“I need to go home,” I said. “Parents might have something to say about your coat,” he said, catching hold of the embroidered edge of my cloak and pulling me in. I struggled a bit, but he simply wrapped his arms around me. “Hush. I’m not trying anything. You worried me, that’s all. Trust me, Mouse. You’ll know the difference.” He rested his cheek atop my head, and the stiffness leached from my body. “Pascal knows something’s going on,” I said. “Of course he does. Man knows the magic better than anyone except you, I’m guessing.” “I only know that it’s alive, Luc. I don’t know what to do with it.” It was a relief to say the words out loud, one less secret between us, bridging the distance between our worlds. “We’ll work on it together. But in the meantime, you can’t tell the Quartoren. If they think you can control the magic, they’ll want to use you as a weapon. Don’t trust them, okay? Not a one of them.” “What about you?” He tipped my face up to his—close enough to kiss, but he’d promised not to—and his eyes were somber, moss green.
