Page 82 of Daughter of No Worlds

“You don’t need the Stratagrams. They won’t be expecting that.”

“But—”

“I’m far too pessimistic to tell you it’s fine if it’s not fine. There is no possible way they could look at that display and argue that you don’t know what you’re doing.You’re ready.”

“I know I’m ready.” My fingers fidgeted with each other. “But perhaps I should spend the night practicing for—”

“No. Not allowed. This is the cardinal rule: the night before an evaluation, you rest.”

“Did you obey that rule?”

“No. But I didn’t have a teacher as good as me.” He reached out with his thumb and swiped the tip of my nose, looking at his fingers and making a face. “I’ve been waiting for that to fall for the last fifteen minutes. Couldn’t resist.” He turned on his heel and began striding back to the cottage, waving me to follow. “Go take a bath. You’re disgusting. And I swear to the Ascended, if I see you sneaking Stratagrams like the most boring possible kind of addict, I’ll wring your neck.”

* * *

I ranmy fingers through wet hair, pulling it over one shoulder and twirling the damp ends around my fingers. It had grown significantly since the night I first arrived here and chopped it all off in Max’s washroom. Funny how I didn’t notice until now exactly how much. The passage of time slipped by like that.

With my other hand, I absentmindedly traced circles on the wood of the table. Then one line, and two—

“Tisaanah!”

I jumped. Max stood above me, arms crossed. “How disappointingly predictable.”

“I wasn’t really—”

“Wasn’t really. Please.” He scoffed, then slid a glass of red wine down the table to me. “Here. A much better coping mechanism for uncooperative nerves.”

“I’m not nervous,” I said. I took a sip anyway, enjoying the distraction of the bitter tang over my tongue.

“We both know we’re past this bullshit.” He pressed a finger below one eye, raising his eyebrows at me. “I see you, Tisaanah. No great question.”

I laughed a quiet, uncomfortable chuckle — unsure of how to react to the way my chest tightened, the way my palms seized.

“Should I be — I don’t know — taking you out on the town, or something?” He slid into the chair across from me, leaning back, his own wine glass dangling from his fingers. “Feels like we should be celebrating. And it occurred to me that maybe your idea of celebrating isn’t sitting around at home with an unpleasant recluse like myself.”

“It’s too early to celebrate. Maybe we can go after I pass.”

The truth was, there was nowhere else I’d rather be than here, drinking up these final moments of comfortable companionship. One way or another, pass or fail, I had the distinct feeling that everything would be different by this time tomorrow. And there was so much that I didn’t want to change.

Max raised his glass. “Tomorrow, then. When we’ll really have something to celebrate. I’m sure it’ll be much more fun to go out with you than sitting in a corner watching ladies stumble all over themselves for Sammerin, anyway.”

I snorted at that mental picture.

“It’s something to behold, honestly.” Max leaned over the table, making intense eye contact, lowering his voice in an imitation of Sammerin’s smooth, quiet drawl. “‘Oh, you’re a hatmaker? How fascinating. I knew from the moment I saw you that you had an artistic spirit.’” He shook his head. “It’s disgusting and, yet, riveting.”

I could imagine it. And imagine Max glowering from a corner, watching unamused.

“And what about you?”

“I’m not made for that.” He raised the glass to his lips, paused. “I’m referring to the social graces part.”

“But the part after — you are made for that?” The response slid out of me so easily, in a voice that hadn’t surfaced since my days dancing in Esmaris’s court. I took another sip of wine, drowning my own mild surprise. Watched Max’s mouth curl, ever so slightly.

“I receive no complaints,” he replied smoothly.

A shudder rose of the surface of my skin. I tore my eyes from Max’s face, traced the pattern of the wood grain. Dangerous territory. I didn’t even know where that came from.

For a long moment we were both silent, the air taut as if we were holding our breaths.

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