Page 106 of A Heart of Bluestone

I loosen a sigh and meet his steady gaze. He’ll make a good Master. He’s stern enough. Sticks to his decisions.

The aristos won’t like that.

I don’t like it.

Still, I force the words out, and they are bitter on my tongue. “I meant to thank you.” I try to diffuse the tension rolling between us, the icky sort, not the kind of tension I would like to nurture. “It didn’t go unnoticed.”

Confusion creases around his eyes. “What didn’t?”

“The feathers,” I say. “The ones you conjured to stop me from hitting the ground and breaking my arm, probably,” I add with a flush. “Falling over the banister like that wasn’t my best move.”

His frown deepens for a second, just a second, then he smiles something smooth. “I… That isn’t within my power. I ran from the entrance to reach you, but you fell so fast and—then the wave came down the stairs and separated us… The feathers…” He shakes his head. “That wasn’t me.”

“Oh.”

My nod is faint—and I am fast scrambling for another way to disperse the frost between us.

Suppose Eric is something of a backup plan.

I am not quite sure what my intention is with him.

I am even less sure what I am allowed to pursue.

I have heard nothing more on the mysterious aristos suitor from my father, and so it probably faded away. Could have been an aristos simply asking about the amount of my dowry, or the amount of my annual allowance, then disappearing because it’s still not enough to marry a deadblood, even if it is a lot of money. The shame is too great.

So, at present, I’m not engaged.

I’m not promised to anyone. And my contract is open to the likes of Eric now.

I should swallow my pride here.

I should make my fondness of him known.

I shouldn’t go down over something as silly as grades for a stupid class that I only took because it was meant to be easy.

My future is more important than Star Theory grades.

“Tomorrow,” I say with a softer smile than I have managed in our whole interaction this evening. “If you’re still free to tutor me?”

Eric’s tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. He thinks on it a moment,hehesitates.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Looks like I might have some damage control to work on.

A breath of relief is ribboned from me when he nods.

Still, he doesn’t soften. His tone is crisp, “Library, six o’clock?”

That’s dinner time. The mess hall opens just an hour before. And if I am too late in, all the good stuff is gone, and what’s left is oily and filmy and soggy.

Ugh.

But this is an opportunity.

Damage control, damage control, damage control.

If I remind myself enough, then maybe it won’t be so bitter on my smile. “I’ll bring snacks,” I say.

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