The Glass Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy #2)(27)
A flush crept into her ears. She leaned away and stirred the broth. “Don’t ask me that,” she replied, quiet. She watched little bits of carrot and potato churn in the soup. She took a deep breath, then another, waiting for the flush to recede. When she was confident that it had, she said, “You know why.”
“Ceony . . .” Emery’s voice trailed off, but he didn’t complete the thought, if he had intended to say anything more than her name to begin with. Ceony continued to stir the broth, which gave her something to focus on other than him.
A full minute passed before Emery spoke again.
He began with a sigh. “You’re my apprentice. I don’t . . . don’t think I need to remind you of that.”
“There’s no documented rule against it,” Ceony countered. The flush began to creep across her skin again, betraying her. “I checked.”
Emery rubbed under the wet cloth around his neck. He hesitated, perhaps concerned about choosing the right words. “Not all rules are written.”
“And you’re not one to follow rules.”
Ceony’s boldness surprised even her, and she dared not even glance at the paper magician to gauge his reaction. The air thickened and swirled around her like the vegetable broth, but instead of cooling, it seemed to grow ever hotter.
I’m his apprentice, she thought. As if he needed to remind her! And how could he possibly ask her why she did any of the things she did? She had confessed her feelings to him in the fourth chamber of his heart, after all.
She closed her eyes and pressed the back of her hand to her cheeks, willing them cool. Fine, she thought, letting the broth settle. If he wants just an apprentice, I’ll be just an apprentice.
Perhaps it had been foolish of her to expect anything more.
She handed him the bowl. “I’ve only done three links for that shrinking chain,” she said. “When you’re feeling well, I’d like you to inspect them. I’d rather not spend time constructing a flawed chain. And I have some reading to do. I’ll come check on you in an hour.”
Ceony stood and brushed off her skirt, then calmly fled to her room to read her book on origami behind a closed door, where no one but her would see that awful, vibrant pink that tainted her skin.
And, for the third time that week, she did an excellent job of staying calm. By the time she finished her textbook, only two tears stained its pages.
CHAPTER 8
CEONY SAT IN A small lobby in the Parliament building on a red velvet chair. Overhead hung a golden chandelier three tiers high, haphazardly festooned with raindrop-shaped crystals. The statue of a long-dead politician watched her from the corner, standing between two copper-colored alcoves decorated with exotic ferns in large, ceramic vases. Tall circle-top windows—composed of smaller circle-top windows bunched together—let in the late-morning light, which shined white thanks to the thin, wispy clouds frosting the sky. The portrait of a past king who looked nothing like Edward VII stood some twelve feet high against the wall opposite the window, and long lines of gold leaf crisscrossed the ceiling. It may have been the fanciest waiting room Ceony had ever seen in her life, but it was still a waiting room.
The tall door behind her shut, underlining the fact that she was forbidden from attending the meeting with Criminal Affairs, to which both Emery and Mg. Aviosky had been invited. She frowned, the exile itching under her skin. She had dealt with Excisioners firsthand, she was the target of all this horrid hoopla, and yet she wasn’t permitted to sit in on the discussion that would determine the Cabinet’s plan of action! She would never understand the workings of the Cabinet, and she had still not forgiven Emery for not arguing on her behalf.
For not trusting me, she thought.
She passed a scornful glance to the new set of textbooks on the table beside her that Emery had instructed her to read: From Pulp to Paper: The Making of a Master Craft, Advanced Geometry, and Mammals of the Cold North, which she assumed tied into advanced animation. She harrumphed. At least she had grabbed a copy of The Railway Magazine from the reception area. The article “How Smelted Tie Plates Can Make Your Trips Smoother and Faster” looked somewhat interesting. She wondered if the writers would actually give away the new spells in the article.
Delilah, a fellow exile from the meeting, strolled over from the politician’s statue. She had been reading the plaque with apparent interest. Her hands were clasped behind her back and her yellow skirt bounced about her calves. Today she had pinned her bobbed hair behind each ear and wore lipstick. Ceony felt rather plain in comparison with the always-flamboyant Delilah, which only upset her more.
“It’s not so bad, waiting,” Delilah said.
From behind the closed doors, someone—it sounded like Mg. Hughes—shouted something unintelligible.
“See?” Delilah offered with a half smile.
Ceony sighed and gestured to the chair on the other side of her. “No, I don’t. Grath talked to me just yesterday, Delilah. I should be in there. If Magician Thane hadn’t overheard everything, I probably would be.”
Delilah’s dark eyes bugged. So, Mg. Aviosky hadn’t told her of the events in the twelfth-floor flat.
Mg. Aviosky had arrived at the apartment with Mg. Hughes yesterday afternoon, looking more disgruntled than Ceony had ever seen her. She’d confirmed that Grath shouldn’t be able to pinpoint the flat’s precise location from the mirror-to-mirror communication, though he would know they were hiding in London. Ultimately it had been Emery’s decision not to move.