenfold, like a magic mirror.
It was late. Tess was going to be a wreck in the morning, she could already tell. Several lads pushed back from the table, complaining about early laboratory hours. Anything before noon was early, Tess gleaned; they didn’t often see the hour when she woke up, unless they came at it from the other direction.
Tess waited for Kenneth, who was whispering with William and Rynald. Finally her cousin approached and said, “Listen, ah, Tes’puco—”
“Therese,” she hissed, flicking an anxious glance back at William.
“All grown up, are we?” said Kenneth, not sarcastically, but amused. He hadn’t stopped grinning all evening. “Well, listen, I want to talk to Rynald a bit more—”
“About astronomy? Maybe he’ll show you his telescope,” said Tess before she could stop herself. She was tipsier than she’d thought.
Kenneth gaped incredulously. “Cheeky! But what I mean to say is, would you mind very much if I didn’t walk you home?”
She felt a lightning bolt of panic—she couldn’t cross town alone in the middle of the night!—but Kenneth continued hastily: “Will offered to walk you. Would that work?”
Tess felt a different jolt then, but she put a lid on it immediately. Kenneth would see no trace of eagerness in her face. “I suppose,” she said, with carefully measured reluctance.
And so Kenneth went off with Rynald—stargazing, moon-gazing, gazing into each other’s eyes—and Tess and William went the other direction. “May I offer you my arm?” William asked her.
She longed to take it, but would that be too forward, too soon? She couldn’t risk it.
He didn’t insist, but walked at her side, leaving a decent gap between them.
“Do you really think the World Serpents exist, or were you trying to make Spira look stupid?” Tess burst out before they’d gone two blocks. “Lord Rynald said you’re full of beans.”
So much for keeping her boisterousness under wraps. Stupid ale. He would surely be horrified by her unladylike forthrightness.
To her astonishment, William laughed. “I’ve found no proof that World Serpents exist—yet. But it’s worth looking into. You saw how nettled the dragons were.” Tess wondered how he could tell. “Even in this time of peace, they’re still our rivals. We should seize any opportunity to get one up on them. Including,” he said, drawing nearer, “gleaning what we can from nontraditional sources—folklore, quigutl testimonials, and the sprightly, unexpected intelligence of young women.”
He meant her. Tess shivered pleasantly.
The stars glittered; it was like a night out of a story. Tess would have liked to spin in exuberant circles, to skip or whoop, but she couldn’t let herself.
She also couldn’t let him see her house, where the doorplate read Dombegh, or he’d know she’d lied about her name—and her age. It was easy enough to learn how many children her father had and how old they were. Tess led William up the street to the shrine of St. Siucre.
“That’s a rather small shrine for a warren of Belgiosos,” he said mock-seriously.
“There’s a tunnel to my house,” she said, pointing up the wrong side of the street in the wrong direction. “Sneaking through the cellar is quieter than climbing through a window.”
Provided no one had barred the door to the kitchen. She said a little prayer.