Page 118 of Grave Situation

I nod. “And that’s what makes you better than other people. That, and how hard you work, and your sense of humor, and the way you can make oatcakes taste… well, not good, because that’s impossible, but better than paper and ashes.”

“Thank you,” he says dryly. “It’s good to know that if I decide to give up healing, I have a future career making oatcakes to look forward to.”

I take a deep breath. I seem to be doing that a lot tonight. “You know what I meant. You’re an extraordinary man, Jaimin. It would be impossible for me not to recognize that.”

He smiles faintly. “And yet, you don’t watch your tongue with me.”

My wince is involuntary. “I really am sorry I snapped?—”

“No, not what you said this afternoon—though your apology is accepted. I meant, you’re not constantly careful of what you say to me. You talk to me as though I’m part of the group—the way you spoke to Tia, even. As though I’m a close friend.”

“I’d like to think you are.” I tread carefully with him for the first time since we left the City of Knowledge. “I’d like to think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had aside from Tia.”

“I’d like to be more.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I’d liketo be more….

His words echo through the still of the night—or maybe just through my brain. This is it. The crux of my dilemma. Because I want that too, more than anything, but I don’t deserve it.

Everything I’ve said about him being better than other people is true. He’s an incredible human being, and I’m… me. Not that I think I’m terrible, but I can recognize my own shortcomings, and I have… a few.

Some might say a lot.

I’ve been silent too long, because his face closes over, the animation in his expression fading. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. We won’t speak of this again.”

“No,” I blurt. “I mean, you haven’t made me uncomfortable. I…” Fuck. How do I say this without making it sound like a cliché?

“You don’t have to feel the same as I do,” he says gently, and that makes me feel even worse. He’s trying to make me feel better about rejecting him, and he doesn’t deserve that.

“I do, though.” I force myself to keep going. “I just… I don’t think I’m… worthy.” I almost choke on that word, but I can’t deny it’s true. Jaimin deserves someone who’s just asextraordinary as he is. And when he finds that person, I’ll loathe and despise them from afar, because if I get too close, there’s a good chance I’ll claw their eyes out. Or set them on fire.

“You don’t need to make excuses, Talon.” He’s still using his gentle voice.

“It’s not an excuse,” I protest. “I’m a level-2 mage whose studies have gone off the rails lately.” To be fair, that’s not really my fault. It’s the stone’s. “People all over the world adore you, but even the ones closest to me think I’m smart-mouthed and difficult. You should be with someone who everyone—” I stop. Was I really about to say that he should base his future relationship on what other people think?

“I see you’ve realized how ridiculous you’re being,” he says dryly. “While you’re trying to think of a way to phrase it that will actually make sense—which it won’t, since it doesn’t—let me tell you why I think you are, in fact, the right person for me.”

I don’t have an answer yet, so I simply nod.

“You’re a level-2 mage,” he repeats what I said, “but you’re one of the top ten percent of mages to have reached level-2 within the time that you did. You’re an exceptional Talent, though we both agree that’s an accident of birth rather than an achievement.But, unlike many exceptional Talents, you’ve actually worked hard to learn and progress your career. I admire that. You also teach while studying, which most, if not all, of your peers do not do.”

“I only teach because I’m forced to,” I point out, and he smiles.

“Do you? Who forces you?”

“The dean. I tried to resist,” I remind him.

“That’s right. The first year, you ignored your class until having them follow you around got too annoying. How long was that for, again?”

“A week.” He’s trying to make a point, and I’m fairly certain I’m not going to like it.

He nods. “A week. And if you hadn’t given in, how much longer do you think the dean would have allowed the first years to go without instruction?”

I open my mouth—and close it again. Is he right? Could I have won the game the dean and I were playing if I’d just held out a little longer?

Probably, yes.

---