The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(28)

He hesitated there, mental fingers poised over Dara’s data. God, it was tempting to drag his power through those circuits and find out some kind of nasty secret. Or better yet, chase Dara’s network connection up to the cloud and erase the whole thing.

Only, unlike the phones of all the low-level government workers out in the atrium, Dara’s was protected by the same antitechnopathy ward as Lehrer’s.

Noam glanced up.

Dara was looking at him.

A jolt of static shot up Noam’s spine, and he snatched his power away from Dara’s phone on reflex. Ridiculous how guilty he felt, especially since Dara had no way of knowing what Noam was thinking. But he felt oddly observed as he flipped to the next page in his textbook without reading it, like Dara had tangled himself up in the wires of Noam’s mind and Noam couldn’t cut him out.

What if, though—he scribbled a meaningless line of notes—what if he convinced Lehrer to take down the ward? Lehrer was powerful enough.

It was an insane idea, but Noam was willing to entertain just about any solution at this point. Lehrer was one of the few who had spoken out against Sacha’s treatment of refugees, one of the few who could afford to. He had the cachet of being the only living survivor of the catastrophe, of his revolutionary past, of having been Carolinia’s king before he gave up the crown. Lehrer and Sacha famously loathed each other. But even Lehrer hadn’t accomplished much to stop Sacha from doing precisely as Sacha pleased.

Was that because he couldn’t? Or because he didn’t want to?

Noam had to believe Lehrer cared. He glanced up at him again over the edge of his book. Lehrer had caught one of the little yellow lights in his hand; a faint glow emanated from the cage of his long fingers as Lehrer smiled at it and praised Dara, who looked annoyed.

Lehrer even cared about Dara, for all Dara was indifferent to everything Lehrer gave him. Lehrer cared about Noam, enough to intercede for him. And when witchings were being oppressed, Lehrer had risked his life to save them.

But on the other hand, Lehrer’s department enforced Sacha’s laws. And after the outbreaks in Atlantia got bad, it was Lehrer’s army that had marched south to help.

The Atlantian government called that an act of war, and Noam was inclined to agree.

“That’s enough for today,” Lehrer said to Dara, releasing the little light, which vanished. Noam looked back down at his book. He hadn’t even finished reading the first of the three chapters he’d been assigned.

“Dara, I want you to keep practicing with this tonight. Noam, chapters fourteen through sixteen in this book, and then finish the last chapter in A Physics Primer along with its problem set. Also, I need to speak with you. Stay behind.”

That was new.

Noam took his time with his things, lingering over the organization of his notes and pretending to fumble with his satchel straps. Dara didn’t even bother putting his book in his bag before leaving, door slamming shut in his wake and rattling one of the paintings on the wall.

It was just Noam and Lehrer. Lehrer drifted over to the bookshelf and opened a small cabinet, pulling out a glass decanter of some amber liquor that glittered in the window light.

“Sir,” Noam said.

Lehrer’s attention was focused on the decanter as he poured two fingers of whisky into a glass. “Just one moment, Noam.”

Noam waited.

Replacing the top of the decanter, Lehrer turned to face him properly, leaning against the shelf. “I suspect,” he said, “you’re starting to wonder why I accepted you into this program in the first place.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Noam shrugged one shoulder. I figured you’d put too much bourbon in your coffee that morning probably wasn’t appropriate. “I’m sure you had your reasons, sir.”

“Certainly I did. I wouldn’t have vouched for you with the committee, or sacrificed my personal time to instruct you, if I didn’t think you could catch up.”

Lehrer was only bringing this up because he had overheard what Sacha said. Noam knew that. He knew that.

“I’m too far behind,” he said. It was so hard not to fidget; there was a loose thread on the sofa’s faded upholstery Noam was dying to pluck free.

“I don’t think you are.” Lehrer took a sip of his drink. “And you don’t strike me as the kind of person to let a challenge go without a fight.”

“So, what? I look like I’m stubborn, so you go to bat for me? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you well enough to see myself in you, Noam,” Lehrer said, looking oddly pleased. He moved away from the bookshelf, closer to Noam, until only the seat cushion separated them. When he rested a hand on the sofa’s spine, it was right over that loose thread that had so bothered Noam. A cool shiver ran down Noam’s spine, something he didn’t know how to interpret. “I was twelve when I stopped going to school. Everything I learned, I taught myself by reading books—on my own, the same way you’re doing now. It wasn’t easy, but I was sufficiently motivated to learn, so ‘easy’ didn’t matter. Now I’m the most powerful witching alive.” He said it without arrogance, just a lifted brow. A statement of fact.

“You’re . . .” Noam didn’t even know what he was going to say. All the words felt wrong.

“Clever?” Lehrer said. “So are you. And you’re curious, as I was. You’ve lost a great deal, as I had. And you believe, as I did, that if you are powerful enough, no one will ever be able to hurt you again.”