Chapter 102 — "Absolutely Not"
She looked at him.
He was looking at the table again.
Pressing the cloth.
Not smiling.
The lamp between them doing its job.
The library quiet around them.
The ink spreading no further.
Everything exactly as it was.
Except for the dark blue on her hand.
And the diagram she would have to draw again tomorrow.
And the fact that she had switched to dark blue ink specifically.
And hadn’t examined why.
And still wasn’t going to.
Obviously.
The ink had stopped spreading.
Seraphina’s hand had not stopped being dark blue.
She looked at it.
At the stain between her fingers.
At the notebook sitting closed because opening it meant seeing the ruined pages.
"It’ll wash out."
Kael said.
Still pressing the cloth to the table.
"Obviously."
Flat. Unconvinced.
"Probably mostly."
She looked at him.
He looked at the table.
"Mostly."
"The fabric might hold some."
"My sleeve."
"Yes."
"This sleeve specifically."
"Yes."
She looked at her sleeve.
At the dark blue spreading through the fabric.
At the sleeve that had been perfectly fine three hours ago.
"This is your fault."
Kael looked at her.
"I was across the table."
"You distracted me."
"I was reading."
"You were watching me read."
"Those are different activities."
"The watching caused the distraction which caused the elbow which caused the ink."
"That’s a significant chain of causation."
"It’s an accurate chain of causation."
Kael looked at the table.
At the ink that had stopped spreading.
At the cloth in his hand.
Then back at her.
"I was reading."
Low. Final.
She pointed at him with her blue hand.
He looked at her blue finger.
Then away.
The corner of his mouth.
Just slightly.
Gone before it arrived.
"Don’t."
"I’m not doing anything."
"You were about to do something."
"I was looking at the damage."
Tax on the shelf above them said nothing.
Was doing the specific nothing that meant he had seen the corner of Kael’s mouth and was keeping it.
Seraphina closed the notebook.
Looked at the cover.
Dark blue.
Now also slightly dark blue on the edges from her hands.
She looked at it for a moment.
Then at her hand.
Then at the ink bottle lying on its side.
Empty now.
She set it upright anyway.
A pointless gesture.
Obviously.
She picked up her bag.
"I need to wash this."
Flat. Practical.
Kael stood.
"The cloth is—"
"My hand Kael."
"Right."
She walked toward the library exit.
Stopped.
Turned back.
Picked up the notebook.
Put it in her bag.
Turned back toward the door.
"The diagram."
Kael said.
Quietly.
"Is still in your head."
She stopped walking.
Didn’t turn.
"You drew it correctly."
Still quiet.
"You remember how."
She stood there for a moment.
Then walked out.
Kael watched the doorway.
Tax watched Kael watch the doorway.
Neither spoke.
Then Tax looked at the empty ink bottle.
At the dark blue stain on the table.
At the cloth.
At all of it.
"She took the notebook."
Low. Certain.
"Yes."
Kael picked up his book.
His bag.
"She could have left it."
"Yes."
"She didn’t."
"No."
Tax looked at him.
Kael looked at the doorway.
Then walked out.
Tax flew after him.
The library settled back into itself.
Old.
Quiet.
The lamp still doing its job.
The stain on the table the only evidence anything had happened.
Whoever put up the announcement last night probably didn’t expect it to become the busiest spot by sunrise.
Outside the main hall.
White paper.
Gold lettering.
The kind the academy used when something was both official and unavoidable.
Seraphina read it on her way to breakfast.
Stopped.
Read it again.
The Starlight Pairing Festival — Annual Academy Tradition
All students required to participate.
Partners to be registered by end of week.
Performance date — one month from today.
She stared at the word required.
A girl passed behind her.
Groaned at the board.
"Not again."
Her companion groaned too.
"Every year."
"Every single year."
"My partner last year stepped on my foot four times."
"Mine forgot the entire second sequence."
"In front of everyone."
"In front of my parents specifically."
They kept walking.
Still complaining.
The complaints of people who had been through this before.
Who expected it.
Who dreaded it annually.
Seraphina looked at the announcement again.
At Annual Academy Tradition.
At required.
At one month.
Tax read it from her shoulder.
"The Starlight Pairing Festival."
"Yes."
Dry. Already calculating.
"You have to perform."
"Yes."
"With a partner."
"Yes."
"In front of an audience."
"Yes."
"Of noble families."
"Yes."
Tax tilted his head.
"What’s the performance."
She looked at the smaller text below.
Read it.
Looked at it again.
"A paired movement sequence."
"Dancing."
"Not exactly dancing."
"What exactly."
"A choreographed routine."
"That’s dancing."
"With theatrical elements."
"Dancing with extra steps."
"Tax."
"Boss."
She looked at the board.
At the word required looking back at her.
"No."
Quietly. Certain.
"It says required."
"I refuse the required."
"That’s—"
"Don’t say that’s not how required works."
"I was going to say that’s your second refusal this week."
She looked at him.
He looked innocent.
The most suspicious expression he owned.
She walked away from the board.
Kael was at breakfast when she arrived.
She sat down across from him.
He looked at her face.
Then at the direction she had come from.
"The board."
Not a question.
"Yes."
Flat.
"The festival."
"Yes."
"You read it."
"Obviously."
He picked up his cup.
"It’s every year."
"I know that now."
"The third years were complaining about it."
"I didn’t hear them."
"You were drawing the sleeve diagram."
She looked at him.
At the very specific detail of what she had been doing.
"You noticed that."
"You had four drafts."
"Three."
"Four including the one you drew on the back of your class notes."
She stared at him.
He drank his tea.
"Kael."
"Aina."
"Do you catalogue everything I do."
A pause.
Considered. Careful.
"No."
"That was too slow."
"I was thinking."
"About whether to lie."
"About how to answer accurately."
She looked at him.
He looked at his cup.
Then—
"I need a partner."
She said.
He looked up.
"For the festival."
He waited.
"I’m not asking you."
"I know."
"I’m stating the situation."
"I understand."
"I’ll find someone else."
"Who."
"Someone."
"Specifically."
"A person at this academy."
"Name one."
She opened her mouth.
The names she had were:
Evelyne — who would refuse in exactly one word.
The second year girl — who was still processing Tax.
The boy who dropped his books twice — definitely not.
Cassian — but she had rejected him.
She closed her mouth.
Kael waited.
He was very good at waiting.
Infuriatingly good.
Like he had calculated exactly how long this would take and had arranged his schedule accordingly.
"I’ll figure it out."
She stood up.
Walked away.
He watched her go.
Drank his tea.
Tax appeared from somewhere.
Sat beside his cup.
"Forty minutes."
Low. Certain.
Kael looked at him.
"Probably less."
Tax looked at the doorway.
Then at Kael.
"You knew before she sat down."
Kael picked up his cup.
"I read the announcement yesterday."
"Before her."
"Yes."
"And said nothing."
A pause.
"I was waiting."
"For what."
He looked at the doorway.
Something at the corner of his mouth.
There. Gone.
"For breakfast."
Tax stared at him.
Kael drank his tea.
Tax looked at the doorway again.
Then at the tea.
Then said nothing.
Which covered everything.
It was thirty five minutes.
Not forty.
She came back with the expression of someone who had considered every option and found them all actively worse.
Stood across from him.
"Fine."
Sharp. Already defensive.
He looked up.
"Fine as in."
"Fine as in you’re the least catastrophic option."
"That’s not flattering."
"It’s accurate."
"Those aren’t the same thing."
"Kael."
"Aina."
"Don’t make this a whole thing."
"I’m sitting here."
"You’re sitting here knowing I’d come back."
"I was finishing breakfast."
"You finished breakfast twenty minutes ago."
He looked at his empty cup.
Then at her.
"I was having tea."
"The cup is empty."
"I was thinking about more tea."
"KAEL."
"Aina."
She pointed at him.
He looked at her finger.
The dark blue stain still faintly visible between her fingers from last night.
He looked at it for exactly one second.
Then at her face.
She lowered her hand.
"Practice starts when."
"Tomorrow."
Flat. Immediate.
She stared at him.
"You already registered us."
"The deadline was this morning."
"When did you register us."
"Before breakfast."
"That was—"
"Early yes."
She looked at him.
At the complete calm.
At the empty cup.
At the man who had read the announcement before her registered them before breakfast and waited through thirty five minutes of breakfast with an empty cup.
"Obviously."
She said.
Low. Resigned. Something underneath it she wasn’t examining.
He stood.
Picked up his bag.
"Tomorrow morning."
"Fine."
She turned.
Walked away.
He watched the doorway.
Tax appeared again.
"Thirty five minutes."
"Yes."
"You said probably less than forty."
"Yes."
"You were right."
Kael picked up his bag.
"Obviously."
Tax looked at the doorway.
Then at Kael.
Then at the doorway again.
Something moved through his expression.
Old. Private. There and gone.
Then he flew after Kael.
The dining hall continued around them.
Completely unaware that something had been decided.
That practice would start tomorrow.
That one month stretched ahead.
That thirty five minutes had confirmed something neither of them had said out loud.
Obviously.