Give the Dark My Love(79)

“Nedra?” He stepped closer; I shrank further back. “Are you okay? How is your family?”

A knife to my heart, twisting. I couldn’t answer. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my appointment time.” Grey looked around him. “But I guess it’s true.”

“That Master Ostrum was arrested? Yes.”

“For treason?” Grey asked. He searched for an oil lamp, finally finding one on Master Ostrum’s desk. “That’s the rumor anyway. That he was secretly performing necromancy.”

Grey turned away from me and lit the lamp behind him, the steady flame providing more light than his feeble candle. His back stiffened. He didn’t look up at me as he asked, “That’s not what he had you doing, right?”

“No.” My tone remained neutral, my face remained in shadow.

“Because the rat—”

“I have not raised the dead,” I said. “Nor has Master Ostrum.”

He mumbled something.

“What?” I asked.

“I said, you can’t know that for sure. About Ostrum, I mean. They say the Emperor himself decreed his arrest.”

“Master Ostrum isn’t a necromancer,” I insisted. “And we couldn’t perform necromancy even if we wanted to. We don’t have an iron crucible.” Not yet. “But, Grey,” I added, “you know that the plague is necromantic, right? A necromancer started this, and it will take a necromancer to finish it.”

“Have you ever wondered,” Grey said, looking around the smashed office, “if it could be the same necromancer?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ostrum is one of the best alchemists on Lunar Island. He could be showing off. Start a plague . . . then end it. Be a hero.”

I stared at him for several moments. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said,” I snapped.

“You’re too close to him,” Grey protested. “He likes the fame. The prestige.”

“Yes, that’s why he became a teacher. For the lucrative pay and the respect.”

“Nedra,” Grey said. “While you were gone, Ostrum presented at the court. He talked about his legacy, he rambled on about the importance of preserving history—it was weird, to be honest. The Emperor started an inquiry because Ostrum was dancing around the subject of necromancy. In court. In front of everyone. Like it was nothing.”

“Master Ostrum.”

“What?”

“Master Ostrum,” I repeated, subtly stressing the word. “Show some respect.”

Grey shook his head. “We’re going to be reassigned,” he said. “Probably Professor Pushnil. Or Professor Xhamee. That would be better. More connections.”

“Sure. Connections,” I said, my voice hollow.

Grey crossed the room and, for the first time, seemed to actually see me. “Oryous’s stars, Nedra, what happened?” He stroked my ratty hair, his fingers falling to my face. I could feel the dirt and grime that stood between us. “Is this berrilias powder?”

“For lice,” I said as he wiped the white dust from his fingers.

“Lice? What happened in your village?”

“I was at the hospital for that bit,” I said. “After—”

“But you said—” Grey frowned. I hadn’t said I was all right, that my family was fine. He’d just heard in the silence what he hoped to be true. “Nedra, what happened?” His question was gentler this time, his attention finally focused.

It was too late.

He wrapped his arms around me in a hug I didn’t return. “You’re safe now,” he whispered into my dirty hair. “You’re home.”

I watched a dust mote falling through the lamplight. Did Grey think that this was home? Yūgen? School? Him?

I pulled away, ignoring the hurt I could see in his eyes. I adjusted my bag on my shoulder. “I have to go,” I said.

“Go? Where?”

“To the quarantine hospital.”

“Ned,” Grey said, “didn’t you hear? They closed the hospital.”

“I know that.” My eyes bore into his. “Did you know they left thirty patients behind? Left them to die?”

Grey looked surprised enough that I trusted he hadn’t known. That made me feel a little better.

I moved past him, toward the door, battered and broken as it was. Grey reached for me. It reminded me of the way the others pulled me from the hospital, the way they carried me, kicking and screaming, from my sister.

I jerked away from Grey with more force than was needed.

He stood there in the light, watching me in the shadows, concern etched across his face. “What happened while you were gone?” he asked. He reached for me again, and I let him hold my hand, pull my wrist to the light, see the bruises and scratches from my struggle.

My bag felt very, very heavy.

He pulled me closer. My head tilted toward his. My lips were dry and cracked, but none of that mattered as he pressed them against his, his body holding me gently but firmly, as if I were a bird he was afraid would fly away. I closed my eyes and sighed, letting myself have this one moment. This one kiss. His body felt strong and warm and safe. When he pulled back, I felt myself drowning in his eyes, not in the same gaspy, hungry way as before, but slipping under, just sliding down into darkness where nothing mattered, nothing at all.