“Still Darjeeling tea?” he asked. “Twist of lemon and a splash of skim milk?”
I glanced over my shoulder and gave him a surprised smile. How did he remember what I drank at breakfast? We’d spent a fair amount of time together last spring, and maybe he’d gotten my tea one time. But hell if I could remember it! Yet he remembered.
I nodded, and he stepped over to the tea service. A moment later, he returned with a steaming cup.
“Thanks,” I sighed and breathed in the floral, slightly citric aroma.
It tasted divine, a cascade of hot, sweet life down my throat. I wondered, though . . . was I just happy to have my morning caffeine, or was I relishing the attention of the man who brought it to me?
It took me a second to realize that someone new was at the table. Arvo had his long left arm wrapped around a freshman girl—at least, I assumed she was a freshman since I’d never seen her before in my life. She was young, anyway, a mousy little thing with golden hair that, like mine, fell over her shoulders in careless rivulets. We also shared the same brown eyes and fair complexion, but her wardrobe was simple: a light pink dress and cashmere cardigan. It looked like something I would have worn last year. All at once, I felt a bit sorry for this girl. She wasn’t ready for what was coming: Stormcloud, the Kings, any of it. . . .
Arvo saw me staring and flashed a leering glance back my way. The girl’s right hand lay gently on his thigh, close to the beastly member I’d seen only once in an aphrodisiac haze. Arvo shimmied his hips a bit, tempting the freshman’s fingers a little higher. She replied with a dramatically mortified giggle.
“Biba,” Arvo said, “this is Tess. From . . . where was it, babe?”
“Montreal,” she cooed.
“Ah, yeah, that’s the spot. This is Tess from Montreal, Biba. We’ve been hanging out since she arrived.”
Hanging out. Fun euphemism.
“Pleasure to meet you, Tess,” I replied.
Tess gave me a little wave but seemed too awestruck to reply. Her eyes were big as saucers. It seemed Arvo had given her the rundown on how important Zephyr was, which I guess made me important by association.
“You two should get lunch in the village sometime,” he added.
“Wow, that’d be . . . just amazing,” she gushed. “I just . . . would you do that for me?”
God, the girl looked starstruck. Was I ever that naïve?
My first class was Unification of Western Nation-States, a grab bag of how various principalities merged into the countries of the modern era. It was a prerequisite for Stormcloud sophomores, an opportunity for the school to note how many of its alumni played vital roles in creating modern Europe.
The professor was legendary at the school. A long-bearded, rotund man of eighty-plus years, Professor Gianas had been there since the early sixties. He was notoriously exacting, even by the standards of Stormcloud Academy, but he was nonetheless beloved by everyone he taught.
“Williams and Quinn,” he grumbled in an indeterminately Continental accent as Zephyr and I entered. “They need some newer names at this school.”
Of course, it hit me, Gianas probably taught both of our fathers.
“The Caesars went mad,” he continued, “from marrying only within the family. Something to consider.”
“I appreciate your concern, professor,” Zephyr groaned.
“Just don’t neck in the back row while I’m lecturing.”
“I’m not in this class, okay? Just dropping Biba off.”
Zephyr kissed me on the cheek and made haste to get away from Gianas. I immediately liked the old man but could imagine why Zeph hated him. He didn’t want to be spoken down to by anyone.
“Take a seat, Ms. Quinn,” the professor said, sauntering heavily back to his podium.
“Yes, sir.”
He stopped and turned back abruptly. “Your father was smart enough not to fraternize with the Williams family.”
“Is that so?” I replied, trying not to let my excitement show. I was thirsty for any information I could find on my father’s time here.
“To a point. It would have been wiser if he’d never exchanged a word with Peter Williams all those years ago. I don’t pretend to understand what goes on amongst you little princelings and ladies in waiting. All I know is that a dead man cannot accomplish anything of note—or a dead girl, for that matter.”