by Kaylin Lee
I swallowed. “I’m getting this story,” I whispered back, my lips nearly brushing his ear. “Like I said I would. Like I always do.”
He pulled back slightly and studied me for a moment. I was dimly aware of the other members of the Wolf clan laughing as Professor Kristof tried to draw their attention back to the lesson. They must have noticed Lucien’s apparent flirtation. For a fleeting, unguarded moment, Lucien almost looked upset. Then his expression hardened. “Meet any looters in the Wasp territory yet?”
I bit my lip. How had he guessed? “They came last night. Took everything but the clothes I’m wearing today.” I attempted a smile. “Good thing I got this job.”
Lucien tensed. “Did they harm you?”
I shook my head. “I hid with the other boarders.”
“But they took your things. They know where you sleep.”
“Yes, I suppose.” I frowned. What was he getting at?
“They’ll be back.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Girls are worth more than old furniture.”
An ill feeling bubbled in my stomach. “Then I’ll hide again.”
“You should have stayed in the Badlands.” He blew out a breath and shook his head. “This is going to be a disaster.”
It was my turn to lean closer. I held his gaze and squeezed his hand, doing my best to ignore the warm, raw strength under my fingers. “I thought the same thing last night when the looters left and I discovered what they’d taken. Yet here I am, making more progress in a day than the Herald has in years.”
Lucien studied me for a moment before pulling his hand away. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me something?” He asked loudly, leaning back in his chair and stretching. “Stop trying to flirt with me. I’m here to learn.” His loud comment unleashed rowdy laughter from the other side of the room.
My face burned. “Fine.”
And with that, the small window of honest communication had apparently closed.
We spent the rest of the morning walking painstakingly through the first five works on Professor Kristof’s timeline of Western literature, Lucien offering disparaging commentary on the characters’ martial strategies and cracking loud, obnoxious jokes whenever I asked him questions about the literary themes. I knew he was just putting on a show so the other Wolves wouldn’t guess at the connection between us, but the show was frustratingly believable. His easily-impressed audience on the other side of the room never failed to reward his comments with laughter, and as the morning dragged on, his behavior was so uncooperative I was able to forget about the attraction that had plagued me when I first saw him. See, Ruby? Mage Fortis was right. Silver linings are everywhere.
By the time Professor Kristof declared the class over, most of the room had devolved into noisy side conversations.
I breathed a sigh of relief as Lucien stood and stretched. I stood as well. “Have a—”
He gripped my hand and yanked me forward.
I gasped and nearly fell as I stepped closer.
He pulled my hand up to his lips and kissed it. “You can teach me anytime, Miss Kata.”
The four men who had arrived drunk seemed to have sobered up over the past few hours, but they fell over themselves laughing.
Lucien dropped my hand and walked with them out of the room. “Longest morning of my life,” he announced, shooting one last glance over his shoulder at me. “Good thing she’s pretty.”
I narrowed my eyes and wiped my hand on my skirt as he disappeared down the hallway. I couldn’t believe I’d actually wanted to kiss him. The desire was a distant memory now.
“You survived.” Professor Kristof made his way across the room, a stack of notes in his hands and a concerned expression on his face. “You aren’t planning to quit, are you?”
I pressed my lips together. “Definitely not.”
“Good.”
“Actually …” I tapped the notes he’d given me against the table until each sheet was in perfect alignment. “Would it be possible to have an advance on my assistant’s stipend?” I mumbled the last words.
Professor Kristof wrinkled his brow. “Of course. But … you need money? Why didn’t you say so yesterday?”
“Looters raided my boarding house in the old Wasp territory last night. I hid from them, but I didn’t hide my belongings well enough.” Heat rushed to my face as I confessed my failure. “They took everything.”
Professor Kristof studied me for a moment. After Lucien’s volatile behavior all morning, the gentle understanding in the professor’s gaze had a calming effect. “I imagine you never experienced anything like that in Asylia, did you?”
Smoky streets. Hot flames licking the air, devouring old Western books and furniture. Sharp fingers digging into my thin upper arm, dragging me down the street as I screamed. I swallowed. Why would I think of that now, of all times? “No. Never.”
Professor Kristof gently pulled the note sheets from my trembling grasp. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Kata. I wish it hadn’t happened.” He tucked my notes behind his and slid them into a folder in his satchel. “Draicians are not an easy people to love.” He met my gaze, his expression solemn. “But I hope you won’t give up on us.”
I shook my head, my throat suddenly tight. I’d cried last night, and I’d faced the loss of my possessions this morning. But until this moment, softening in the warmth of Professor Kristof’s steady understanding, I hadn’t quite realized how much the raid had hurt me.
Perfect strangers had entered my bedroom and stolen my money, my clothes, and my pencils! I suddenly wanted to go back to Asylia more than anything in the world, to take shelter in the safe, quiet ladies’ dormitory, to cower in the protective shroud of the Herald’s honored reputation and Grandmother’s sterling sense of justice. Asylians would never—
I shook my head to stop that thought. There was no point in comparing our two cities. Asylia would win without contest. But I was here, wasn’t I? I had to finish what I’d started. “I won’t,” I mumbled.
The soft smile tugging at the professor’s gray mustache told me he didn’t believe me any more than I believed myself.
“I’ll give you an advance on your stipend, with one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Let me treat you to dinner tonight.”
~
When we left the large villa on the Wolf compound, it was pouring rain. I tucked my head under the hood of my red sweater, though it was soon soaked through. Professor Kristof paid for my demicoach ride back to the small market square by the university. When we reached the square, the outdoor vendors were all closed, and puddles of rain covered the little cluster of tables by the fountain where Astrid and I had sat that morning. Astrid herself was nowhere to be found. I hoped she had somewhere safe and dry to shelter tonight.
Professor Kristof gestured toward the edge of the square, where a set of small windows glowed with cozy, yellow light. The rain was so loud we’d given up talking already.
I followed him, dodging huge puddles where I could, and entered when he held the shop’s door open for me. The small, well-lit café smelled of fresh bread and warm, savory vegetables.
A few tables were taken by diners who shared bowls of soup and loaves of bread, their conversations quiet but intent. Behind the counter, a familiar young man offered me a smile. So this was where the delicious winterdrop rolls came from. I waved.
“You find a table. I’ll order.” Professor Kristof winked. “There’s only one dish on the menu—vegetable soup with a side of bread. But they’re both good, I promise.”
“Thank you.” I found a table by the front windows. The café’s cracked walls had been painted a gentle green that reminded me of the Falconus compound’s lush gardens. Warmth from the kitchen fire at the back made the whole shop toasty, so the front table was quite comfortable despite the rivulets of ice-cold rain streaming mercilessly down the other side of the glass. A lamp on the table provided additional heat. I peeled off my wet sweater a
nd draped it over the back of a chair.
When Professor Kristof placed two steaming bowls of soup on the table, my mouth watered. “It does look delicious.”
He smiled. “It’s more broth than soup. But the flavor …” His eyes twinkled. “It’ll warm you right up.”
“I can’t wait.” I grabbed my spoon and slurped greedily, then began to cough. Warm? More like an inferno. “Oh.” My eyes watered. “Oh!” The heat kept coming. “You …” I coughed again. “You were right about that. So spicy.” I grabbed the thick, buttery slice of bread beside my bowl and shoved it in my mouth, trying to soothe my tongue.
The professor laughed. “Told you. Eat up.”
The spicy vegetable soup was certainly delicious. Mouth on fire, I ate the entire bowl, followed by the whole slice of bread and a small, cold cup of something the young man at the counter called honeycream.
We were in no hurry to leave the cozy refuge and re-enter the rainstorm. I scraped the sides of my cup to get the last bit of honeycream out. Rain streamed down the window, so thick I could barely make out the statues’ peaceful, relieved expressions that seemed so out of place in Draicia.
“It’s not gold marks,” Professor Kristof said wryly.
“That’s what Astrid told me.” I couldn’t help but smile. “So what is it? What are they looking at?”
“There used to be a Western proverb carved into the edge of the fountain in front of them. ‘Boundless honor to every soul, and worth without restraint.’ The stone was damaged in a battle between the Wasp and Tiger clans long ago. But my parents told me the boy and his father’s joyous expressions are meant to be tied to that proverb.”
“I’ve never heard that one before. ‘Boundless honor to every soul.’” I frowned. “Strange wording. What does it mean?”
“Perhaps some of the awkwardness comes from the translation. We don’t have words for every Western idea that made its way across the ocean to us.” Professor Kristof stared at the statues, his expression thoughtful. “And the proverb is an ancient one, even by Western standards. It wasn’t widely spoken in their culture at the end, or so I’ve heard. My mother was a scholar of Western literature. She believed that particular proverb was so old, yet so pivotal, it undergirded much of their civilization without many people being aware of it.”
Boundless honor. Worth without restraint. I still couldn’t make sense of the odd phrases, but I didn’t want to admit so to Professor Kristof. “How could it affect their civilization without them realizing it?”
“You know the plague came in the Second Age of Peace, right?”
I nodded. “Yes. Over seven hundred years without war.” How long would their peace have lasted if the plague hadn’t destroyed them?
“My mother believed their peace and flourishing civilization during that time was enabled by the way every Westerner internalized the proverb.”
From the blank look in my eyes, he must have guessed I still didn’t understand the saying.
“Think of it this way—they practiced the giving of unconditional dignity.”
“Unconditional …” I shook my head. It still didn’t make any sense.
The professor laid out one hand on the table, palm up. “The strongest, most powerful man.” He held out the other hand, palm up. “The weakest, most vulnerable child.” He turned his hands over and squeezed both hands into fists, then pressed them together. “Both worthy of equal dignity and honor.”
I stared hard at his fists. For some reason, my pulse began to race. Smoky streets. Hot flames. Sharp fingers—
He opened his fists again. One hand, palm up. “The vilest criminal.” The other hand, palm up. “The kindest, most self-sacrificing parent.” He closed his fists and pressed them together again. “Equal dignity. Equal honor.”
A wave of anger washed through me. Mistress Reta in her rusty, old shack was nothing like Hal Dukas, with his vast wealth and merciless violence. “So they just let people do whatever they wanted, without consequence?” My voice shook, but I didn’t know why. “That’s what they called peace?”
Professor Kristof relaxed his hands but held my gaze steadily. “No. They enacted just laws, and they upheld them consistently. But …” He tapped his fingers on the table for a moment. “They gave the orphan the same rights as the ruler in the court of law. They resolved not to humiliate the criminal. They—”
“Honored everyone,” I finished quietly. My anger dissipated slowly, replaced by a gradual trickle of something like awe. “Without restraint.”
We sat in silence for a moment, and I studied the rainy statues again. If Professor Kristof was right, they looked relieved because they believed their souls held unconditional worth. An uplifting thought, indeed, but it was hard to imagine anyone putting the idea into practice.
“Did you know that the Asylian Herald was started by a Western immigrant?”
I nodded, too distracted by the discussion to worry about whether he’d connect me to the newspaper.
“I believe the Herald’s lasting success is due to the same mindset as that proverb. The newspaper tells stories of the common people alongside the escapades of the founding families who rule the city. It gives equal dignity and honor to both. Such a philosophy can be a powerful, transformative force.” His lips twitched. “That’s why I always read the Herald, even when it arrives in Draicia three weeks late. Anyway, my mother believed that this simple, yet fundamental idea anchored Western society at such a deep level, they barely needed to acknowledge it.”
His smile was a sad, fleeting movement. “Imagine what Draicia would be like if every citizen believed, without question, in the unconditional dignity and worth of every other citizen. It would change everything.”
“Yes.” The statues beckoned me. I watched rain pour across the window pane as the sky darkened over the square. “I suppose it would.”
He was quiet for a long moment, then he cleared his throat and stood. “It’s almost dark. You should get back to your boarding house before night falls.”
I stood and pulled my sweater back on, cringing as the wet fabric chilled my skin. “Thank you for dinner.”
Professor Kristof handed me a thick fold of marks. “Your salary for the week.”
I took the marks, stunned for a moment at the hefty amount. “Really?”
He winked. “Praetor Demetrius pays well.”
I shoved the marks in my pocket, relief making me smile. “Thank you, Professor.”
He nodded and gestured toward the front door. “Of course. After you.”
I paused and faced him at the door. “Um … Professor?”
“Yes?”
“Can I borrow a pencil?”
Chapter 20
Ruby—
I received your letter. I must confess it angered me a great deal. I sent my men after you to express my anger, as you no doubt imagined I would, but they searched the city and found no trace of you. Am I to understand that you so fear my wrath, you left the city to escape me? You would be wise to do so.
Sweet, quiet Ruby, I understand you, as you know. And though I am imprisoned, I am not powerless. Not at all.
My sentencing hour approaches soon. The clerk says I will not survive it, but of course I do not care. Only the weak fear death. I have enjoyed greater power in this city than the prince himself, and I have shown my strength in many ways. I have grasped all the power that was within my reach. I have taken it from the unworthy and made their power my own. I have done my part to make the city stronger.
Sad, pretty girl with pencil in hand, I would like to bring you into death along with me when I go.
Where are you, Ruby? Where are you?
Do not forget me, for I have not forgotten you,
The Rat King
My stomach clenched. I released the letter and let it fall to the ground, where it landed on the scuffed wood floor by the tall boarding house window.
On the way back to the Wasp territory, I’d stopped by the courier’s office and pic
ked up a bundle of correspondence from Asylia. I’d also purchased a cheap luminous lamp from a nearby shop for my room at the boarding house. The lamp provided just enough light to flip through the remaining letters with shaky hands.
Dukas’s letter wasn’t the first I’d received from an angry criminal, but no one had yet mentioned sending men after me in revenge. Sebastian’s accompanying letter assured me that no one at the girls’ dormitory had been injured when Dukas’s men came looking for me, but the thought left me more horrified than reassured. I’d believed no violence would threaten me in Asylia, but I’d been wrong.
Grandmother’s letter was short and terse, demanding an update on the story and wondering why I’d yet to send anything so far.
I bent to pick up Dukas’s letter. Shaking my head, I folded all the letters into my journal. I bathed and put on my nightgown. Then I grabbed the stack of marks from my sweater pocket and stuffed them into the bodice of my undergarment. If I stayed hidden, the marks would be safe. What else could I do?
I huddled under my warm quilts, my feet snug thanks to the hot water bottle at the foot of the bed. I propped myself up on my pillows, opened my journal, and picked up the pencil I’d borrowed from Professor Kristof.
Boundless honor to every soul, and worth without restraint. I scrawled the proverb in thick, bold script at the top of a new page and ran my fingers over the strange, powerful words. Beneath the proverb, I sketched Dukas, his cold eyes staring out at me from the page, looking into my soul and mocking the weakness he saw. I shivered, wishing I hadn’t drawn him after he’d sent that mad, threatening letter, but it was too late. In the space beside him, a thin, sorrowful woman emerged from beneath my pencil—Mistress Reta. Unconditional dignity, I wrote between them, feeling oddly guilty, like I was betraying Mistress Reta by writing such a phrase beside Hal Dukas’s face. They resolved not to humiliate criminals, I added below it.
I chewed on my lip, considering that last phrase. Surely, if anyone deserved to be brought low and humiliated, it was a man like Dukas. He’d threatened to murder me in his letter! And yet …