Page 91 of The Art of Exiley

“I’m not quite sure. That wasn’t a normal response. I didn’t use that much Ha’i. It’s almost as if…” He trails off, looking at me curiously, but he doesn’t complete the thought.

“As if what?”

He ignores my question. “You should practice this on your own until you get the hang of it.”

“I’m not sure I should; it doesn’t seem very safe.” I take stock of my hair, but there’s so much of it that the locks lost to the fire are hardly noticeable.

“You should be fine. That was an unusual circumstance. Just make sure to have your snuffer mod on hand.” He brandishes the mod he used to extinguish the flame.

“Uh, I don’t have one of those.”

“I have an extra I can lend you.”

“Thanks.”

Rafe has me create static with my own foot and try to set it alight, but he seems distracted, and I’m scared of another fire. While I can make a spark, I can’t seem to make a flame. Eventually, with a huff, Rafe says, “I think that’s enough for now. Let’s call it a night.”

I nod, a bit disappointed. We didn’t cover much ground.

“Walk back to my room with me,” Rafe says. “I can get you that snuffer.”

I nod again.

The path through the Summer wing is becoming familiar, and I know we’re almost to his room when the tapestries turn the color of freshly cut grass and the walls illuminate with firefly lights. When we reach his door, Rafe asks, “Do you want to come in?”

He could easily just grab the mod and bring it out to me, so obviously the answer to this question is no.

“Sure,” I say.

As he rummages through a drawer for the snuffer, I wander around his room. He doesn’t have a roommate. I guess that princes are above sharing accommodation. On top of the piano that dominates his sitting area, there’s a small sculpture of a dragon made of reflective hematite with amethyst eyes. Next to the dragon is a gilt frame with a picture of the Vanguard royal family—who, since Quorum, I have made sure to learn more about. They’re all sitting in a line on a dais, as perfect as a painting in a museum. Rafe’s father, King George, sits next to his wife, Princess Lilith—who looks younger than some of her stepsons. Alexander, the heir, sits on the right side of the king, and Rafe and his younger brother, Benjamin, are next to the princess. Though they don’t wear crowns, they exude royalty. With the exception of Prince Alexander, they are all blond, and with no exception, they’re all beautiful.

Benjamin sits with less grace than the rest of them, slightly reclined like the one picture frame off-kilter in a line of symmetrical ones. There’s less severity to his face. Fewer sharp angles and lines. His eyes hold more humor than haughtiness, more question than declaration.

Rafe comes to stand next to me and hands me the mod.

“Thanks.” I take it, but he makes no move to shoo me out of the room, so I say, “He looks fun.” I gesture to the youngest prince.

Rafe smiles, his whole face softening. “Ben is the most like our mother. He’s the sweetest of us—we’re not a particularly sweet family.” I let out a snort. “But Ben is different. He’s… kind. And funny. I miss him.”

“Why didn’t he come with you to Genesis?”

“He’s not a Sire, so he wasn’t considered to be at risk.” His expression hardens. “I wish Hypatia had remained there with him. Her condition is far too unstable for her to have been sent unsupervised so far from home. That’s why I had to come too.”

“What do you mean? Weren’t you sent here for being a Sire?”

“I was close to mastering in Blood Sci, and I’m eighteen. No one would have made me come, but I chose to, to look after Hypatia. And I failed to do the one thing I came here to do.” His nostrils flare, but then he inhales and blinks away all evidence of his emotions.

Perfectly controlled, he indicates the piano and asks, “Do you play?”

“Terribly,” I respond. Kor’s taught me a bit over the years.

“Show me,” Rafe commands.

I sit on the bench and begin to pluck out a passable rendition of the “Moonlight Sonata.” It’s not a song I particularly enjoy, a bit too simple and slow for my taste, but that’s what makes it easy enough for me to do it some kind of justice.

Rafe sinks down next to me and brushes my hands away from the keys.

“You’ll deafen me if you keep that up. You’re tearing the soul out of a beautiful song.”

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