The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(39)

So Noam just nodded.

Lehrer looked relieved. He opened the door.

“Good. Then I’ll see you Monday, at our regular time. Do try not to damage any more government property on your way out, will you?”

He hadn’t called for Howard to escort Noam from the study back to the training wing. Impossible not to take note of that, after what Lehrer had just told him. Even so, Noam didn’t take any detours—just went straight to the barracks before the others could return from class, where he set himself up in the common room with his books, like he’d been there all along.

Dara didn’t get back until late. He let himself into the barracks sometime around eleven. He’d taken the fake lieutenant stripes off his uniform. Such a small thing, but without them Dara looked younger, a quiet shadow with a lowered gaze.

“Hey,” Noam said, moving his textbook off his lap and onto the end table. Dara glanced up, their eyes meeting across the common room. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Dara turned the latch. “I’m fine. Lehrer was angry, but I expected that.”

“Does he know you . . .”

But when Dara looked at him again, the question died in Noam’s throat. Instead he shoved the other books and papers off the sofa, tapped the cushion. He was a little surprised when Dara took the invitation and settled himself down on the other end of the sofa. He drew his legs up onto the seat, like he was trying to make himself small.

“You didn’t have to lie for me,” Dara said.

“You didn’t have to drop your illusion to help me escape.”

Dara glanced at Noam out of the corner of his eye, a tiny smile flickering across his face. “You’re cleverer than I thought.”

“Not like that was a high bar to begin with,” Noam said, but Dara shook his head.

“I knew you were smart. That’s not the same thing as liking you.”

“And why don’t you?” Noam asked before he could stop himself. Dara arched a brow, but Noam barreled on regardless. “What did I ever do to you?”

Dara twisted around, draping one arm along the back of the sofa and tilting his head against his own shoulder. “I don’t like na?veté, I suppose.”

“You really think I’m naive?”

“You trust Lehrer.”

Noam fought not to roll his eyes. “He hasn’t given me any reason not to. I’m sure you know more than I do, considering he raised you or whatever, but I have to make my own opinions about people. That’s not na?veté. That’s critical thinking.”

Dara laughed, but it wasn’t cruel. He looked otherworldly like this, watching Noam with steady black eyes and messy hair falling into his face. “Something tells me critical thinking isn’t your strong suit, álvaro.”

“I suppose not, if you equate being cynical with being logical.”

“Mmm.” Dara closed his eyes, and for a moment Noam thought he was going to go to sleep right here in the common room, with his fingertips so nearly brushing Noam’s arm. When he opened his eyes again, they were half-lidded, lashes low and dark. “What did Lehrer tell you?”

“He said you were troubled and that I should stay away from you.”

“I bet he did.” Dara’s smile was bladed. He had Noam captured there as thoroughly as if he’d tied him down, because Noam couldn’t imagine moving when Dara was looking at him like that. He was sure that if he did, he wouldn’t escape unscathed. “And since you’re such a rebel now, do you plan on obeying?”

“It’s like I told you. I make my own opinions.”

Noam didn’t flinch, and when Dara exhaled, Noam felt the gust of air against his own brow.

“Look at that,” Dara murmured. “Noam álvaro, interesting after all.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you were there, too, Shirazi,” Noam said and refused to break Dara’s gaze—not even when it sharpened. “Feel like offering some kind of explanation?”

“Not tonight,” Dara said. He closed his eyes again, and when Dara wasn’t glaring, it was easier to see how unwell he looked—too thin, exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days.

Noam chewed the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t just let this go, no matter how pathetic Dara looked. He had to know what Dara was up to, whether it was going to cause problems for Noam’s own plans.

But perhaps it could wait. At least until tomorrow.

Dara unfolded himself from the sofa, rising to his feet. Noam was still frozen in place, watching him move.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Dara said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I expect.”

It felt like a question. Noam nodded.

“Good.”

Dara left, and Noam—Noam was drawn up on tenterhooks, poised on edge until he heard the bedroom door shut behind Dara, and the spell broke.

He still stayed away from the bedroom for another hour, staring at his books, until he was sure Dara was asleep.





CHAPTER EIGHT

Noam kept expecting Lehrer to change his mind. But no men in antiwitching armor showed up at midnight to demand Noam hand over his flopcell. No MoD soldiers reached for him as he left the government complex that morning and dragged him back behind bars. He stepped out into the snowy December streets with treason burning a hole in his pocket, and Lehrer just let him.