A few days later, I’d cursed my ink pot blue when I spilled the last few drops in History. Cursed a nagging fatigue that’d crept up on me lately, and I had to resist the instinct to dab at the spill with my sleeve. Not in this robe. No way in this robe. A sheet of something white was passed to me – Kaspar called it ‘blotting paper’ and when he explained it, it felt like such a profound luxury. He lent me a spare pen, one of those fancy Clearlander pens with tiny tubes of ink inside them that were impossible to spill. Let me keep it. And that evening, Holly entered the dorm wearing a confused look and carrying a brand new set box of pens and inks.

  “Left at the door. I’m sure they’re not mine. Grove?”

  I peered up from my case study work. It was a fine and trimmed wooden box with a small card on the front, inscribed with a large letter K in fancy swirls and loops. “I think that’s for me…”

  “Ooh,” she cooed as she set it on my bed. “Who’s it from?” Even Grove lifted their face from their book, their round Clearlander ears metaphorically twitching in the way ours literally twitched.

  I rubbed at the sleeve of my new robe, the one they’d both paid far too much attention to already. “So, uh, there’s this one guy in my class…” I began.

  *

  The morning after in theory Diviny, he showed me how to refill the ink tube with the pipette, as he named it, while everyone else was having their own discussions. Maybe some of them were actually about the classwork. “One only needs to do it once a week,” he said. “Saves rather a lot of fuss. And when it needs replacing, make sure it’s of a reputable quality. Named brand, ideally. Not the stuff you’ve been using that smells like you drained it from the sour end of a rat’s nest. I’d never even known ink could smell like that till I sat beside you.”

  “I’d never known ink that smelt like, well…” I leant my head down. “Turpentine?”

  “And walnut oil and pigments, yes.”

  “How do you know what’s in it?”

  “I find it pays to invest in what you interact with. A little knowledge goes a long way.”

  “Sounds like a merchant family motto.”

  His mouth flattened. “I can see why you’d think that. But not as such.”

  “Oh. I think every family in my town has their own motto. Probably every family in the entire Stygewald. Ours is, uh, ‘honour over honours’. As in, what you do is worth more than being recognised for doing it.”

  “I see. We don’t have those. If we did, I’d suggest something like… ezes advensis kazarres avernorraxi.” He said it with a sharp tongue, whatever he’d said. “That would do it.”

  I blinked. “That’s not in the Wrevon tongue.”

  “Correct.”

  “It’s not even… Wait. What was the last bit? It sounded like Avernorra – is that where you’re from?” He didn’t reply, just stiffened the tiniest bit. “Cos when I was younger, my family were sent in an envoy to the coast to establish a trade link for supplies from there. Me and my brother spent a week on the beach while the adults negotiated with some people on the Avernorra ships.”

  “Questions,” he said flatly.

  “Knowing where you’re from isn’t gonna compromise this cool, aloof, enigmatic, haughty outsider thing. You’ve got that down. Don’t need to worry about it.”

  “You know plenty.”

  “I barely know anything! You’re a merchant. You’ve got coin. I think you said you were encouraged to come all this way to build a connection between your family and some potential business interests here. What do you even trade?”

  He glared at me. “Perhaps if you could restrain yourself from blurting it out in the middle of a classroom, I could consider telling you a little more.”

  I glanced around. Those who turned their heads to pretend they hadn’t been listening weren’t very good at it. “Yeah, whatever… Sorry,” I said to him, and went back to the diviny. Writing with his pens. Wearing his robe.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  *

  “Hey, uh, Holly, would you think it weird if someone had a lot of coin but kept refusing questions on how they had it?”

  “Huh?” She turned her head directly to me, even though we were sitting across the table and the food hall wasn’t remotely loud.

  “Would you think it weird if someone had a lot of coin but blocked questions about how they got it?”

  She scrunched her face through a mouthful of bread. “Not much. People can be secretive over lots of stuff. Like, I don’t even know what town you’re from, Leafy. I figured you wouldn’t wanna divulge much for the same reasons you’re not still at said town, so I didn’t wanna press you. I tried to connect with you over stuff I thought I knew, but…” She took another mouthful. “Having difficulties with your crush?”

  “I don’t have a crush on him!” I countered instinctively.

  “You’re wearing his clothes.”

  “Not anything he wore! He bought it for me!”

  “That’s a gateway drug.” She mopped up some soup with the crust. “He’s allowed secrets, sensitive spots, all that. Just like you.”

  I leaned in. “Cos I barely scraped out of a terrible place and if I do anything wrong, or maybe still even if I don’t, I’m right back there, and unless I get very lucky, I’m not getting out. I’ll be mincemeat within the week. I know you don’t know my life but me and the Luck Spirit have never fought side by side.” I’d barely started my own food but having an entire hundredtime to eat was a luxury I was very happy to get used to. My stomach had evolved to digest everything within the quarterhundred we got between the training sessions. “But him? He pays for whatever he wants like it’s no bother. He acts like he’s never had a problem in his life. He speaks like he was given lessons on how to do it. What do they call it? Sounds like when you get zapped by lightning…”

  “Elocution.”

  “Thanks. I just don’t get it. He lives totally unfazed by anything. So why block questions? I don’t even think he’s a Clearlander either.”

  Holly finished her bowl and pushed the tray aside. “So as a Forester, you’d have plenty you can discuss together… right?” Her voice squeaked at the end as I pulled a face. “Didn’t wanna assume.”

  “It’s fine. Though he’s not that either. He mentioned his people are from somewhere across the continent. But I asked and he refused to elaborate.”

  “So why’s it matter to you?”

  My voice dropped and I spoke through my teeth. “...Cos I have a fucking crush on him and you damned well know it.”

  In fairness to her, she didn’t make a huge thing of it. Certainly didn’t shout it out to the room like I had done with Kaspar’s own words. “So you wanna know more about him cos you like him, and you’re worried that him being closed off to you is… a rejection of your interest?” I nodded. “Maybe even of you entirely?” Nodded again. “So I guess you’re confused why he’s buying you nice things still?” I felt like an old donkey. “But of course while he’s buying you stuff, that eases your coin worries. You want that to continue, naturally.”

  “Yeah. I don’t wanna lose whatever our odd friendship is, but I really want… more. Even if everyone else in our classes keeps us at a sword’s distance, at least we can be outsiders together, y’know?”

  “It’s a shame they see difference as weird instead of cool.” She chewed pensively on her lip. Maybe that was her desert today. “He could be slow to trust. Cautious. Put yourself in his robes: if he’s been here a few weeks before you and everyone else rejected him, and now someone turns up out of the green and they’re all over him… Hey, check it: you’re already in his robes!”

  “He bought them! For me!” I protested, and then I groaned and dug my elbows into the table. “I’m either gonna have to admit why I wanna know, or go at his speed and see what I get. Argh! It feels like watching a plant grow.”

  She smiled bright. “You’re here for the next three years at least – hopefully. You’ve got plenty of time. Nothing beautiful ever happened overnight.”

  “[Dual-lunar transits],” I mumbled, head pressed into the table.

  “Ah, fairs. Now eat your soup. You need the energy for flirting with your pretty merchant boy.”

  I grumbled some more.

  *

  We didn’t share a case study class, me and him, so when last week’s essay was handed back with a gold mark, I had no one to show it off to. Not that I wanted anyone else in the room to hear: enough of them knew me as that Forester who set a sheet afire on his first try, and I’d since tried to phase back to the shadows the way I’d done in Dreadfall. I’d had a silver and an iron mark already, thankfully no wood marks, but the fact that’s what they called their fails felt a bit… snide. But that was okay. I’d show him in our practical conjury.

  No, I wouldn’t. I had my eye on the door for the whole first quarter but Kaspar still didn’t come through it. Left me alone at the back of the room. Stack left me alone too, or maybe he simply didn’t notice me at all. Better that way. This was our last lesson with the paper sheets – most of us could moonlight as tinderboxes by this point – and as a dozen flames took spark across the room, I really realised how much I missed the flame he sparked in me… Even I gritted my teeth as the thought crossed my mind. Professor Field was busy rounding up the stragglers the same way I’d been rounded up by Oldfield, so I didn’t say a word the whole lesson. Nothing to say. Only empty space. Space to think about the guy who’d made it much less empty. To think about the one person who might really understand me in this strange and arcane place. As my hand reached out across the long desk, ostensibly sliding my paper over the woodwork but in my mind he was reaching out too, supposedly taking the sheet from me, our fingers brushing, interlocking, hands joining in a shared warmth that sent a shiver through my body, wanting more, wanting to understand him, wanting to know him inside and out…

  Field bellowed our five minute warning and I made my paper do a splendid impression of a phoenix, fastened my robe, and inched closer to the door.