Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (48 page)

A letter!

His pocket caught fire as he remembered. He
snatched the folded page out, but then remembered what she had said – only once
lights were out – and reverently put it back. Then he set off at a moderate
sprint, leaping over benches and tables and skidding across dew-wet grass until
he caught up with the others. The murderous thoughts he had raised against
Hadley were as distant a reality as last winter’s snow.

“Why you dawdling?” he nagged. “We’ll be late.”

“What’s stinging your rump?” said Peashot. “We’re almost
an hour early. And why were you talking to Ilona anyway?”

Aedan did his best to parry the question, but
Hadley, exhibiting his habitual discreetness, announced the answer to all. The
name of Ilona was soon being bounced around in the air like a ball in some
game. Aedan could do no more than grin and blush.

The ragging carried on until lights were out, and
then for a while in the darkness until everyone was exhausted. When Aedan was
convinced that the others were asleep, he unshuttered his dark lantern and
withdrew the letter.

Oh, the fire that coursed through his veins as he
saw his name in that most perfect script – the script that had flowed from that
most perfect hand.

The letter began.
Dear Aedan.

His smile reached across his face and the thudding
in his chest was surely enough to wake the others, but a quick glance assured
him that none had stirred.

Dear, she had called him dear. He clutched the
page and his eyes rushed on.

There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to
you for some time.

Here it was then. He curled his toes and tucked
into the pillow.

You’re such a silly boy.

Aedan frowned, read it again. There it was, just
like before.
Silly boy
. His mouth was slightly twisted as he pushed on.

You say such awkward things sometimes, but
Rillette says all boys are like that at first. So maybe we should spend some
time talking when we don’t have all our friends looking at us and making it
uncomfortable. Would you like to walk with me when it’s my turn to do the delivery
and collection at the beginning of next week? I know you are training during
the first hours, but I’m sure you can think of a way to get out of it.

Meet me outside the marble archway at sunrise.
Don’t let me down. I’m depending on you.

There were three kisses above the name of Ilona,
and Aedan almost dropped the lantern. He made a desperate grab for it, singing
his fingers on the hot cover. After nursing the burns for a while he settled back
down and read the letter seven or eight times over. When he could say it all by
heart, except the peppery bits, he blew out the lantern and turned in for the
night. It wasn’t long before the lantern was relit and he was gloating over his
prize once more. And in such a manner he whittled away the hours.

The week that stood between him and this great
appointment passed in a delirium of emotional overload and physical exhaustion,
sleep being a near impossibility. Yet it did not make him bad-tempered. Instead,
he found it the most natural thing to be amiable to everyone, responding even
to rudeness with a deep, benign smile. He discovered himself to be the most
magnanimous creature in the whole world, simply overstocked with goodness that
could not be held in.

When he considered his plan for escaping classes,
there was the gentlest tug of conscience, but it was easily soothed and put
away. He had wanted for a long time to stand beside her, and tomorrow she would
need him.

Some things were more important than others.

It was late when sleep arrived. It carried him into
a wasteland of poorly designed, broken catapults where he battled great
monsters with his bare hands, holding them back from a softly crying Ilona whose
eyes were locked on his fearless kicks and mighty punches; and when the
monsters were sent running, she flew into his arms and wept over his wounds, breathless
with admiration and undying love.

When he awoke, it was dark. He smiled, stretched,
and began preparations for the morning’s escape.

“I think he’s sick.” The voice was Peashot’s.

Dun looked at Aedan – sweaty, his sheets soaked, skin
icy. He was obviously fevered.

The empty water jar was tucked well away under the
bed.

Dun excused him from the morning session. Under
the worried glances and encouraging words, Aedan was made to burn with a real
fever – guilt.

As soon as the corridors were quiet, he slipped
out and stole through the dim light towards the archway. It looked like he was
the only one here, but as he passed under the shadow of the marble edifice, a
shape sprang out from the darkness. He gave a muffled shout and leapt back,
dropping into a fighting stance.

Ilona walked forward, hands on her hips, laughing.

It was not the greeting he had anticipated. No
clinging or weeping. It put him somewhat off balance. He tried to wipe the scare
from his face and managed a silly grin as Ilona nudged him with her shoulder,
nodded to the guard who didn’t even look at Aedan, and led the way from the
academy into the waking streets. She held two baskets which Aedan offered to
carry.

“Usually Rillette makes these trips with me,” she
said, “but she’s hurt her foot. I could have asked one of the other girls, but
I decided it would be nicer to go with you.”

Aedan was surprised. He was risking big trouble
for this outing and he had expected something more serious – suspicious
watchers and dark alleys at the very least. But as he glanced across at the graceful
and slender form, the streamers of soft golden hair flowing behind a flawless
profile – long forehead, fine nose, delicate chin – and those huge emerald eyes,
he decided any punishment would be a small thing. How did a girl get to be so …
so utterly perfect? And how did he get to be walking beside her?

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.