Desperate to engage in some kind of conversation, but unsure how to begin, he was relieved when she broke the silence.
“I hear you have done well recently. Top of the class they say. How did you manage it?”
For the next mile, Aedan basked in the pleasure of telling a beautiful girl all about himself. Conversation, it seemed, wasn’t so difficult after all. He began with his methods of study and led quickly onto his techniques in weapons, infusing as much false modesty as he could bear. He placed before her some of his deepest secrets, and some of his friends’ secrets too, and was about to get started with a new design he’d been considering for a war machine when they arrived at the apothecary’s store.
Ilona put a finger to her lips, cutting Aedan off in mid flow, asked him to wait out of sight, and walked inside. When she returned, the baskets were heaped with bottles. They were considerably heavier and Aedan saw an opportunity to demonstrate some of his strength – something he had been compelled to mention a little earlier, so he insisted again on carrying both. Ilona made no argument; it left her free to twirl and dance beside him, causing her bright red kirtle to swish around her ankles. She drew more than a little attention, especially from the boys and young men, but it didn’t seem to worry her.
Aedan took up the conversation where they, or rather he, had left off. The now-heavy baskets and a problem he was experiencing with his shoe – the half-inch paper lifts he’d wedged under his heels to bring him nearer to Ilona’s height were causing the left shoe to slip off with each step – made the description of the war machine challenging. Nevertheless, as he finished off, he felt he had provided a fairly compelling picture, especially with the design’s culmination – the ground-breaking secondary torsional spring system.
For the past fifty paces or so, Ilona had been gazing up at a steep angle, obviously trying to get an idea of the machine’s size by comparing it to buildings. It was time to know her opinion. Aedan took a deep breath. “Well,” he said, pulse racing, “what do you think?”
Ilona was quiet for a spell, considering. Then she turned to him with a dreamy look. “Aren’t these such pretty houses?”
Aedan had been ready to field a range of questions, but that one slipped him. He had to do a bit of mental scrambling before he was able to reply. “Uh … the houses? Well … yes, I suppose they are.”
“Now that’s where I’d like to live,” she said, and for the next half-mile she enthused about cherry-wood floors, satin curtains, gold-edged porcelain vases and the kind of high company that could be found in those surrounds. Aedan’s disappointment did not last long. He soon forgot about the war machine and gazed at Ilona with the deepest interest, captivated by the movement of her eyes and mouth, and hearing not a word.
They “conversed” in this manner down the affluent High Street. Aedan was beginning to feel more comfortable. Things were going along nicely.
As they turned a corner, the invisible arms of the bakery reached through the breeze and took hold of them. Ilona suddenly lost interest in cherry wood and satin.
“Let’s drop in at Corey’s,” she said. “I’m starved.”
They walked through the doors just in time to see a heap of barley loaves totter out from the kitchen and collapse into a large basket, revealing a young man, slightly flushed, holding a tray. He had carefully arranged flaxen hair, quick eyes, and a feathery peach-fuzz moustache that was impossibly dark, far darker than his hair. It was almost as if he had used some kind of boot polish. Aedan looked down to the boots, and when he looked up again, he was grinning.
No sooner had Moustache-boy’s eyes fallen on Ilona than they detected Aedan, and the look of delight shrivelled into something nearer hate. It was a kind of hungry hate. Aedan recognised it immediately – he had seen it more than once on the morning’s walk. In his companion’s company, he was finding much opportunity to study the face of envy.
“Hello there, Lynford,” Ilona said with a flash of perfect teeth and tilt of her head.
Lynford’s smile found him again just as his father, the renowned Corey, entered the room.
“Ilona!” he called in a deep voice drawn from the vast chasms of an even deeper belly. “The Rose of Castath, as my blushing son here so rightly calls you. And Aedan. What a delight to see two of my most loyal together.”
The moustache flinched at the last word and the smile beneath it shrivelled again.
“What are the latest Fenn rumours down at the academy?” the baker asked.
It was Aedan’s turn to flinch as the mention of the academy woke his conscience which delivered a good bite. Fortunately Ilona took up the conversation and, after passing on the gossip, ordered two small cheese-coated loaves while the boys exchange dangerous looks. A wave of customers poured into the bakery, bringing an end to their chat. Aedan paid for the loaves and they made their way out, but not before Ilona turned and gave the miserable baker’s son a parting smile.
Aedan tensed. He knew exactly what route to take the conversation. It would require subtlety and tact. He could see the way forward.
“Can’t say I think much of Lynford,” he began as they got onto the road. “Looks like he must spend half the morning fixing his hair. And his moustache is painted – any girl who kissed him would get a moustache herself. And … and he’ll probably end up fat like his father.” He glanced at Ilona, hopeful.
She laughed at him over her loaf. “Is that jealousy speaking?”
Aedan tried to deny the charge. He bumbled and stuttered until Ilona plugged his mouth with a hunk of bread. Aedan, his hands occupied by the baskets, could do nothing but chew.
“There,” Ilona said. “If you aren’t going to be honest with me then don’t talk.”
Aedan tried to look as contrite as bulging chipmunk-cheeks would allow.
“Don’t worry,” said Ilona, reading his pinched brows. “I’m not cross with you, silly boy.”
She stopped walking, looked at Aedan as if considering something, then led him to the whitewashed door of a modest apartment. She knocked. After a while the door was opened by a short woman with striking, angular features drawn into tired lines.
“Hello, Mum,” Ilona said, leaning forward to kiss her surprised mother. Then she dashed into the house, calling something over her shoulder about entertaining Aedan for a bit while she fetched a hat.
The woman turned her sad look on Aedan and smiled faintly.
“Come in, then. Have a seat,” she said, and led him to a small kitchen table. Aedan, knowing all about Malik’s family wealth, was surprised at the modesty of the home. But then he remembered what Coren had said about his in-laws – obviously Malik’s parents – having no interest in charity even among their own relatives. Ilona’s mother sat down facing him. “So you’re the one who saved my daughter a while back.” She took Aedan’s hand in both of hers and smiled at him. “I’m very grateful, Aedan. We are all very grateful. Ilona speaks of you often.”
Aedan snatched at the words and buried them in his personal vault of treasures. He smiled and Ilona’s mother continued.
“Look after her down at the campus, Aedan. She’s not as tough as she seems. Six years later and I still hear her weeping at night for the father that walked out. There’s a tender heart under that shell.”
He could not have been more deeply moved.
Ilona danced back into the room. Aedan noticed a loose floral bonnet thing strapped to her head. He didn’t see how it would help with sun, rain or wind, but the light material made her eyes appear even more arresting, and he gawped in mute approval. She kissed her mother again and led the way back onto the road. Aedan said a clumsy goodbye. As he stepped out, he realised that he still didn’t know the little woman’s name. Mum certainly wouldn’t do. Although … perhaps one day … The thought gave him a sudden flush of exultant joy and a deep smile spread over his face.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Ilona asked.
“Me? Uh – oh, haha, no, it’s … it’s nothing. At least
, well not nothing, umm, just not really, you know, explainable, or like that …” He swallowed, choked, and after a bout of coughing in which he finally lost his shoe and had to go back for it, hoping Ilona had not noticed the paper lifts, he managed to calm himself down and recover his breath.
Ilona was watching him, her head tilted slightly, a curious expression lurking under the dappled shade of the bonnet. “You’re blushing.” she said.
If he hadn’t been blushing before, he did so now, challenging her for the title of Rose of Castath.
They wended their way through the crowds to the arching bridge that overlooked Regent Street’s open market. Here they leaned on the stone railing and watched for a while. Aedan, his hands free at last, nibbled at his loaf, but his stomach was too full of flutters to accept much.
The scene beneath them was almost like a large colourful river, a great living painting that formed but never settled. Dabs of earthy tones – farmers and labourers mostly, in their rough trews and tunics – drifted in and settled behind the booths and tables, while glittering ripples of patrons from higher ranks, coloured with an array of vibrant surcoats, cloaks and gowns, eddied around each other and attached themselves to the booths for a time before being drawn away back into the current.
The growing waterfall of voices was spiced with the soft bubbling of pigeons and the tireless honk-and-screech of a frustrated donkey tethered a maddening five yards from a crate of cabbages. From further off, where the livestock were permitted, grunts, squeals, bleats and gentle lowing drew customers more effectively than any banner could have done.
“See the man with the red hat and tunic?” Ilona said, pointing down into the crowd. When Aedan had located him, she continued. “He’s the richest landowner in the city. He owns more than a dozen inns. His son is at the academy in the law wing. On his sixteenth birthday, his father gave him a carriage with copper-tinted velvet seats and a team of six horses.” A dreamy look crossed her face and Aedan had the strangest empty feeling. He was in her company, but somehow not.
On the walk back he tried to start a conversation around things in which they shared some knowledge – Mistress Gilda, the academy, and as a final bid, Rillete’s injured foot – but it was like striking sparks into a puddle. Ilona’s thoughts were clearly elsewhere, and Aedan tried every angle without success. By the time they reached the academy, he was spent.
Outside the gate, Ilona stopped him.
“Aedan,” she said. “Do you think I’m beautiful?” She arched her brows and smiled playfully.
A wave of delight rushed over him – no wonder she had been so quiet. It was all he could do to keep up with the torrent of adjectives that poured forth. “I think you’re the most …” it began, and ran through an assortment of wonderful things, some of which he wasn’t too sure about, but it felt so good to say them that he couldn’t stop until he ran out of breath.
She laughed, and rewarded him with a smile that almost had him stepping forward with arms outstretched, but she danced away through the academy gate.
“Thank you, Aedan,” she said, when he caught up. “It’s nice having someone I can depend on.” She took the baskets, then looked into his eyes and let the moment linger. As Aedan gazed, the bleak homeward walk and the rich boy and Lynford were forgotten.
Then she was gone.
If he could have made the morning last forever, he would have, yet the sigh he breathed was as much one of regret as exhaustion. It wasn’t just the lack of sleep, though that contributed. He felt utterly drained. Thoughts of her nagged at his worn-out mind, keeping it from rest, like the smell of those cabbages was doing for the donkey.
After Ilona was well away, he pulled the annoying paper lifts from his shoes and took a roundabout route to his dorm. He had planned to slip in unnoticed, but it was not to be – Murn had prepared something special.
The dark ruthrek had continued to grow at an alarming rate. Muscle now coiled through powerful limbs and chest in a way that caused people to stare. It also kept them at a distance while staring because Murn was not a horse to gaze back with vacant cow-eyes. He was intelligent and restless and tended to play with anyone who came within range. It normally resulted in screams. With his increasing strength, he had discovered, only a few hours earlier, that he could jump the raised outer fence.
As Aedan made his furtive way behind hedges and walls, he began to sense that something was amiss. Nobody was lounging on the lawns. Instead, tight clusters of jabbering students were gathered in and around the buildings. Taking a corner, Aedan almost ran into one of the groundsmen who recognised him and delivered a fuming summary of the day.
Apparently, after clearing the fence, Murn had thundered up from the paddocks and made circuit of the grounds, confiscating and devouring all manner of interesting meals that would probably give him colic later. After scattering the students, even sending one or two up the trees, he made a light lunch of some rare boutique plant that had held tenure within the forbidden central precinct for two hundred years. When he was chased off, he left hoof-sized craters in the manicured lawn as a testament to his visit. He had last been seen rolling in a clover patch – part of a decorative section of the chancellor’s boulevard.
Aedan snatched the halter from the shaking groundsman and raced off to find his unruly beast.
When Murn was safely stabled, Aedan was made to feel the full weight of the various desecrations. He had to labour through the night to raise the fence yet again. Kian got wind of it and helped. He ensured that the barrier was not just high but also robust. It would need to withstand experimental prods from a horse that now looked capable of charging through a stone parapet. After testing the beams Aedan had nailed in place, Kian pronounced them useless, pulled them down, and made Aedan hold while he bound and dovetailed with the precision of an artist.
Long into the night the echoes of the lonely hammer fluttered through empty acres of darkened lawns and hooded trees, lingering in the porticos and colonnades now shadow-filled and mysterious. Roosting doves cocked their heads and puzzled over these odd creatures toiling, talking and sometimes laughing in the soft glow of their lantern.
By the time the last fence was raised, the eastern skyline had begun to change moods, and the sleepy boys ambled off to a well-earned breakfast.
As soon as the meal was over, Dun called Aedan aside. He wanted the full story. He had seen him running after Murn – he knew the fever had been a hoax. Aedan hadn’t slept for a while. He was too drained to construct any story but the truth, and it toppled out.
Dun laughed before assigning three weeks of that most dreaded latrine duty. It was a cunning punishment. No matter how much Aedan washed he was unable to rid himself of the smell, real or imagined, that hummed around him like flies. His friends helped things along by continually sniffing the air and frowning.
The result was that he kept as far away from Ilona as possible, but the weeks passed until there was only one sleep left.
Aedan woke long before sunrise. Unable to get back to sleep, he stared into the darkness and marvelled at how he had found a glittering diamond where everyone else had seen a stone.
Or maybe not everyone, but most had seen a stone.
Or maybe not most, but at least some had failed to notice her …
Still, none of that mattered really. What was important was that the two of them had found each other and they were devoted to each other – at least, he was. That much was certain.
He let out a huff and stared at the ceiling. There was a certain symmetry lacking.
Tomorrow he would have to resolve this, move things along. This was not a girl to lose, and – the next thought made him grip the pillow with some violence – there were one or two rivals.
Or maybe not just one or two …
–––
“Are we talking about the same Ilona?” said Peashot as they ambled across the lawn.
What do you mean?” Aedan asked.
“Kindest and sweetest, you said. Have
you seen the way she treats me? Flat out ignores me if I say anything to her. Kind and sweet people are kind and sweet to everyone, not just the people they like.”
“Maybe you just haven’t got to know her yet,” said Aedan.
“Maybe you haven’t. You’re too drunk on your feelings to actually do any real thinking.”
“I’ve been thinking about her for a month and she is the most wonderful –”
“Yes, yes, I got it all the first time. But tell me honestly – would you really think she was that wonderful if she wasn’t so pretty?”
“How can you ask that? People aren’t like tools you can take apart and study in order to understand them. She’s not the easiest person to get to know, I’ll admit that. But then gold is not the easiest treasure to collect. Her mother told me a bit about her painful background, and maybe that gives her some sharp edges, but I’m looking past all that to the wonderful person that she really is.”
It was a fine speech. Aedan felt pleased with how he’d put it across. It had even steadied his own confidence.
“Well I can’t comment on her background, but I can say that she treats me and Lorrimer like vermin.”
Aedan decided he would have to talk to her about this some time, but for now it was not too much to accept that she didn’t get on with everyone. He didn’t. Neither did Peashot. And for someone with a sharp mind, it was only natural that she should be quick with her tongue. She had once referred to Lorrimer as a bat-eared pole, but in jest. Everyone had laughed, even Lorrimer, though he was quiet for a long time afterwards.
They turned down one of the leafy walkways and Aedan’s eyes fastened onto something under a nearby tree. All thoughts of Peashot – who was instantly forgiven – and bat-eared poles vanished with a pop, leaving only a soft vision of flowing golden locks and glittering emerald eyes. He excused himself and bounded to her like a puppy to its master.
Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) Page 46
