Page 10 of Prince of Flowers
But what was the big deal? Just one guy feeling the fabric of another guy’s shirt. Wasn’t that completely normal behavior, even in the Wispwood?
And maybe it was wishful thinking, or my hamster brain working on overtime once again, but Sylvain’s fingers weren’t just inspecting the light wool of my top, or the braided cord and leather of my utility belt. Those fingers were probing. I’d been with enough men to know the difference.
Not to brag, but I wasn’t exactly a slouch in the looks department. When I wasn’t tripping over my shoes and spilling entire glasses of ice water down my shirt, I could be very charming. Very wet, yes, but very charming, indeed.
“Would you look at that,” Sylvain muttered, standing so close I could see every one of his lashes. “I have my hand on you, and yet you haven’t used your brutish magic to send me flying halfway across the plaza. Should I take it as a sign that you’re starting to like me?”
My toes curled, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I swallowed as I prepared an answer.
“I already told you. It’s part of the pact. An eidolon can’t harm their summoner. Not under normal circumstances, anyway. The pact will repel you, unless you get a little more creative.”
Why did I have to say that last part? Creative? I didn’t need Sylvain to start thinking up clever and interesting ways to murder me.
“This word. Eidolon. Very curious. What does it mean?”
“It’s the perfect version of something,” I said automatically, reciting something from one of Dr. Fang’s lectures. “The ideal, the exemplar. In terms of summoning, it means a creature who could very well be the paragon of their species. An idol. Like I said. Perfect.”
Sylvain’s tongue ran across his lips. He smiled. “By my own understanding, what you’re saying is that I’m perfect. A champion of the fae. Very accurate. Entirely truthful.”
I drew myself up and sputtered. Gods, I’d walked straight into that one. “I said nothing of the sort, Sylvain.”
“Ah, if you say so.” He smoothed out the creases in my shirt and nodded in approval, his lips pursed. “Very comfortable, and very practical, too. The gray suits you. It goes with your eyes.”
I bit down, commanding my body to stop itself from flushing, instructing the other parts below my waist to please keep from getting too excited.
I chose to wear my uniform in stone and slate for exactly that reason, because the colors complemented my eyes. I chose the sleeveless style for the freedom of motion. For the comfort, too, depending on the weather.
The wool had never felt stifling or heavy or thick, but the skin on my torso burned regardless, especially in the warm trail that his hand had left across my chest, my stomach.
“Uh, thank you,” I stammered.
“And for the record,” Sylvain added, his eyes flitting down, then up my body, “I take back what I said about you being feeble and frail and soft. Perhaps I’ve given you less credit than you deserve. Quite firm, actually, in some of the right places.”
I placed my hands on my hips and laughed, keeping things casual to disguise my giddiness, framing our exchange as a joke between friends. Wait. Were we becoming friends? What was going on here?
No. Eyes on the prize. I needed to remember the whole point of coming here, of bringing him to meet Dr. Fang.
“We at the Wispwood do value physical fitness as well,” I said, struggling to play it cool. “All the academies believe that the body must be honed as sharply as the mind. A mage has limited stocks of magic, after all. At the end of the day, you might still need to rely on your feet or your fists. Or even a blade.”
I patted at my waist, at the dagger sheathed there for use in emergency situations. In truth, the blade served more practical functions than simply working as a weapon. It was an athame as well, a tool for use in ritual magic.
But it also had survivalist applications, helping greatly in harvesting plants, for example, or cutting an innocent woodland animal loose from a net. Or, as I found myself doing most frequently, cutting myself free from an alraune’s choking tendrils. Rough customers, those alraunes.
Sylvain lifted his chin, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “So you’re saying that the students here are trained in martial combat as well. Most interesting.”
I shrugged. “Hey, we like to keep things versatile.”
Sylvain grinned, his teeth sharp and blindingly white. I’d walked right into another trap. “I suppose I’ll soon find out just how versatile you are.”
I couldn’t stop the heat from rushing to my cheeks, flustering as I motioned for him to follow me up the stairs. We needed to see Dr. Fang. I grabbed the bannister, its gnarled twists, grateful for something sturdy to hold on to.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Maybe we were starting to get along. Would it be worth a shot, trying to work things out with Sylvain as an eidolon?
Sure, it was unconventional. Contracting beasts of magic and mythology as eidolons was far more common, but there were also historical records of summoners contracting humanoid eidolons. Angels, as in Grand Summoner Celestina’s case, or djinn, sylphs, and other classes of spirits besides. But these were very rare examples, the exception and never the rule.
I checked over my shoulder to see if Sylvain was still following me. He watched the courtyard distractedly as we ascended the spiral staircase, fascinated and transfixed by the sight of this academy I’d taken for granted.
So maybe he wasn’t a dragon or a unicorn, and his moods changed as swiftly as the wind. But wouldn’t this make for an interesting experience? At the very least it was something I could shove in Evander Skink’s stupid face.
