Once Guy vanished around the bend, Rita took her sweet time settling herself down. Then a thought struck her, and she called out to the silence.
“……Are you there, Teresa?”
Her voice echoed through the empty hall. Rita didn’t bother looking around—she knew that was futile. After a moment, a flat voice spoke right behind her.
“How’d you know?”
She turned to find her tiny friend standing there. Always one to pop up out of nowhere.
Rita shook her head. “I didn’t. Not at all. Didn’t see any signs. I just…had a hunch. Maybe you’d be worried enough to come check on me.”
Pure instinct, merely a passing fancy. Being right this time didn’t really change a thing. Teresa seemed unconvinced, but Rita knelt down, putting herself at the smaller girl’s eye level.
“Sorry, did I upset you? But I’ve gotta make this play. What do you make of it, Teresa? Mr. Greenwood and Mr. Horn are both friends of yours, and here I am, trying to pry them apart. You heard what went down—are you still on my side?”
She held Teresa’s gaze the whole time. Rita had no intention of letting this go unsaid or obfuscated. When she’d decided to head into the lava tree mold, this girl had been the first friend to back her reckless plan. This could well be taken as a violation of that trust. If so, there was little she could do—but at the very least, Rita did not want to coat it in a lie.
Teresa stared back at her in silence. That same expressionless mask she always wore. Yet—right now, Rita felt like she could see past it. She’d known this girl a long time. And she knew by this point the emotions bottled up inside Teresa Carste were as violent as the surface was calm.
“You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, huh? I get that,” Rita said, putting her arms around that tiny frame. Teresa seemed flustered but accepted the embrace, and Rita whispered in her ear, “Thank you, Teresa.”
“…For what?”
“For fretting over it. You could easily have just trimmed away anything that doesn’t suit Mr. Horn’s interests. But you aren’t.”
She buried her face in the girl’s shoulders. Her friend was unable to choose, and that made her so happy, she could cry.
This wasn’t even a tough choice. Teresa merely needed to tell Mr. Horn everything, and that would be the end of it. No matter how she fought, if the Sword Roses closed ranks, her attempt would end there. Teresa had that card in her hand—and in her position, she should definitely play it.
So the fact that she was hesitating alone proved Rita had formed a real bond with Teresa. And she knew what a good friend she’d made, even if the path she was on might soon put an end to it.
“……”
Teresa’s hand went around the back of Rita’s hands and awkwardly stroked her friend’s hair. She was not good at comfort or encouragement. But however paltry the effort, she felt the need to try. This was the first time she’d felt this impulse with anyone but Oliver or Shannon.
“I’ll reserve judgment for now. We’d better get back to the Fellowship. Dean’s running his mouth off; without you around, I’ll be forced to duel him again.”
“Okay. Sorry to ditch you there. Let’s head back, Teresa.”
Rita let go of her and held out a hand. Teresa took it, and they walked off together. Putting off the decision was neither wise nor practical. But it was a very human choice.
✦ ✦ ✦
That same evening, Oliver and Nanao wrapped up classes a step ahead of the others and, as planned, headed to their hidden base. They had no other purpose than the desire to spend some time together—a minidate, essentially.
“I am at my wit’s end. Never did I imagine I had left Dustin stewing like that,” Nanao said after a sip of piping hot green tea.
The tea and brewing pot were gifts from Theodore’s travels. Leaning back on the couch, Oliver waved a wand, pulling a plate of cookies from the shelf. Guy and Katie had baked them together; upon closer inspection, it was easy to tell who had shaped which cookie.
“In my eyes, it’s no surprise,” Oliver replied, taking a sip of his own tea. “With Ashbury gone, there’s no broomrider on campus he’s paid more attention to. He must have assumed you’d picked up on that, yet you didn’t even pay him a visit.”
Nanao shuddered, a guilty look on her face. “Then I am ashamed. I certainly knew he had a high opinion of me, but the rest escaped my notice. Not wanting to compound the issue, I have already completed the paperwork to join his seminar.”
He blinked at her, slightly surprised. She’d already committed?
Oliver set his mug down. “Have you? Are you sure that’s the right choice? Instructor Garland had his eye on you, too.”
Just covering his bases. Nanao folded her arms, scowling.
“I am aware. But if I may speak from my gut, I feel he does not especially wish to be my mentor. He has voiced no objections, but he has kept his distance. ’Tis but a vague impression, yet he has consistently toed that line.”
“…Oh…?”
Oliver considered that.
What could it mean? Garland was passionate about sword arts instruction, every bit as big on nurturing talent as Dustin was with broomriding. Oliver had just assumed he would be keen on making Nanao his apprentice. Garland’s style was all about actively analyzing and breaking down the outstanding elements of other fighting schools, so what would make him want to avoid taking Nanao on?
As Oliver busied himself with these thoughts, Nanao finished her tea, put her mug down, and toppled over, her head on his lap. This did not surprise him in the least. Nanao was prone to these sudden affectionate gestures.
“Either way, I have escaped this conundrum. How fare you, Oliver? Will you be joining Katie at the place you visited?”
“…Up to her. But I’m thinking it’s likely,” he said, remembering how Katie had taken to it. “They made a good impression, and no other seminar is that tailored to her interests. She’s struggling less with the choice and more with committing to it. I’m just waiting for her to say the word.”
Nanao looked up at Oliver, her expression grave. “Glad to hear it. Do not take your eyes off her. Of course, I am watching as best I can—but with Guy’s absence, she stands on shifting sand. If Chela was not taking a turn, I would not dare leave her side to join you here.”
“Yeah, I know. If Guy comes back, we’ll see some improvement, and I don’t doubt he’ll make that choice. My only concern is what form his return will take.”
Nodding, he narrowed his eyes. This concern had stuck with him—Guy’s default nature versus his aptitude for curse wrangling. Oliver knew his friend well enough to know just how hard a choice that would be.
“…Fantastic,” Guy had said. Laden with curses, painful to even look at—yet he’d been ecstatic.
Each time he remembered it, Oliver felt anguish and fear in equal measure. And it made him wonder—if Guy came back to them the way he expected, would that really be for the best?
Or was he dragging Guy down? Pulling a man meant to smile in the light down into darkness where Oliver himself dwelled? If Guy had never met the Sword Roses, would he even have considered becoming a wrangler?
Mostly likely not. It would not even have been a dilemma. Even if his talent was as exceptional as Zelma said, Guy would have shown no interest in pursuing that path. What he craved, what he was loath to relinquish was the power that came with it. Curses were merely a means to that end—all so he could stand with them and keep them safe.
“Yoink!”
His thoughts were interrupted by fingers pulling on each of his cheeks. Nanao had reached up to him. He blinked down at her, and she lay there protesting.
“You shoulder too much, Oliver. Share this burden with me.”
“Uh, yeah, I intend to. Just…”
He scrambled to respond, and she let go of his cheeks, burying her face in his stomach. Her empty hand moved around his back, pulling him close, and her nose pressed up against him—sniffing him.
“…Ahh…”
A faint herbal fragrance teased her nostrils. She knew this was no cologne, but a scent generated by his body. And he had relayed the cause to her in bed with a sad smile: