Page 128 of Cathmoir's Sons

“An even better reminder.” She grins. “And I’m always up for a little worship.”

“I’ve got a date after class with Rho, but I want a chance to show you some adoration before we go back to Scilla. I hate that you’re sad there now.”

There wasn’t any adoration last night. Despite our success raising a barrier against the storm surge, Caileán spent the night watching the storm through the bedroom window, withdrawn and silent. Law finally brought her to bed around two in the morning and we cuddled around her, giving her as much comfort as we could.

Her smile fades at the edges. “I’ll be okay. I wouldn’t mind staying in Bevvy until the storm passes, though.”

“Arch will lose his little mind,” I say, remembering the scene before we left this morning. The storm was still raging, but so was the Fire mage. He wanted to dive despite the storm, arguing that Rho and Gabe could tow them through the worst of the surf until they got to calmer, deeper water. Law flatly refused to consider it. If Rho hadn’t said he had to return to Bevington today for a meeting with the registrar’s office about his withdrawal, the confrontation could have gotten ugly.

“As unreasonable as Law can be,” Caileán says. “He’s right about this. None of us should be in the water until the storm passes. We have no idea what the Graeae are capable of.”

“I can hear you, you know,” my brother huffs.

He’s stopped a few feet behind us to give me a moment with our mate, but he’s never let Caileán out of his sight today. I understand what he’s feeling. I’m strongly tempted to ditch my Winter Study seminar and camp out in the back of Caileán’s classroom. I hate the idea of being away from her even for ninety minutes.

Caileán throws him a grin over her shoulder. “I know.”

“I’m carrying your hot chocolate,” Law points out, lifting one of the takeaway cups he’s carrying. “With the frothed oat milk and extra cinnamon.”

“I appreciate having my hands free,” Caileán says, holding up one mittened hand before she rubs my back with it.

“Then why is Luca getting all the kisses and I’m just getting slandered?” Law grumbles.

“It’s not slander if it’s true,” I say.

Law scowls at me.

“Once we get to my classroom and you deliver my hot chocolate, if you transform into your cat form, you can have toe bean kisses,” Caileán offers. “I don’t think I have time for anything else before my class.”

Law growls and blurs in my sight. The takeaway cups go flying. Caileán’s whisked out of my arms. When Law slows enough to come back fully into the mortal world, he’s half-way down the path to Old Chapel with Caileán slung over his shoulder. Her hair hangs nearly to the ground; a few black feathers flutter to the concrete from their brush with Faery.

Our queen’s wild laughter rings through the cold, bright air all the way to Old Chapel.

We part ways inside the building, with Law and Caileán heading to her classroom. I slouch off to mine. I dropped Kellan’s Winter Study seminar to avoid her having to give me a grade. Jane Serpa’s classes are always over-enrolled, so I couldn’t get into hers. I settled for my third choice: “Magic andthe Evolving Mundane: Ethical Magic for Mortal Change” with Professor Blink.

Winter Study is always a time to try something new. A lot of students try skiing. Others try alcohol poisoning. The professors explore esoteric interests they can’t sneak into the core curriculum.

Professor Blink, who I haven’t taken a class from before, is a haruspex: one of those rare mages whose magic isn’t channeled through her Element, but rather through animal guts. Haruspex have always been in bad odor—pun intended—with Elemental mages. Add in PETA and haruspicy has disappeared everywhere but academia.

I mostly took the course because the syllabus promised weekly debates with Professor Blink and “ethical experts” including animal-rights activists. I’m less interested in learning about using magic ethically than I am in the potential fireworks. If I can’t have class with Caileán or Jane, at least I can be entertained.

Our first session was disappointingly sedate. But it was just an introductory session where we reviewed the syllabus and picked case studies. Professor Blink offered five, pre-packaged case studies, but I wanted to design my own based on the Battle of Jedburgh Abbey, figuring I might as well get academic credit for all the research I did on the players in the conflict while Rho was recuperating. The comments I got back from Professor Blink after I submitted the case study proposal by email were beyond enthusiastic: she wanted to feature the battle in the class on the environmental impact of magic use, including a climate-change denier among the “ethical experts.” Since I have an in with Evan Lords, I offered to ask him to participate on the panel. Although her email response was school-appropriate, I could almost hear her swooning. I got Rho to ask Lords; Lords saidyes. He should be here today since this is the class on magic and the environment.

I have high hopes for fireworks.

When I reach the seminar room, I see that Lords is already present, standing at the front with Rho, the two men towering over Professor Blink. Professor Blink is wearing black academic robes, trimmed with purple at her wrists and collar. Top her with a pointed hat, which might bring her up to five feet, and she’d fit the classic description of a witch, right down to the slightly hooked nose. Lords is wearing a midnight blue suit under his green cloak. Rhodes is casual in a cable-knit sweater and jeans, with his blue training mantle clasped around his muscular neck and pushed back over his shoulders. Fuck, my boyfriend is hot.

After drooling over my guy for a minute, I focus on the table behind Lords, Blink, and Rho which has been turned to face the classroom. There are three chairs behind the table, for the “panel of experts.” A red-haired man in a flannel shirt sits in one of the seats. He has his arms crossed over his chest and is scowling at the tiny Professor. Surely, he’s the animal-rights activist? Either that or Blink has a very angry ex. Beside him sits an alert, gray-haired woman in academic robes. Is she the climate-change denier? She looks like someone’s kindly grandma.

The other man standing at the front of the room as students file in and take their seats is a surprise: Rowan Wright. Either his time in Italy has given him a new lease on life or he’s spent some time at the spa. His hair’s more vibrant than the animal-rights activist’s. It’s no longer streaked with gray. He has a golden tan that he definitely didn’t get at Bevington in January. Like Professor Blink, he’s wearing black robes, the stripes at his throat and wrists shiny black. His robes are open, showing off a tailored, dove-gray suit. Didn’t he have a bit of a paunch at the exhibit opening? Maybe he’s been swimming laps across the Straits because there’s no sign of it now.

He catches my eye, says something to Professor Blink, and strides down the room’s central aisle toward me.

Rho’s dark eyes follow him. When Rho’s gaze meets mine, he lifts his eyebrows. I blow him a kiss. I’m not afraid of Wright.

Wright grabs my hand and pumps it between his before I have a chance to sidestep him. “Prince Lucas, good to see you.”

He’s big into my title, pompous ass that he is. He addressed all his emails to me that way, too, when he tried to lure me away from Kellan.

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