He stood frozen, like a schoolboy caught out in a prank, his gray eyes fixed on her face. “We’re both busy, Rai. It stands to reason that we wouldn’t—”

“Let’s go to dinner, then,” Raisa said, taking his hands in hers.

He swallowed hard, the long column of his throat jumping. “I can’t. I…have something I need to do.”

Raisa’s instincts screamed that persistence would lead to heartbreak. But she couldn’t help herself. “I’ll come with you, then. And, after, maybe we—”

“No,” he said. “Not tonight. I—we can’t.” He looked as miserable as she’d ever seen him.

“But it’s your only night off.” Raisa knew she sounded desperate, and didn’t care.

He nodded. “I know. I’m…sorry,” he whispered, his face pale and strained.

Raisa cast about for something—anything—that might change his mind. That might make him stay. “Well,” she said, swallowing down the dull ache of longing. “Then take this with you, and think of me.” She kissed her first two fingers, then, standing on tiptoes, reached up and pressed them against his lips.

Seizing her wrist, he pressed her hand against his cheek, smooth from recent shaving. He closed his eyes, took two shuddering breaths, and let her go.

“Good-bye, Raisa,” he said, his voice thick and unfamiliar. “Go on to dinner. I’ll be back late.” And he was gone.

Raisa stood frozen for a heartbeat, then grabbed her cloak and slipped out the door, following after him.

Fortunately, the streets were crowded, packed with cadets heading back to the dining halls for dinner, or walking toward Bridge Street and the eateries there. Amon walked fast, so Raisa had to trot to keep up. Once, he swung around and looked back, but she managed to duck into a doorway.

Raisa soon realized that he was heading for Bridge Street, and when he started across, she hesitated briefly to tug her hood over her head before stepping onto the bridge. It was the first time she’d crossed it since the day she’d arrived.

Amon made one stop, at the flower seller’s on the bridge, where he bought a small bouquet of mixed flowers.

Raisa forced down despair. A voice in her head whispered, Go back!

But she didn’t.

Amon hurried on as if he knew the way, turning onto the quad that separated Mystwerk Hall and the Temple School. The winter-seared lawn bloomed with a mixture of red Mystwerk robes and white Temple garments. Raisa pulled her head back into her cowl like a turtle into its shell.

What if he goes into Mystwerk? Raisa thought. Crossing the bridge is risky enough. I can’t follow him in there.