In the west garden there was a white gazebo, strategically situated by a lily-pad pond and a few loosely draped weeping willows. The month of Hamis had brought with it a chorus of sweet-smelling flowers, and in the night air the moonlight lent them a beautiful violet hue; they were arranged neatly among the smooth worn cobblestones and the soft green grass. The night sky was awash with pinpoints of light. For a good reason, it was widely thought to be the most romantic place in Brunnhold.

As the chitter of starflies seemed to fill the air with beautiful music, Harper Moore thought a very rude word to himself.

The professor stared into the distance, blank as a new chalkboard, still reeling internally from the discovery he and Abeline had just made in the astronomy tower. He could not decide which astonished him more - that he had been right, or that he had been wrong. He had been right that their scientific business was more important than whatever personal issues he might have had with Abeline; as for the scope, the magnitude, the sheer unexpected madness of what they had found, he could never have imagined it.

Slumped on the gazebo bench with his palms up as though he had been decked by a bully, dazed and speechless...it was like he was fifteen again. More schoolboy than scientist, he thought. And his very thoughts sounded hoarse, as though they had been shouting for days.

He glanced over to her. A day ago he might have counted on her grounding input to keep him from drifting out to sea; now, he had never been less sure of what to say, or ask.

The worst of nightmares could be true, it seemed.

She'd followed Harper, followed his light through forests of maps and mountains of mathematics. In his scattered footprints she had tread, and apologies were whispered in her every step. Though he claimed to need her, she still felt like a trespasser in his dazzling kingdom. Until...

Until they'd explored enough to find the highest vantage point. From there, the true shape of the territory could be seen.

Once--was it months ago, already?--she'd feared such a sight. But.. but it was so impossible. It couldn't be.

And yet, there it was.

As in a dream, Abeline walked behind him, paying no heed to where he lead. Her eyes saw nothing. Her mind waxed poetic, blinding her in a flurry of images and sensations. A dark crevasse--the feeling of spinning--a brilliant black sky, flickering between night and day--gentle, buzzing warmth mixed with breathless cold--a lighthouse-- and a single star.

She looked up. Where was her star? Which one was it? Her dream-self was so sure, and yet.. up above, in the real sky, nothing called to her. No guiding pull came from those distant, burning orbs.

Still searching the heavens, she hovered at the entry of the gazebo. A nagging thought insisted that she speak, but it provided no solution to the silence. Perhaps there was none. Perhaps no words truly could express how lost in waking and in dream she was.

At long last he let out his breath. It stung his throat like acrid smoke, and he realized he had been holding it in for some time. He tried to think of something to say, anything, even something utterly inconsequential - had they locked the doors behind them? Had they left the tower as they had found it? Wasn't it a lovely night?

A tear, a rip in the ley fabric, a whirlpool of scattered, broken ley lines twisting like a cyclone around...something. Coordinates. He had triangulated the signals with a grey face and that, surely, had been the moment when he had begun holding his breath.

This was the impossible, lucid dream that persisted for eternity from the moment before total brain death.

The end of the world.

He had felt as though the nexus was something special, that he had some divinely ordained purpose in discovering it. To learn it was a mere thread, a loose unraveling from an unseen tapestry of strange and alien machinations, was to recognize that his great revelation was a mere speck on the pristine surface of his vast ignorance. It was like starting over again at the beginning - no language or forethought or experience. He was nothing without his semantics and facts and figures; he lacked the capacity for raw, common sense.

"I don't understand," he said finally, feeling as lost as he had earlier that evening. "And I...I don't know what to do." He looked up hopefully. "Do you?"

The question dropped into her mind like a lead ball bearing. It tipped the balance, rolling along well-oiled tracks, gaining speed, bouncing off stalled gears, and setting everything in motion.

She leaned into a lope, pacing into the structure. If she had the presence of mind to note her surroundings, she would have thought the gazebo rather quaint and the expectant expression on Harper's face rather.. something else. As it was, she was just dimly aware of his position and the vague impression of obstructions in her path.

For a time, the healer gestured silently as she paced, reminiscent of a caged, erudite tiger. Internally, she snipped loose threads, backed out from theoretical dead ends, and generally made a desperate effort to steer and bob and weave to some perfect point. Strategy. Tactics. A plan of action.

Abeline very nearly met the wall in an undignified manner, but her body could control itself surprisingly fluidly when left to its own devices. Just in time, her disregarded weight shifted itself, and she flitted off in a new direction.

They needed a plan, for the world's sake-- but was it even time to act yet? And--

Another wall, already? This space was oddly small. Suddenly stuck, she glanced about, only then hearing the starflies' chirping. Normally, she considered it a racket caused by brainless insects, but at that moment, their song was a heady, precious ode to Vita.

"Wh--" she started, her voice hushed with confusion, "where are we?"

Slowly recognizing their location, she attempted to reign in her frantic energy. The healer alighted gingerly beside him. But before settling, she hopped up again.

"We need to tell someone!" She turned and looked at him, almost pleadingly. "Th-this isn't the kind of thing two people can.. can.. clocks, who will believe us? We'll need to verify, double-check, quadruple-check our facts before we'll convince anyone. I'm not even sure I'm convinced. Are you sure the readings are correct? Our calculations?" She searched his golden eyes with a bleak sort of fervency, "Maybe we made some mistake?"

Something in his eyes conveyed hesitancy. "Should we tell someone?" he said, biting his lower lip.

It wasn't as though they would believe him, he thought. Even if the Chairs saw it for themselves, it would have taken years to explain all the readings; the experiences with the nexus and the ghost were too fantastical already. It wasn't his job he feared for; if the truth was buried again before it had been fully unearthed, there would be no hope of pursuing the matter further.

His mind was playing a bizarre game of call and reply. Maybe he was wrong! (He wasn't wrong.) Maybe he had made a mistake? (There was no mistake.) Maybe the problem would solve itself. (Or it might get worse.)

"If we told the academic board, they'd fire me first, then you, then they'd take the research and stick it in a closet somewhere. They were going to do that already, when I finally publish my study. They already think I'm a foolish man who imagines things. I can't imagine they'd pay any more attention if the claim was more wild and more insane than the ones I'd already made."

He closed his eyes in thought and pinched his forehead. "We need help," he said. "Level-headed...help. I need to speak to Castor about this."

"Castor... Devlin?"

Like a whip on a pendulum, she snapped back to pacing. Moonlight flashed on her glasses, hiding her scalpel-sharp eyes.

"Have you gone mad? We can't trust him. He may have been level-headed once, but have you noticed his behavior at all lately? I highly doubt it, considering he hasn't even been here!"

She planted her palms on the gazebo ledge, gripping it fiercely. Her knuckles went white as the paint. Oh, and, not that she'd notice, but her hair was somewhat frazzled, and the lines on her young brow were going a long way toward making themselves permanent.

Confidence. The side of Devlin she had seen, the part that stumbled in at night, the part that bled on unbleached cotton.. that was shown to her in confidence. Once again, she couldn't explain her reasoning to Harper; once again, for the sake of other people's secrets.

But what was the secret of one man compared to the world itself? Certainly, her own honor wasn't worth much at this point.

"He is.. unreliable." Damn. Couldn't do it. "But you're right," she hissed, primarily at herself. "We do need someone level-headed. Not me, obviously. Someone with more experience."

Experience in what, she wasn't entirely sure. Saving the clocking world?

Was she shaking? Was she, really? No, of course not. Not shaking. Vibrating. She needed to be everywhere at once, zipping off in every direction, and because that, she was firmly anchored in place. Perhaps she was the only thing in the changing, spinning universe that was.

She looked over her shoulder at him, drumming her fingers on the ledge. "The Head likes you, right? She's kept your research going, against heavy opposition from the board. Without her support, we probably wouldn't be here now." Abeline sighed, briefly wondering who else took part in the elaborate, fragile chain of events that led to this moment. If just one little thing was off...

"Servalis should know. If we tell anyone at all, we should tell her. She's reasonable, and ethical, hardworking.. intelligent.. rather an inspiring woman, really." Abeline tried to keep airy softness from her voice, succeeding only by replacing it with tight, shrill nervousness. With her serious expression, she hoped the delicate heat on her cheeks would be mistaken for fading pique. (Harper, though he'd earned the most intense of her admiration, was not the only person the healer respected.) "A-at the very least, she's not going anywhere. I hope."

Harper was too distracted and nervous to actively resent her statements, but she caught a faint note of annoyance in his reply. "You haven't worked with him," he said bluntly. "I have, for many years, and I would trust him with most things. However inspiring the Headmistress may be, well...she's..."

He tried to put his misgivings into words, but they all sounded too harsh, callous, not befitting a man of science. Was it that he merely had a...a gut feeling? Possibly. He felt angry at everything that had led him into this predicament.

"She would not suffer my involvement in the matter, nor take me at my word," he said finally. "Her loyalty is to the establishment and to her post. I am aware that she's stuck her neck out more than once for Castor, but...well, I will say that I do not believe she is motivated by science."

Never in a thousand years would he have had the courage to say that to the man himself before tonight; the glimpse of the edge, the unfathomable blackness, had given him a maddening dosage of perspective. Now, the light of energy gleamed within him like a diamond.

But it struck him as odd that Abeline had had such a reaction to his suggestion. At first blush he had taken it as the same breed of prejudice that most of the scientific community had against him, but he recognized something else in her tone - the sense that she knew what she was talking about. Innately, he felt as though he almost trusted her; those conflicting alliances drove him to speak again.

"...What...reason would you have to mistrust Professor Devlin, Abeline?"

He found, troublesomely, that he could not dismiss her thoughts as he might an opinionated student's. At some point he had transitioned from hearing only the bits he agreed with and nodding politely to taking in every word she said, processing it, and treating it as valid information. It was particularly gruesome to think about, given that she undoubtedly knew more about him than he did about her.

It was a brief respite of self-evaluation, but soon he had shrugged it off and begun to ruminate once more on the impending destruction of the world - a much more somber subject.

Not motivated by science? Ophelia Servalis, who advocated for knowledge and discovery far more than traditionalist Merrin ever did? Along with the Head's ruling against corporal punishment of passives, it only made sense that she'd support Devlin's research. No sentimentality needed.

Abeline tried to prevent an indignant huff from escaping her raised nose. How typical! Typical of a man to think the woman had no genuine interest in science. The fairer sex was not governed strictly by the need for affection. So stingingly disappointing of Harper; she'd thought he was different. Worrying, too-- what did he think she was there for?

Admittedly--

No. No matter how true or not, it wasn't important. Neither was her outrage on behalf of the Headmistress (and womankind in general). Besides, he actually knew both of them. He had more authority to make an assessment of the facts; he had observed them together, whereas she had not.



Momentarily lost burying her Views, she was caught off-guard by the question. She sighed a grim and forlorn breath, the sort an overworked gravedigger would. Beside Feminism would lie Discretion, it seemed. Who, praytell, would be next?

"I'm bound by an oath and the law not to tell a soul, and, as good as I am at finding secrets, I'm much better at keeping them," she said, crossing to him. She sat on the bench, staring purposefully at the pond. The starlight on the water seemed to capture her attention for a moment, but there were clearly other things on her mind. "Please understand. I cannot repeat this, even in a court. If you claim I said anything, I will deny it. That said..."

She glanced over, lowering her voice. "He came to the Infirmary, just over a month ago, in the dead of night. There was a wretched puncture in his abdomen." She leaned closer to whisper in his ear, supporting her weight on a hand that she scrupulously kept clear of his corporeal existence. "He said he'd been stabbed--didn't provide any details, and I didn't press it. But, and this is the odd part, he was dressed like a peasant. Not like a professor that needed a new suit, but like an actual human commoner."

"And his field," she breathed, pulling back, "felt like it had been through the wringer."

There again was that assumption that he was the untrustworthy one, that he would betray her confidence - in court? So dramatic! But as she explained, Harper's forehead wrinkled and he frowned.

"That...well," he said, not quite understanding what she was getting at. "I know he's been acting...stabbed? He was stabbed? He didn't tell me that." He rubbed his chin. "Acting a tad strange lately, but he told me there was a lady involved, and I...well," he said again, "Peasant clothes, you say? Perhaps he was away on holiday...not that he really takes holidays..."

Like an absentminded housekeeper might forget to shut off the gas, he had left his mouth running without realizing it. He stopped talking for a moment.

"Stabbed?" he repeated after two seconds had passed, as though he had not heard her correctly. "Who stabs people? Perhaps it was an accident? As in 'stabbed by falling timber'?"

She winced, biting her lip. Why did he have to raise his voice? Didn't he realize this was a public garden? Though, who'd even be out at this time of night.. in the lovely spring weather.. near a secluded gazebo practically designed for a romantic tête-à-tête. Eh, probably some gardener looking to spy on a lover's tryst.

Which was exactly what this looked like.

Abeline flushed deeply and scooted away from him (not that there was much room on the little bench). She tried to push various implications from her mind, although one in particular, like her blush, refused to be removed. Why, exactly, did Harper choose this spot, of all places? Yes, it was near the Astronomy Tower, but surely there were more sedate places to go.. so, why here, a widely-recognized romantic 'secret'? If he, by chance, did indeed think she had amorous motives for pestering him, did he.. not mind? Was he, by chance, inviting the idea?

She shook her head to clear it of that painfully untrue delusion. Whatever he might have felt before this night, it was surely obliterated now. Discovering that the world was broken had a way of doing that. And along those lines, there was still a conversation going on. A rather vital one.

Now, what had Devlin called it? Not an accident. An incident? If only she could remember; it was the kind of detail that never made it to the records, and the sort of thing that slipped through her fingers when most needed.

In the end, her only answer was a baffled shrug. This was almost too much for the young healer. Almost. Unlike the other events of the last few months, which had nearly drained the entirety of her reserves, the severity of the current situation prevented her from breaking down. Instead, it was the one thing that held her up.

We'll have to go there...

This was going nowhere. He slumped back down in his seat, putting his head back and sighing. It bothered him that Abeline would impugn Devlin's character; the older galdor was the one person Harper had always counted on. He was wiser, older, more experienced, and seemed to have a steady outlook; these past few months without him had been incredibly trying. Now it seemed that Devlin had not been entirely truthful with him.

Something about how quiet Abeline was being made him turn to look at her. For a fraction of a second, it was as though the mist had been blown away, and he could see her clearly. She was flushed and looked close to tears. Had she looked this way before? Why hadn't he ever noticed? He felt slightly ashamed, and was once again reminded of her age. This was probably overwhelming for her.

Certainly is for me, he thought.

"Are you..." he started, unsure of how to finish - all right? Upset? Angry? It was the sort of question a simpleton would ask.

He settled for "What's the matter? Aside from the obvious...you know, world ending, I mean."

"Aside from the obvious." The ghost of an echo.

The healer covered her lips with her pale, delicate fingers. A trembling little noise made its way out, almost a sniffle, but not quite. Gradually, it became clear that she was snickering. Then chuckling, soon chortling, and finally full-blown cackling.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the laughing stopped. From behind her thick spectacles, she peered at him levelly. Her reedy voice lowered-- clear, lucid, and sardonic. "Aside from the world ending."

A playful gleam skipped across her eyes, as if he'd just shared the greatest joke ever conceived. Like a mischievous little girl, she tossed her head back and laughed again. The candid sound surely carried further than the pond, but she herself was past caring at that point. It was as though Harper had seen the unfathomable monster that threatened their existence, plucked a feather from it, and tickled her.

"I'm not laughing at you," she managed to utter between giggles, "b-but at the absurdity of the situation. Here's this dire knowledge looming over our heads," she gestured approximately upwards, "and what are we worried about? Each other?" Relaxed now, she settled back and hooked her arm over the bench. "Frankly, I think it's hilarious. I couldn't find better irony in even the best comedy of manners."

Oh, for the life of her, she couldn't stop chuckling.

He looked confused as she smiled, but as she broke into laughter, a grin crept across his face. Never before had he seen her laughing like this, and it was infectious; he looked down and put a fist in front of his mouth to keep it in, but it broke out of him eventually, and he laughed for what seemed like the first time in ages. A good amount of the tension and mistrust that had filled the air seemed to dissolve like a soda tablet.

"I suppose it wasn't the most intelligent question," he admitted. Smoothing his now unruly hair back, he straightened up and turned to face her.

"You don't like Professor Devlin, and I don't particularly care for Headmistress Servalis," he said, gesturing as though trying to solve a mathematical problem in his head. "But we must face facts. They're the only two galdori we can trust to fully understand the implications of this information. We should approach them both." He gave her a downcast smile. "Or, rather, I should. My career's down the latrine as it is. There's no need for you to risk yours."

She shrugged, her shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter. "My career? I don't care about it one whit." Shaking her head, she grinned as she said, "I'd gladly sacrifice anything if I was convinced it would do good. I do that all the time, and normally I consider it a flaw.. it always seems to get me in trouble..." She frowned at the floor briefly, thinking back to earlier that night. "But now, my disregard for my personal interests may prove an asset."

"If you need me," she offered a supportive nod, "I'll go with you." Then, she tilted her head, remembering something Khymarah had said. "Although, on second thought, I'm not sure my presence would lend you any credibility, especially if you mention the late-night business. You know how it'd look, a lonely scientist and his young assistant working closely.. in the middle of the night.. alone together. It doesn't help that people already think we're... um." Stopping there, she rubbed the back of her neck and avoided his gaze. "Probably best if I don't go. In fact, don't mention me at all."

Harper look puzzled at first, but his eyebrows shot up as comprehension dawned.

It was as though he had found the final variable in an equation; all at once, many things began to make sense. Her embarrassment to be around him, the furtive glances, and the odd reactions she had to his outbursts all seemed perfectly logical. He was awash with guilt, both from an ethical and scientific standpoint. Did it bother him that others suspected it, or that she wished to avoid the very idea? Was it possible that Castor had been right about him all along, if it seemed so obvious to others that he had...intentions?

"I'm not lonely," he mumbled, and in that moment he suddenly realized that he was. Loneliness was like the wallpaper of his soul; a constant, unnoticed feature that he had long since stopped considering. With so much clutter in his mind, it was a wonder he remembered when he was hungry.

Well, he didn't have to speculate as to how pathetic she found him any longer. She cared more about being seen in his presence than about her career? He frowned.

"I...apologize if I've damaged your reputation," he said carefully. "Mine could only improve, so I don't give much thought to it. It's the least of my worries now."

She tilted her head, somewhat surprised by the hint of guilt in his voice. A vision of Aunt Sagacia appeared to her; it shook its finger and scolded, Miss Abeline Ixbridge, we can't be having that. He's a Nice Man and he hasn't done anything to you. Now be an Ixbridge Lady and ameliorate the situation.

The best way she knew to fix feelings (such elusive beasts!) was not by healing, but by humor, and she was extremely relieved that her style of banter seemed to work on him (rather well, too!).

"Oh, you can hardly damage my reputation," she chuckled lightly. The brown-eyed healer pushed her glasses up and smiled blandly. "I'm a man-hating shrew. A subversive heretic. A radical feminist, and a liberated gynophiliac who shouldn't be let near the schoolgirls.. which might be why I hadn't been promoted in three years..." She licked her lips absently, caught in a moment of reality. Did anyone actually believe that?

"Oh, and, worst of all," the galdor lady primly set her knees together, confessing, "I wear trousers." She lifted her chin daintily, put a hand to her chest as if preparing to faint, and dispensed a mock-haughty sniff. "So shameful!"

Then, Abe slackened with a wry smirk. She crossed her legs (toward him) and gestured widely. "So you see, consorting with you can't have done me much harm. The worst it may have done is confuse people in regards to my preferences. Which is perfectly fine with me."

"But none of that is really important." A shrug. "I was more concerned about the fate of our plans." She reached outside the gazebo to touch a flowering plant. Star jasmine. "You know as well as I do that we'll have to go to the source of the rift in the ley fabric. We can't know what else to do without observing it in person." She paused, briefly appreciating tactile contact with the botanical equivalent of stars. "The Shier mountains are a good deal away; we'll have to bring equipment and supplies, which means porters and drivers and so on. The venture will cost money. Money we don't have."

A five-pointed flower, plucked from the bush, was twirled between her fingers.

"You may not be lonely--and I do know that books are the best of friends--but people assume that unmarried men over a certain age are. It's just expected, especially of one as affable as yourself. Believe it or not, you are one of the more eligible bachelors of Brunnhold. Why they think you'd choose me, I haven't a clue.. I must have used my fictitious feminine wiles on you."

"At any rate," she said matter-of-factly, tucking the flower behind her left ear, "if we asked for funds for an expedition, they might think we were eloping and trying to foot the university with the bill."

All of this took Harper utterly by surprise, and he sputtered a bit as she talked, trying to come up with something equally shocking to announce but unable to think of anything. The revelation that Abeline did not, in fact, fancy men at all was somewhat of a relief to him, aside from the part of him that felt crushing disappointment. At least this way it wasn't his fault.

It may not have been completely ridiculous, the though of the two of them together, but she spoke as though he had women rattling the bars of his cage. As though anyone had paid him the slightest mind in the last fourteen years! He was wed to his work, and there was no problem with that, none at all. Plenty of scientists were as good as chaste ascetics, barely leaving their hermit-huts of laboratories, wasting away in oceans of their own intense passion. He did not pity such people and now that he was becoming one, he hardly felt he deserved to be spoken of in such a manner. Eligible, indeed.

The lunacy of even thinking such things at such a time would occur to him at a later date.

"I hardly think-" he started, trying to find a tactful way of saying leave me a scrap of dignity, you deceitful siren. How to respond to such a diatribe? She switched on and off so easily, going from timid and taciturn to charismatic and bitingly sarcastic. He was thrown off, as always, unable to process emotions as adeptly as she was. He sighed.

"No one who knew me better would believe that," he said sullenly, thinking of Sarah, and shook his head. "But no matter. I have no intentions of involving the University in this. I know a man who can get us the funding we need. But I will need the help of my associate Ms. Theraldon to persuade him, I am afraid."

"Ah, yes. Khymarah. She can be uniquely compelling when she wants to be." The healer's tone was neutral, as though she were cataloging the wings of a pinned butterfly rather than the charms of a breathing woman. They were friends, yes, and Abeline did enjoy the other's company, but she always reserved a space for objective observation.

"Unfortunately, she ran off yesterday to attend a party in Vienda. Something about pressure from the parental quarter," Abeline shrugged, not having the sort of family that bothered with socializing. "Anyway, she'll have to come back at some point. She left her green dress in my room."

That garment would just collect dust if the painter never came back to claim it. Abe had little use for pretty things aside from the wry amusement they elicited, and a dress was not very silly when no one was in it.

She glanced at him, and visions of green flounces and silver baubles dissipated instantly. He looked so dejected. Had she said something wrong? There was a high probability of that.. although, there were weightier issues at hand than broken reputations. Perhaps he was just overwhelmed, if that was even possible. He was so intelligent, and so much older and wiser than her. He was Professor Harper Moore! Always cheerful and enthusiastic. His fire couldn't be dampened. It just wouldn't be right. There'd have to be something terribly wrong with the world for him to look so crushed for very long.

... Oh, wait. There was.

"Are you alright?" she asked suddenly. "Here I am babbling about nothing important," she smiled gently at him, "and there you are, looking like the world just ended." The smile faded quickly. "I am sorry..." Her hand moved a few inches, wanting to comfort him, but hovering indecisively. "About everything."

Harper attempted to stay focused on their present conversation in the aftermath of that particular insinuation. It was quite difficult. He had a remarkably vivid imagination.


At the sudden change in tone he blinked out of his reverie and glanced down at her hand.

"No need," he said, forcing his voice to reach a minimum level of chipperness. The last thing he wanted to hear from her was an apology. "Well, it seems our path is clear, then. We must go to Vienda to find Ms. Theraldon. If the Ambassador can be persuaded to assist us, well...we can certainly cross that line when we come to it. So to speak."

He needed a drink. A strong drink. And something to smash.

"I can be ready in less than an hour," she stated, withdrawing her hand and standing. For a moment, she looked at him. A man in the prime of his life, yet still so scrawny and fragile. If anything happened to him, she'd have to continue on her own. And she wasn't sure she could.

She stared at the floor then, lost in the smell of jasmine and the song of starflies. For as long as she was alive, however short that time may be, she would remember every detail of this night.

It was all becoming real, now. Not just hypothetical discussion, but action. Action that would take her away from Brunnhold... She'd have to leave so many things behind.

"T-there is something I'll need." The healer bit her lip, dreading her next words. "Triston's file." She winced and quickly amended, "Not from after the test--I was there for that, I helped write it. It's nothing to do with the research at all. I just need her previous medical records and her family history if you have it." She fiddled with the lowest button on her vest. "I wish I could tell you why, but I respect her privacy as much as I would a galdor patient's."

"It will be in the Head Matron's archives," he replied, thinking of the intimidating woman he had spoken to not long ago. He stood up as well, nearly bumping his head on the gazebo roof. With a pang of guilt he realized he had not spoken to Triston in some time. But he had something else on his mind, and did not inquire about the file. There would be time later to worry about such matters.

"I must find Professor Devlin before I leave, and I'll need to...pack up a few things," he said, stepping off the gazebo and onto the path that led to the garden's eastern gate. "The Matron lives at fifteen north Allen, in Deventry, not far from here. I can meet you at the Aqueduct gate in two hours."

"The Head Matron," Abeline repeated, her resolve dwindling. A formidable woman, she'd heard. There would be questions, and the healer needed answers. Good ones. Which meant, of course, lies. Telling of Triston's pregnancy was an untenable solution; the Matron would tattle to the Everine, and the Everine would reach in and.. and...

"Bloody chimes," she snorted. "Maybe I'll try talking to Triston instead. We will return, correct? I don't know how long it'll take to convince this.. ambassador," she squinted, wondering which dignitary was moony enough to believe him, "but she is in need of care. I'll have to instruct Aurelie, her bunkmate, on what to do in case of.." She frowned, acutely aware of her tendency to let loose her stream of consciousness. Especially around him. "I can't rely on other healers. Not in this matter."

As he headed east, she went north, but not three steps before she paused. Glancing over her shoulder, she was treated to a sight that would surely haunt her brain forever. The Professor, bathed in moonlight, wispy reflections from the pond gliding over his thin frame...

Was she staring? Probably. And why not? He was an inspiration. She needed him as much as he needed her. Moreso. Fate did not exist, of course, but their futures were tied together with an unbreakable chain. No, not a chain. A braided rope..? No. A telegraph wire, perhaps; a connection through which she could feel an achingly sublime delusion of warmth.

"I'll see you there," she mumbled, clutching her bleach-white collar. Tearing her eyes from him, she frowned at the gravel on the path. It crunched beneath her feet as she walked away.

There's no doubting it now, she thought.

I'm in love.