A large wooden table lay in front of me, with an antique, oversized book, a medium-sized cauldron at its side, and many other things—ingredients, I reckoned—scattered here and there. I was in Potions class, but I wasn't really there. I was by the tarn, hearing the fire crackle and feeling the cool breeze caress my skin.
The room where Potions class is held is spacious, pristine, and open, with bone-white walls that would never get dirty and windows covered only with thin red curtains, now flowing with the air.
But I wasn't in Potions class; My mind kept drifting to the tarn, where Mel kept looking at me as if I were the last drink of water in the desert.
Fifteen tables were placed in rows, each with a pair of students, all equipped with the same book and the same cauldron. At the front of the room, the teacher was giving her lecture enthusiastically, her hands swinging energetically as she spoke. I think she was trying to explain how to make a wildfire bomb, but I'm not really sure. Her voice felt distant, muffled. I couldn't concentrate.
Try as I might to pay attention to the topic, my mind kept returning to Mel. To my misfortune, it refused to focus on the mishap we'd had. No—apparently that wasn't important. Instead, I kept reliving the way he had looked at me. I had felt his heart pounding relentlessly. I had seen how he had gazed at my lips with unmistakable desire. And of course, I had parted them, hopeful that he would take the hint.
I wanted to be kissed. I am certain he had wanted it too.
And still…
Family.
Just thinking about the word made me growl in frustration.
He was standing to my right, the brittle yellowish pages of the book creaking between his fingers. I hoped he was paying attention, because I just couldn't. I was absorbed in a dichotomy of love and hate. I wanted two things: I wanted to repeat what had happened yesterday—this time with a happy ending. And I also wanted to beat the feathers off him.
I was fully aware he could feel my anger, because he kept cautiously glancing in my direction, as if evaluating the situation. I imagined he wanted to talk to me, but my infuriated gaze dissuaded him each time.
We hadn't spoken in the morning, nor during breakfast, nor in our first and second class. To be honest, I was growing tired of not hearing his voice, and my fury was already wearing off. I'm always weak when it comes to him.
He was making the potion himself. He grabbed some ingredients and skeptically tossed them into the cauldron. Then he picked up a bottle of some kind of liquid and poured it in. He didn't look very confident about what he was doing. I could see he was messing things up too. I always took the lead in Potions class. I may not be the best at combat, but at least in everything that had to do with magic, I excelled.
I took pity on him; he really looked miserable. So, with an audible sigh, I extended my hand to him and signaled toward the book. He looked shocked that I had finally decided to interact with him. He passed me the book carefully—partly because it was really old, I thought, but also because he feared I was going to attack him. But that didn't stop him seizing the opportunity to address the eagle in the room.
"Nad, about last night…" he started warily while placing the book in my hand. "I just want to know if you're okay."
"No, I'm not okay." I replied promptly, making no effort to hide my anger.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I just feel like we're living in two different realities, Mel," I said. I felt disappointed in myself, because at the mere sound of his voice my anger had already receded. I finally looked into his eyes—not furiously, but hurt.
He met my gaze, and I could see he felt guilty.
"I spend time with you every single day. I see things, Mel. I know there's something you're not telling me, and it drives me crazy. I feel like you're giving me all these mixed signals." My eyes drifted away from his. The sight of those blue eyes on me—he was driving me crazy.
"I understand," he said, handing me a bunch of salamander tails. I took my time reading the recipe and found that he was on step four, where it said: Grind three salamander tails, add them to the cauldron, and mix until they fully dissolve.
He passed me the grinder too.
"You say you understand, but I don't think you really do." Despite my best efforts to appear composed, the sorrow in my voice was too obvious. Instead, I tried to focus on crushing the tails with the heavy stone grinder, hopeful it would distract me from getting too emotional.
I was expecting him to say something else, though. I gave him time—five whole minutes of grinding until the tails were reduced to a fine dust—and still nothing had come out of his mouth.
I sprinkled the powder into the cauldron. We both coughed as the dust reached our noses; it felt spicy. He sneezed a couple of times. I stirred and stirred for what felt like forever, and still nothing.
This man is just exasperating.
"Is that all you're going to say?"
"I don't know what to say to make you feel better."
Unbelievable.
I turned to face him, anger resurfacing. Even though I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, I kept my voice to a whisper.
"Maybe you can start by accepting that you're giving me these mixed signals, and that I'm not crazy."
"I believe there's a fine line between the love you would show a dear sister and the love you would give a romantic interest. And I agree that we may be interpreting things differently. I understand why you may be confused."
I snickered. "You are unbelievable, Mel." I searched for his gaze, but he dodged me, focusing instead on the obsidian stone on the table. It was the last step of the potion. Once a potion—any potion—is finished, it must be stirred with a magic rock to grant it its magical properties.
All around me, the other soldiers were already at this part of the recipe. When each potion was ready, a short flash of blue flame burst from the cauldron and faded within a couple of seconds. The soldiers clapped.
I never used rocks or crystals for magic—not ever since I discovered I could conjure magic on my own.
What a coincidence that today's potion was wildfire, because I felt explosive, chaotic, and irate. Inside me, wildfire surged and burned. I wanted to explode just like the potion in the cauldron.
Of course, I wasn't going to give in to the feeling. So I breathed out and shook my shoulders to calm myself down. I tried not to think of Mel, standing beside me, oblivious to the pain he was causing. I definitely tried not to think about how, just the day before, he had come so close to my face—only to tell me we were merely family the very next second.
I hovered my palm over the cauldron and focused my magic on it. Magic comes easily to me—you demand, you push, and voilà, it obeys. I held my hand still, the palm-leaf bracelet clasped around my wrist. I closed my eyes and sensed the magic bubbling inside me.
I want you to burst. I want you to explode, I commanded.
Decisively, I pushed the magic. It flowed through my fingers.
The moment the potion received the command, the cauldron burst into blue fire with a deafening roar. The flames licked the ceiling and cascaded down around our feet. Mel's first reaction was to leap toward me and hold me tight, shielding me from the fire.
However frightening the explosion had been, the flames burned nothing, and they quickly dwindled.
"Get off me." I pushed him aside.
The professor was there in a second. She peeked inside the cauldron, inspecting the bubbling blue liquid. She raised an eyebrow at us.
"It seems you've brewed yourselves a very powerful wildfire—and nothing else. Of course, I expected nothing less from you, soldier," she said, flashing me the happiest of smiles.
She instructed us to clean up and leave, and we did so without uttering a single word. Despite my yearning to hear something—anything—from him that would make me feel better, not a single syllable escaped his mouth while we cleaned the whole table.
When we finished, I scurried to the door, not wanting to look back. I heard Mel calling my name, but I was sick and tired of him, so I rightfully ignored him and slipped through the archway curtain to freedom.
The see-through curtain glided over me and revealed a white, open hall with red flooring. Behind me were the classrooms, and in front of me stood a row of columns leading to a wonderful view. The military base was a beautiful hacienda adorned in red and white, decorated with a varied assortment of plants and trees. I usually loved the sight—how it framed the mountains behind it. But this time I didn't stop to contemplate; instead, I kept rushing forward.
Where was I going? I wasn't really sure. I just knew I had to be as far from Mel as possible.
"Nad, don't leave just yet," I heard him plead behind me. "Just—stop."
He grabbed my arm and turned me around so I could face him. The moment he touched me, I could feel my anger simmering down. First, I noticed the contrast of our skin: mine so tanned and his white as snow. Then my gaze drifted to his face—his small, light blue eyes looked troubled.
My eyes kept slipping lower: from his wide nose to his curved jaw outlined by two strands of jet-black hair. The harmony of it all. I couldn't help it—my eyes inevitably found his lips, a sharply defined cupid's bow. They were moving. I was so enthralled I barely registered what they were saying.
"Yesterday I told you that we're family; and that's the answer I will always give you. So please, don't make me repeat it again," I finally heard.
Oh. So that's what they were saying.
He was certainly a piece of art—just unfortunately empty-headed.
I yanked my arm free. "You're asking me not to bring up the topic again?"
"Can you promise me that?"
I crossed my arms and shot him a defiant look.
"No. But I'll give you another solution to your problem. If you don't want to repeat yourself, start by accepting that we are not family."
"Do not make me say it again."
He looked so calm—it was infuriating.
People in the halls were starting to crowd and stare, so I lowered my voice.
"Nobody is making you say it. You are deciding to say it."
"Well, I am compelled to say it if you ask me about it. Because, guess what, it is entirely the truth." His voice dropped into a whisper. "Am I not supposed to tell you the truth? Will you coerce me into saying something that is not?"
Coerce him?!
I felt my mouth drop to the floor. Indignation surged through me. I began unclasping the palm leaf bracelet on my left arm.
"You know what? I'm tired of you. Look what I'll do to your stupid bracelet."
I freed it and tossed it at him. The braided bracelet he had crafted for me on my birthday—the one I carried everywhere. I was done with it. He picked it up from the floor.
"Oh, come on! Don't be like this. This is just so immature," he pleaded. He was well aware we were being watched and was silently begging me not to make the problem bigger.
"I don't care. If you're my brother, then I'll treat you as such." I began storming away. "But first I need some time to myself because I need to sort some feelings out. So if you'll excuse me, I'll tell you when I'm ready."
With all the tumultuous emotions of the moment, I had forgotten to keep my voice down. Once I started walking away, I noticed there were more people around us than I had originally thought. They were unashamedly pointing and gossiping.
I even noticed Alphonse. He was giving his combat class very enthusiastically; he seemed to be in very good spirits.
***
For the rest of the day, I tried my absolute best to avoid Mel.
After potions class we had Flying Tactics, and I chose the places in formation farthest from him. In History, I switched seats with another soldier. I caught glimpses of him once in a while, and every time I did, I caught him sighing or rolling his eyes—each gesture only stoking my flame. During Weapon and Combat Training with Alphonse, the teacher didn't think twice when I asked him to switch partners. Alphonse was so jovial during those two hours that he didn't scold a single soul.
Mel rolling his eyes.
Me telling Alphonse I loved his class today.
Mel facepalming.
The word was spreading that Mel and I weren't talking. Except angels didn't refer to Mel by his name—they called him Crow. And I could hear Alphonse's name being brought up once in a while, along with scandalous looks thrown in my direction. I tried to block out the chitchat, but it's hard to ignore when the entire hallway hums with murmuring.
I hated when people called him Crow. And I hated that people were mentioning Alphonse, when he had nothing to do with any of this. Hadn't they heard me in the hall? I had been very direct: "If you are my brother, then I'll treat you as such. But first I need to take some time to myself because I need to get some feelings in order."
Very self-explanatory if you asked me. No mention of Alphonse whatsoever.
At three in the afternoon, the bell for lunch tolled. Mel and I usually found a bench in the garden after collecting our food, but not today.
As I approached the cafeteria, a cacophony of voices hit my ears. The second I stepped through the archways, I felt all the noise slowly diminish—like a magic trick. My teachers would love to know how I managed that. Suddenly, everybody was nonchalantly staring at me. I could see the whispers being exchanged, the curious looks, the hidden smiles.
As I walked deeper into the cafeteria, their gazes followed me. I wondered if Mel had received the same treatment. I scanned the area for him, but saw no sign of him anywhere.
I figured I wouldn't want to be here either—the environment felt hostile. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I still decided to grab my usual grapefruit and head outside. As soon as I marched out, I could hear the roar of voices catching up again.
Grapefruit in hand, I searched for a bench to sit on, starting in the front garden. I desperately needed a pinch of tranquility today, and the garden always delivered. There were many empty benches there, but there was no trace of Mel.
I just wanted to find him. To make sure he was okay. He was usually very sensitive about being the center of attention. He was especially sensitive about angels calling him a crow.
Just a little glance, I thought—just to make sure he's okay.
I made my way toward the backyard. It didn't need much scanning. Mel was there, sitting on a bench beneath a massive oak tree. He looked miserable as Herbert—towering Herbert—teased him. He was shoving his shoulder repeatedly. A flock of angels stood behind him, laughing at his jokes. I saw Tori there, too, flashing her full white smile.
Every time Mel tried to get up—as he always did in these kinds of situations—Herbert pushed him back down onto the bench. The rest of the group guffawed. And even though I was furious at Mel, I couldn't leave him like that.
I started approaching, making sure no one noticed me. No one did.
When I was close enough, I waited for the right moment—right when Herbert's wings dipped low and left his head exposed. I tightened my grip on the grapefruit, aimed for Herbert's thick skull, and flung it at him.
It hit the target.
He flinched, shoulders jerking up, and then turned around to see me.
I made my way to Mel's side, never taking my eyes off Herbert. My eyes were cold and dead; my face, a tomb.
"You fucking whore," he mumbled in disbelief.
Mel took a step forward, but I raised my arm as a signal for him not to interrupt. I had everything under control. And as the obedient partner he is, he backed down right away.
"I dare you to say it again," I said with my voice as grave as could be. I tried to look as intimidating as possible, raising my wings high and proud, but I knew my tactic wasn't working—Herbert was a monster of an angel, and I looked like nothing but a delicate flower.
"You—whore," he repeated, this time savoring every syllable.
He kept getting closer to me, menacing, but I remained unflinching. I might be a delicate flower, but I was never defenseless.
"I really advise you, man," I heard Mel mutter, "she's not in a good mood today."
The whole group of buffoons threw their heads back and roared with laughter, as if Mel had just told the funniest joke. Annoyed as I was, I let them enjoy their moment, because I would also have my turn to laugh.
"So, what are you going to do about it?" Herbert teased. He arched his back so his face hovered inches from mine, making mocking baby faces.
I didn't budge. I stared at him through emotionless eyes. He may not have seen it—or felt it—but rage was bubbling in me, and he definitely didn't want the pot to boil.
"Throw something else. Come on! Let's see how you fare this time, you little bitch," he challenged.
Tori slithered out from behind him. "Careful, Herbert. Remember you're speaking to the captain's plaything—she might get you in trouble," she mocked. "Opening your legs much lately? Make sure to mention our names after your session today."
This time their laughter hit like sharp stones. And I had to admit—that one hurt.
There it was. The answer. Why everyone kept bringing his name up.
Mel tried to step forward again; I could hear his harsh breathing this time. He wasn't handling the situation as calmly as I was, but I stopped him once more. Although the truth was I didn't have anything under control anymore. That one statement had caused the situation to slip through my fingers. My face stayed placid, but anger was getting the best of me. I was tired—today had been an up and down of emotions, and I was done.
Herbert was standing right there, blocking my way, his pretty face painted like a target.
"What? You think we don't notice? You think we can't figure it out?" he sneered. "I mean, really—why would a captain show interest in a toothpick? Especially one who sympathizes with crows."
The group roared.
And that—That was it.
I could take being called a toothpick. I'd been called worse. But I hated when they called him crow.
The burst of laughter suddenly turned into an agitated scream as Herbert's body started contorting. I kept my cold snare transfixed on him, but my nostrils were flaring now. I was feral, and I couldn't hide it anymore.
The whole group turned in shock, their eyes wide as marvels.
Kneel, I commanded my magic, and amid all the screaming, Herbert's legs gave way. In a minute he was kneeling, his body tense as he tried to fight whatever was pinning him to the ground.
I got closer to him, and he looked at me in realization.
Lower, I commanded, and his face hit the dirt. He shrieked on his way down. The angels were petrified.
"Nadine, that's enough. Let go of him."
It was Alphonse's authoritative voice. In the chaos, nobody had noticed him approaching.
At the sound of his voice, the soldiers snapped to attention as quickly as robins. Only Herbert took longer, since he had to assess whether he had full control of his body again.
Alphonse signaled for Mel, Herbert, Tori, and me to stay, and dismissed the rest. They rushed away from the conflict.
Tori took a step forward.
"Captain, Herbert and I were just passing by when Nadine started teasing us…"
I rolled my eyes. I was seriously pondering the idea of getting her right there and then. Fortunately, the captain intervened before she could continue her nonsense explanation. He marched to her, hands resting behind his back as usual, and looked at her with that light-blue feral gaze he always carried. Enough to make anyone's spine shiver.
"I don't recall asking for your recollection of events. Luckily, I was nearby and witnessed everything."
What exactly was everything? I wondered.
"Nice throw, Nadine. I saw you handling that grapefruit magnificently. Good aim."
He smiled at me tenderly, and I couldn't help but return a smug smile.
"It's my fault for not stopping the fight sooner, but it was such a spectacle one couldn't miss. I blame Mel for letting her take matters into her own hands. You should have been the one to act."
"I would have, sir," Mel said with a smirk, "but honestly, I thought Nadine would do a better job than I would."
When I first heard Alphonse's cold voice, I thought he was about to punish us for the rest of our lives, but he didn't look the least bit angry. He actually looked quite amused.
"Herbert and tori, I will be asking you to come into my office after your finish with you daily duties, I will take my time to think of a proper punishment, you may leave now"
The two of them rushed away, their wings tucked in fright. That was the effect the captain had on anyone. Seeing them like that, I smirked. Nobody could wipe that smile off my face.
The captain approached Mel and inspected his face. No sign of yesterday's trial on it.
"I can see your face has healed completely. May you tell me who healed you?"
I was wrong—my smile faded right away.
"The nurse, sir… but I don't see how that comes into matter," Mel replied. He wasn't confident enough; the captain saw right through him. I would have too—Mel couldn't lie even if his life depended on it.
"Indulge me. Just a little curiosity. Could you confirm that it was the nurse who healed you?" He was flashing his gaze between Mel and me as if scrutinizing our reactions to his questions.
"Yes, sir."
"The thing is, soldier," he said spitefully, "that I am aware of the stance the nurse has taken on tending to you."
The atmosphere began to feel tense and uncomfortable, and as happy as I had been just minutes ago, it dawned on me that we were now alone with the captain—and that we had misbehaved.
"It was me, sir. I healed him," I said, wanting to help Mel.
"Oh, well of course. How could I have missed that? You both are partners, so it's only natural." He said it so nonchalantly. He didn't look angry, but he certainly carried a sneer about him. He knew already; he was just playing with us, like an eagle with its prey. "And may I inquire, Nadine, what healing potion you used that made such an impeccable job?"
"It was—"
Before I could answer, he moved toward me and interrupted, "Please don't lie to me, Nadine. I know my potions."
I could feel heavy sweat drops sliding down my spine. Where exactly did he wanted to get with this "I did it with a feather, sir."
"Your feather?" he said, taking a stance very close to me, inspecting my face.
"Sir, I don't really see the relevance—" Mel tried to defend me, but the captain wouldn't budge. He raised a finger, signaling him to quiet down. His two blue eyes were fixated on me, his dark, disheveled brows drawn into a slight frown.
"I'm not talking to you. So, Nadine, your answer?"
I gulped. "It was my feather."
He nodded, then turned to Mel and held his gaze with the same intensity he had held mine.
"And when did this happen exactly? If I recall correctly, your face was still swollen when you entered the dormitory. Am I correct?"
"It was just before going to bed," I said, trying to pull his gaze away from Mel, but the captain kept directing his questions at him.
How much did he know? Had he been spying on us or following us? My heart started beating so hard I could hear it, and I could've sworn he heard it too.
"Can any of the other soldiers attest to that?" he asked quickly, not giving us a chance to think.
"It was just a little while after everybody went to sleep," Mel replied.
He turned to me again, and my heart beat even faster.
"So, Nadine, correct me if I'm wrong. Don't you have to reposition the nose in order to heal it? Otherwise, it will remain crooked."
"Yes, sir."
"And that makes a sound, doesn't it? A loud sound."
Was he trying to corner us into admitting that we sneaked away at night? I felt my body tense, and I shifted my eyes away from his. I could deny it, but the way he was asking made me think he already knew. Lying would only make things worse.
"Sir…" I heard Mel say urgently.
"It's okay, soldier. I don't intend to ask more questions," he said, his face cold as a tomb. "Nadine, will you please follow me to my office."
"Yes, sir."
I turned a pleading gaze toward Mel. He looked alarmed. I was terrified too. If the captain kept pushing, I wouldn't know how to respond. And I was sure that if he found out, he wasn't going to punish me—he would punish him. He would find a way to blame him.
And as I followed the captain into the main building, the more terrified I became with each step I took, leading me into the oblivion of whatever was to come.
***
The captain guided me through the first and second floors of the main building. The closer we got, the more the panic rose. I could hear he was trying to make small talk with me, but however much he tried, everything he said was muffled beneath the sound of my own terrified thoughts. I only hoped he wasn't asking anything important. Every time he spoke, I forced a smile, hoping it would be enough.
Every part of me was scrambling to find a solution to the problem.
Would he keep questioning me? Did he know about Mel's and my secret place? Had he caught us sneaking out? I scattered my brain for something—anything—to say.
Of course repositioning the nose makes a noise, especially the grunt from the pain… but I had tranquilized any feeling in Mel with my magic. That could work… unless he already knew the truth.
Still, that would be my best shot, I decided.
Just as we reached the archway to enter his office—a bright red, velvety curtain the only thing protecting his privacy—he stepped ahead of me and slid it to the side, signaling for me to enter with his palm raised.
I thought I had calmed down, but as soon as I passed him through the doorway, the fear revived. During the whole trek he had worn a proud, unfaltering smile on his face. Panicked as I was, I couldn't help wondering if it was a smile of triumph. Maybe I was doomed already, and no excuse could save me. Or Mel. I knew he would take it out on Mel.
I tucked in my wings to pass through the arch. I kept them close to me the whole time, trying to make myself small. If I made myself smaller, maybe I would become invisible.
His office was spacious. The furniture suggested he spent a lot of time there. His old-fashioned cedarwood desk sat at the very far end of the room, so one had to walk a considerable distance to reach it. At the top of the desk, a messaging bubble glowed pink, flashing—an upcoming call.
The pink bubble was impossible to ignore. He excused himself and told me I was free to roam around in the meantime.
"Make yourself comfortable, I won't be long," he said as he crossed the room toward the desk.
I was only glad to have more time to cool my boiling emotions. If I could feign peace and tranquility, maybe I could get him to doubt whatever he thought he saw. This was a torturing game of tactics, and I had never been good at them.
I caught a glimpse of something interesting collecting dust on a shelf. I walked toward it. Maybe roaming would help settle my nerves, I thought. The room was filled with an array of trinkets that immediately caught the eye—objects I had never seen before. As I approached the shelf and took in the full picture of what I was seeing, I realized it was no angel's creation.
"A revolt has arisen in Cutia," a man's voice announced. I instinctively looked toward the sound, catching the hologram of the man projected from the message bubble.
The captain looked at him with his pensive blue eyes and a hand resting on his jaw. "How many rioters?" he asked.
A crystal ball, with a miniature log cabin in the middle and a couple of trees beside it, all covered in snow. There were more of them on the shelf. Next to the cabin, another crystal ball held a rose, snow already settled on its petals. As I examined the rest, I found all kinds of figures: a castle, a pine tree smothered in snow, a pyramid.
"What triggered it this time?" I heard the captain's voice say over an array of muffled replies.
One of the crystal balls intrigued me so much that I couldn't resist the temptation of holding it. I picked it up, and as I held it in my hand, I noticed that the snow wasn't fixed—it was loose. I marveled with a small gasp. Such an unsophisticated thing, and yet so marvelous indeed.
"I will be leaving today with ten men. I can be there in two days—will you be able to hold?" the captain was saying.
"Most of the situation has been handled," the man replied.
I weighed the ball lightly in my hand, moving it up and down. The snow inside ascended and floated about. I gasped again in delight. I shook it a little more, and more snow rose, building a rampant whirlwind inside the sphere. At the center of the commotion lay a structure I didn't recognize—pointy, intricate. At the base of the ball I read: Paris, France.
"Do you like it?" the captain said as he appeared right beside me.
I jumped. I had been so absorbed in the object that I hadn't noticed the conversation ending or the captain walking toward me. He let out a soft snort at my sudden panic.
"I didn't mean to scare you." He extended a hand, and I placed the crystal ball into it. "I got this on one of my trips to the human realm." He gave it a slight shake, and the snow—already beginning to settle—roared back into motion. "The building inside is called the Eiffel Tower."
He placed his hand on my back and guided me to another part of the room. The touch felt uncomfortably personal.
"I have all kinds of trinkets from everywhere. Look." He led me to a pair of bookshelves overflowing with books and decorative items. He grabbed a rag doll—brown fabric, two black braids, and a colorful dress. "This one is from a place named Mexico. Humans make these kinds of dolls there."
I looked at him for permission, and he gladly handed it to me. I examined every detail: the two black eye dots, the triangle nose, the beautiful pattern on the dress.
As soon as I placed it back on the shelf, he returned his hand to my back and steered me toward a leather couch set, a wooden coffee table in the middle, and a long, elaborate red rug beneath it.
"The carpet is an Arabic antique—also human made. The lamp," he said, directing my gaze toward a delicate glass lamp shaped like two long red flowers, "comes from Cutia, the land of the demons."
"It looks magical," I whispered.
All trace of the nervous breakdown I'd had on our way here had vanished. I was thankful for that. However, remembering it made me realize the issue was still pending.
"So, sir…" I carefully threaded my words. "I don't mean to be rude, but I believe you called me into your office to discuss something."
A grin so pure lifted on his face, stretching from ear to ear.
"Of course," he said, signaling toward the long couch. "Please, take a seat. And call me Alphonse. I don't intend this to be a conversation between a captain and his subordinate, but a conversation between us. Angel to angel."
"Alphonse?"
He looked genuinely overjoyed.
"It's the first time you say my name. I love how it sounds coming from you," he said—his words catching me completely off guard. I had known he liked me for a long time, but he had never been mouthy about it. "Would you care for a drink?" he offered as he walked toward a cabinet to retrieve two glasses.
"A drink?" I was baffled.
"Yes," he assured me. He opened the glass door and scanned the row of bottles. "Oh, I know the perfect one." He slid a bottle out and read the label. "Vin Santo del Chianti Classico. Human made. I got it from a place called Italy."
"I don't think I should be drinking wine with my captain," I said, flabbergasted.
He dismissed my concern immediately. He returned to the couch and placed both glasses on the coffee table in front of us.
"You're not," he said nonchalantly while removing the wrapper covering the neck of the bottle. "As I said, you're not speaking to your captain right now."
"I forgot the corkscrew," he groaned. "Nadine, could you please…?"
He didn't seem able to finish the sentence. Did he feel asking me to use my magic was a taboo topic? I wondered. But I understood what he meant, especially when he offered me the bottle.
I grabbed it and held a hand above it.
Come at me, I commanded the cork.
It popped into my palm—no struggle at all. Easy as flying.
Alphonse looked mystified. He took the bottle and cork back, poured a glass for each of us, then set the wine aside. He waited for me to take the first sip.
Realizing he was waiting, I rushed to bring the glass to my lips and took a long sip. I looked at him and feigned a smile. God, everything felt so uncomfortable. I wondered how goofy I looked.
"So, how does it taste?"
"I'm not really a wine connoisseur… I'd say it tastes sweet."
"It does indeed."
He giggled; I could tell he was enjoying this. It felt intrusive to me—not only because he was my captain, but also because I knew he liked me. The way he was looking at me and smiling made me realize that maybe he liked me more than I had thought.
Where was he going with all this?
I remembered everything that had been said about me today, coming from Herbert's chunky-mouthed whore. I wondered if the captain had finally decided to make a move on me. Would he ask me to be his mistress?
On the contrary, Mel had warned me that the captain didn't seem like a man who cared about my status. He had suggested that the captain might even propose.
Was this what was happening instead? It felt like an angel and a demon were arguing on my shoulders, each taking a different stance.
"Alphonse."
He looked a bit flustered at the mention of his name.
"Yes, Nadine," he answered in a whisper.
"I don't wish to take much of your time. It seems like you're busy, and I have flight formation class in fifteen minutes," I said, bringing the cup back to my lips and taking another mouthful.
"Don't you worry about your class, Nadine. I can work things out. And just so you know, I'm never too busy for you."
He placed a hand on my knee, just across from me. "If you ever wish to drop by, I don't mind postponing my duties."
With his touch, I suddenly became aware of how close he was. It felt so intrusive to have him this near. All the tension that had circled my body on the way here returned at once. I gulped; even though I had worked through half the glass, my throat felt horribly raspy. I emptied the rest of the wine in one go and handed him the glass, asking for more.
"I was actually on my way to get you. That's why I was so close by and witnessed what happened," he said as he gracefully poured my glass and set it in front of me. "You know, Nadine, I admire your talents with magic. Be honest—do you carry a crystal with you?"
"No."
"Ah." His intrigue deepened. "But how?"
"I don't know. I've never had trouble summoning magic without the use of crystals."
"That's fascinating," he said, and I could swear he scooted a bit closer. "But where do you draw the magic from, if not from crystals?"
"I'm not really sure myself," I said and drank again.
The conversation didn't feel so bad after all. And just a minute ago I had thought he wanted to expose my secret hideout.
"And the healing magic you used—it's just wondrous. I've never seen a spell that leaves no mark. You're just so talented."
"Thanks," I said. The mention of the topic raised my suspicion again, along with my nerves.
"May I ask you, though… not to do that again."
He whispered it as he put his hand on my knee again. He was closer now, a barrage of infringements against my personal space.
"I mean the healing."
I rushed the glass to my lips and took three gulps. "Is there any policy that prohibits it?"
"No, there is not," he said, completely relaxed. The contrast between us was brutal—I was a wreck, and he was so serene. "But Nadine, I'm asking you to have mercy on me."
He leaned in. "I don't like it when you touch him."
"And I especially despise that he can touch your wings and feathers while all I can do is observe from a distance."
"I understand he's a mestizo, but he's still my partner."
He giggled again and set his untouched glass on the table. I tightened my grip on mine with both hands. I was flabbergasted by the sight of his hand approaching my face.
"My sweet Nadine, so naïve." He grabbed my chin and lifted it so I could see his face. He was closer than ever, his voice a whisper, and I could feel each puff of air caressing my skin. "That's not the reason I don't like you touching him. It pains me here when I see you touch another man. I always long to be the one at the end of your hand. Could you please reserve the act of touching you exclusively to me?"
A surge of butterflies bloomed in my stomach. Alphonse leaning so close to me… yet all I could think about was Mel.
Mel gawking at my lips.
Mel absorbing my face.
But it was Alphonse looking at me now.
I escaped his grasp and slid to the end of the sofa. I emptied my glass once more.
"I cannot. He's my partner, and I just cannot evade my responsibilities. The nurse won't even look at him…" I protested.
"I understand. I'll see to that," he snapped, clearly annoyed. "Let me get you some more of that wine."
"I want to apologize for what Herbert said," he added as he handed me the glass. His tone shifted from tender to serious.
"It's ok, it wasn't your fault," I said, taking the wine. I brought it straight to my mouth.
"But it is, indeed, partly my fault," he said, aggravated. "Please forgive me, Nadine, but it's been impossible lately to keep my feelings in check. To feign normalcy in your presence is a hopeless task."
He took both my hands in his, the glass resting between the circle our hands created. I couldn't believe how intent he was on touching me today.
"I assure you I will have a serious conversation with Herbert and Tori. They will not leave unscathed after having insulted you in such a heinous way."
He growled the promise, his eyes filled with fury, his sharp nose flaring. I remembered what Herbert had said—how he assumed I had been bedding the captain because there was no way he'd fall in love with his subordinate. I didn't like the captain; I didn't want anything to do with him. But the thought that his interest in me could be just… lust…
"Alphonse," I said, and again a visible surge of excitement consumed him. His hands were still gripping mine. "There's something gnawing at my thoughts. I need to ask. I am a low-life, and you are a Captain. I don't truly believe you would stoop so low. So forgive me if I ask… but could it be that you fancy me not in a romantic manner? Could it be that maybe your interest arises from something… else?"
He snickered. He let my hands go, and I found myself emptying the glass one more time. He grabbed his own glass, the one he'd left on the table, and drank. He rested his back against the couch, his wings cushioning his body. He looked pensive—disheartened, maybe.
He turned his face toward me.
"I am really sad that you would take me for a man who would take a mistress. Believe me when I say I'm not like that. I understand where the idea comes from, though. It's not the case."
"You have bewitched me," he added, honesty dripping from his voice, "completely."
"Let me talk to you about why I brought you here today."
He stood up, walked to his desk and back.
"Are you aware that the queen will be throwing a ball for her birthday next week?"
"So I've heard."
So he wanted to ask me to be on duty during the party. That was all.
"I have a surprise for you," he said, handing me an envelope. "If you don't believe my words, maybe this will clear it up for you."
I set the empty glass on the table and held the envelope with both hands. It had a pink seal engraved with the royal family's crest. I broke the seal and retrieved the letter inside. A white card with a golden frame and gold cursive lettering. I scanned it—an invitation to the ball, and in the center, my name in large cursive letters.
"I was invited?" I asked, perplexed.
"Yes. The queen invited me, and I requested to bring a second. I wanted to bring you."
I looked at him, my mouth open wide in disbelief. He seemed pleased with my reaction.
"I appreciate it. I really do. I don't want to be rude, but how could I accept? I am a low-life. You'll be seen with a low-life! What will the other angels say? I cannot put you through that," I said—and I meant it. What was he thinking?
He suddenly kneeled in front of me, his wings pushing the table with a scraping sound. He looked straight at me.
"I don't mind being seen with you, Nadine. From what I know, I'll make everyone jealous for having the most beautiful lady of the ball only for me. Take this as evidence of my real intentions with you."
"But sir, how could you not mind? What will the angels say? Imagine how your reputation could be damaged."
"Nadine, I don't think my reputation will ever be damaged by being seen with you. You may be a low-life, but your exceeding beauty can captivate anyone. I don't think anyone will be surprised that I took a fancy to a low-life once they see you."
He meant it—he REALLY meant it.
The conversation I had had with Mel popped back into my head. He'd told me the captain didn't really care about my status. And I hated to admit it, but he was right. Still, I wondered how things had escalated so quickly. Just a moment ago, there had only been ardent stares… and now he was inviting me to a ball.
Nonetheless, however fantastic and surreal the situation was, I didn't want to go with HIM. I didn't want to dance with him or share this experience with him. I would rather stay with Mel.
"But even if that were true, I don't have anything to wear, and I've never been taught to dance," I said, trying my best to dissuade him. "Please, allow me to go with you as a bodyguard. Have me patrol the party. I don't mind. That way we can both be there without drawing attention and—"
"Nadine, no." He interrupted. He cupped my cheek and gently redirected my gaze to his. "It is my wish to go with you. It IS my wish to be SEEN with you. And I don't plan on assigning you a security position, because I wish to DANCE with YOU."
I scoffed a puff of air. He REALLY liked me. He looked at me with such intensity—with such vibrant honesty. I could truly tell he liked me more than I ever expected. I wondered if I really had bewitched him.
But I wasn't going to give in. My heart was with Mel. My family, he had said—but husband and wife are still family. Thinking of him made my pinky finger tingle, and I knew I wasn't mistaken.
I began shaking my head, but the captain wouldn't let me.
"Nadine, please don't fret. I promise to take care of all your concerns. You don't have to worry about dresses—I'll make sure to buy you the most beautiful one I can find."
"But what about my dancing skills?" I asked, hoping that would stop him. I was missing my wine far too much.
"That would be the best part," he said with a delighted grin that revealed his canines. "Why don't I give you some dancing classes?"
I almost choked on my own saliva. The man was clueless.
"That's just silly. You are a very busy angel, and I surely wouldn't want to interfere with your duties."
"I will surely be on a mission, and I'll probably come back in four days, but I promise you I will move my appointments so that when I return, we can have one or two dancing sessions," he pleaded.
"Sir—"
"Alphonse," he corrected me.
"Alphonse… it's just too hard to believe that you would really do all this just for me."
"And I would do more," he said. Rising from the spot in front of me, he held my hands and helped me stand as well. The shift in perspective made me lift my face to look at him. "Nadine, you can't even imagine all the things I would do for you."
He was making this way too difficult. Maybe I just needed to be honest.
"So, I believe all matters are settled?" he asked, scanning my face.
"Alphonse, I cannot accept it," I began.
"It's really nothing," he said, his merry smile tightening into a serious expression. He turned and began pacing slowly toward his desk—exactly what he always did when he was annoyed in my presence. He was annoyed.
"But since I see you are adamant about rejecting my invitation, I will be taking my role as your captain now and ordering you to come with me—and to take the dancing classes with me."
So there really wasn't a way out. What could I do but accept?
"Of course, sir. Thank you for the wine."
"It was a pleasure to share it with you."
***
I was quite shaken as I slid past the red curtain leaving the captain's office. My first thought—my first instinct—was to tell Mel. It was always Mel. As I walked through the halls, down the stairs, and into the front yard, I pondered whether to talk to him again.
I wasn't angry at him anymore. I had smeared someone's face into the dirt for him. But I was proud, and I had been intent on making him suffer. It was discouraging to think he hadn't really suffered at all. To be honest, I was pretty certain the only one suffering was me—and if that was the case, which it was—there was no point.
I followed the tingle in my pinky finger until I found him inside a wide wooden bandstand, sitting on a bench. His wings were fully spread, reaching from one column to the other as they absorbed the sun's warmth. I smiled at the sight—so peaceful against the afternoon light. His eyes were closed, and his head leaned back. When I first met him, when we were barely kids, he had been profoundly ashamed of his wings; extending them like that would have been impossible. He had come a long way in accepting himself. I really hoped I had helped.
I stood there just watching him, letting his tranquility wash over me, and I remembered that on a day just like this one, ten years ago, we had one of our many conversations about his wings.
We were walking in the front garden of the temple. Our task that day was to tend the plants on the right wing. His wings had been tightly tucked, as usual, but his feathers were clearly messy. They were always like that because he preferred to keep them sheathed all the time—except when necessary… or when he was with me.
Back then, I had only just begun to realize I could summon magic on my own, so I liked to practice whenever I could. Instead of fetching water from the creek that cleaved the temple grounds, I would summon small rainy clouds above the bushes.
Mel had a pair of large pruning shears with him, trimming the bushes into perfect circles. I told him that once we finished with the garden, we were going to sit down in the bandstand.
He grunted.
"It's no use," he said, his voice cracking with teenage frustration. "You know I'll sheath them again and all the effort will be lost."
"We all sheath our wings at night, but we still groom them constantly. It's an act of self-love. Your wings are beautiful, you shouldn't hate them," I nagged. My voice was decisive, and I wasn't looking forward to an argument.
He stopped trimming a large rose bush and turned to me. He looked defensive, waving his arms as he spoke.
"You know I can't. You know it. I'll never love my wings—they're the reason my mom was taken away."
"Did she teach you to hate them?"
"What do you mean? No." He sounded even more irritated by the exchange.
We stood in silence for a few minutes. He moved on to another small bush and walked deeper into the garden, into a spot hidden from the creek and the main temple by a cluster of tall trees—oaks, pines, jacarandas, and sakuras—all blooming with healthy colors and flowers.
The chirping of robins blessed our ears.
"She wanted you to love your wings," I said at last. My voice was barely above a whisper, but the garden was so still—except for the birds—that I knew he heard me.
"It doesn't matter what she wanted. She's gone," he snapped, throwing the pruning shears to the ground.
I turned to him. He was panting, shoulders rising and falling. But he didn't look angry, not really—he looked hurt. I knew how he felt about his wings, but I hadn't expected this conversation to shake him so deeply. I could have dropped the subject, but something inside me pushed forward.
"You know, Mel," I said, walking back toward him, unafraid despite his closed-off stance, "I have this hunch—I have this feeling—that someday you'll see your mom again. Maybe when you come of age and earn your freedom. You could go look for her."
I reached his side. He looked at me with a frown, but he couldn't hide the pout forming under his nose. Up close, I could see how tense he was, how much he was shaking.
"Is this really the Mel you want her to see? Someone who's broken in here—" I placed my hand gently on his chest "—someone who can't even look at his wings out of spite? Wouldn't you want to show her a better version of yourself?"
"It's not that easy, Nadine," he murmured.
"I can only imagine," I murmured back. My hand was still on his chest. With my other hand, I reached for his face and brushed my thumb over his cheek. He leaned into my touch, that stubborn pout still there.
"I know your mom loved you so much. I know it because you wouldn't love her this deeply unless she had loved you first. Imagine how it would break her heart to return one day and find that her son had grown to detest his wings. That in her absence, her child was tortured by guilt."
He bit his lip, his eyes turning shiny as he sobbed, "But how could I not blame myself if it was my feathers that gave her away?"
I took one of his hands in mine and guided him beneath a jacaranda. I asked him to lie down on the ground; he did, and his head rested on my lap. The jacaranda flowers rained softly over us, swaying with the breeze. He closed his eyes, and I ran my fingers through his black hair. Lost in the gesture, I realized Mel had changed—he was no longer scrawny, and his features were no longer feminine. His jaw had sharpened, shadowed with prickly hair. I wondered when he had started shaving.
I murmured, my voice blending with the faint sounds of nature, "Mel, I truly believe it's pointless to take the blame. What happened was brutal, painful, scarring. But clinging to blame will only trap you in the past."
He opened his eyes and looked up at me through thick, dark eyebrows. His cheeks and nose were pink, and his eyes had turned a lighter shade of brown.
"The thing about the past," I pleaded, "is that it cannot change. Let go of those chains. Come back with me to the present. Your past was awful, but your future can be better—and for that future to improve, you'll have to start shaping it yourself."
He began to sob. He turned his face away so I wouldn't see him. I let him sob; I let him cry.
"If you keep looking back, surrendering to the feelings you had then, your future will keep resembling it," I said softly. I dried his tears and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.
"Let me help you, Mel. Let me at least start grooming your wings once in a while, like the other partners do."
Grooming another angel's wings was a sign of trust and love. It wasn't unusual to see partners and couples scattered around the grounds, grooming each other.
"What if they take you away too? I couldn't live with that. You're all I have."
He was all I had too.
"I won't be taken away. I was assigned as your partner, and I've been your partner for so long," I tried to reassure him, my hands still caressing his face—moving across his forehead, down the bridge of his long nose, to his cheek, and finally resting on his lips. I swallowed hard.
"But Mel, if I ever get taken away—and I promise you it WON'T happen—I want you to understand that it will never be because of your wings."
His gaze met mine. We shared a fiery look.
"And if I ever get taken away, I want you to know that I'll search for you endlessly. And the day I find you, I hope I find a happy, healthy man who made the most of his life in my absence."
I felt a tug on my little finger—the red thread pulling. He opened his eyes and looked my way. I wondered if he felt the same tug. I smiled and followed the gravel path toward him.
"Did you get in trouble?" he asked, straightening on the bench and lowering his wings.
"Not one bit," I said, finding a spot behind the bench on the white veranda. I absorbed the landscape—the temple's front garden blooming with vegetation and colorful flowers. It was so beautiful it felt like a painting. The sun cast a soft veil of light everywhere. I shielded my eyes under the hanging vines.
"Of course, that was a stupid question," he snorted. "Did I get in trouble?"
"No, he didn't ask anything more about the healing," I said. We both turned to face each other. He looked relieved, and only then did I realize how tense he had been. His shoulders dropped. He lowered his wings too.
"Although he asked me not to do it again. So I guess you will have to stop getting into trouble… or you could always try the nurse," I teased him. I had felt so tense with Alphonse, but with Mel everything was so smooth.
He giggled. He stood up and made his way beside me on the veranda. "Well, I guess I always have you to defend me. That would be preferable, since you always seem to leave a confrontation unscathed."
He handed me a grapefruit. I took it in my hands and thanked him with a nod. I didn't feel like eating today, though; what had happened with Alphonse had left me with no appetite.
He bit his lip. "But seriously, don't fight my fights again."
I rolled my eyes playfully. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry—you've asked me before."
"Yes. I've lost count."
"I was just so angry because of everything that happened… so I guess that's how I redirected my anger?" I shrugged, trying to excuse myself—and failing.
"Is that your excuse this time?" He grinned.
I smiled back. I couldn't believe I had been mad at him just a while ago. To my side, just beyond the veranda, the landscape exploded with color—and somehow he was more beautiful. He was the masterpiece of the gallery. I caught myself drifting away and shook my head awake.
"Well, maybe if you started defending yourself," I argued, my voice rising in concern. We had had this conversation countless times. He was always so idle that the other angels found him an easy target. I had never liked that power dynamic, and I wasn't going to let anyone get away with it—whether it was Mel or someone else.
"Fair enough."
"Then why don't you?" I snapped.
Mel sighed and looked at the horizon—no sun in sight, only clouds and rows of mountains.
"There was a time when I used to defend myself," he began, his mind drifting. "But you know… I was harassed a lot before you became my partner, and defending myself all the time was just so tiresome. I started learning that getting into fights only made things worse. And soon I learned that if I stopped reacting, they'd eventually get bored and leave without escalating. That's what they wanted—to get a reaction. So I became as expressive as a rock to take that satisfaction away."
I grunted.
"It's not that I don't defend myself," he continued. "It's more like I choose my fights."
I didn't believe that one bit. In all the years we had been together, I had never seen him defend himself. Not one fight. It had always been me. At least he wasn't teased much anymore.
"Besides," he added, "I don't really get the chance to defend myself because my nosey partner always takes up my fights."
Nosey?
I opened my mouth in disbelief. He laughed at my reaction. I placed the grapefruit on the bench behind us. Thinking back to the crystal balls, I ordered my magic to give me a snowball, and it appeared in my hand. He dodged it, and it shattered against a column. I summoned another, but he grabbed both my arms before I could throw it.
He was chuckling, and it was contagious, so in no time I was laughing too—him grabbing my arms.
"So I guess we're speaking now," he said as our laughs faded. He let go of my arms.
"Well, yes. But only because it seems like the very minute we part, everybody decides to pick on you."
"Are you still mad at me, though?" he asked, glancing at me apologetically.
I sighed. "You know, Mel… I tried to stay mad, but no matter how hard I try to fuel the feeling, I just can't."
We shared half a smile.
"I missed you," I said.
"I missed you more," he replied.
He found his way back to the bench. "Could you do me a favor?" He extended his wings toward the sun again. "Could you groom my wings? Some feathers are misheveled and they make me uncomfortable."
"Sure," I said. I checked the perimeter to make sure the captain wasn't around, then began. I remembered the flashback I'd had just moments ago and rejoiced at the thought of how much he had improved. I wondered if he had finally reached a better version of himself. He had to—he was twenty-seven now; he had come of age five years ago. I wondered what made him stay a soldier, and I hoped he stayed because he was waiting for me.
I decided to start with his scapular feathers and work my way down to his primaries. All his feathers were white except for the primaries and secondaries, the most important ones. I picked up each feather and tidied it with care. He returned to his laid-back position. The touch of someone grooming your feathers will make an angel sleepy.
"What did the captain say, anyway? You two spent quite some time there," he asked, eyes closed.
"It seems your suspicions were right. He doesn't mind about my status," I replied, grabbing a secondary covert and smoothing it out.
"Did he…?"
I waited for him to finish, but he didn't even try. Still, I understood what he meant.
"Propose? No. But he did make a sort of love confession."
I felt his wings tense, flinching under my hands.
"He also asked me to the queen's ball."
He groaned.
"I tried my best to dissuade him, but he wouldn't listen. I just think it's a bad idea for someone like me to be seen with a Captain."
"I agree, this is a very poor idea," he said, and I smiled a little. I wondered if he was jealous.
"He should at least wait until you two are married, or it will look like you're his mistress."
Married?! How could he say that so nonchalantly? I yanked a feather out of spite.
He cried out and reached for his wing.
I shrugged, feather in hand. "Sorry. This feather was broken."
He sneered at me. "Don't mess with the white ones," he scolded.
"I'll save it and use it the next time I have to heal you," I said, sliding the feather into my uniform pocket. "It'll probably be soon if the captain catches us like this. Shall we risk it?"
"Well, we already have the feather, so I'll say yes," he shot me another irritated glare and settled back into position, eyes closed, head resting against the bench. "And by the way, I'll be at the ball too."
"Someone invited you as well?" I asked. To my surprise, I felt a sting of jealousy. Even being a mestizo, there had always been women who found him attractive. It wasn't hard to imagine someone overlooking his status—or his wings. If it could happen to me, it could happen to him too.
"Of course," he grinned. "I'll be wearing my best attire and guarding the kitchen entrance from any evildoers. I was assigned duty at the party."
Relief washed over me. I sighed.
"Lucky you," I said—and I meant it. I really wasn't looking forward to spending the evening with the Captain.
"Oh, why? I'll get to smell the food but won't be allowed to taste a single bite."
I thought about it. It was a good thing we'd both be there. A plan began forming in my head.
"Well, I'll tell you what. I could smuggle you some food—if you promise to dance one song with me."
He raised an eyebrow, considering.
"I can survive without the food."
I snickered. "I don't know. Royal food always looks especially tempting to me."
"I can't abandon my post, and I'm not supposed to step onto the dance floor."
I was focused on finishing the last detail on his left wing, so when I looked back up, I was startled to find him staring at me—both eyes open, expression stripped of humor.
"You should stop asking," he said through clenched teeth. "It won't work."
"But I'm not asking you to do it on the dance floor," I snapped.
"And what about the captain?" he shot back, turning so sharply on the bench that we were suddenly face to face. "I don't think he'd be very pleased to see his companion dancing with his most hated enemy. He's doing all this for you, you know. He's inviting one of his soldiers despite the gossip it'll bring upon him. If you danced with me, it would feel like a slap in the face."
I rolled my eyes and snapped back, "That's not a problem at all! I can tell him I'm getting refreshments—or going to the restroom. I meet you at your post, and we dance for five minutes."
He snorted and shook his head. "Sounds like a suicide mission."
"But it could work," I pleaded.
He looked at me, lips thinning.
"Except that I don't know how to dance," he sighed, then turned back on the bench, putting both hands on his face as he groaned. I wondered what was going on inside his head.
I moved my grapefruit to the floor and sat beside him on the bench.
"Me neither, but the captain promised to teach me how to dance before the ball."
"Oh, did he?" he said, with spite.
I nodded. "And at night I could teach you what I learn, so you're prepared."
"You seem fixated on it."
I nodded decisively. I wanted to share this experience with him. It would be easier for me to survive the evening if I knew that, even for only five minutes, I would see Mel. That he would get to see me in a dress, and that we would dance. I was already picturing it: we would find the most romantic spot in the castle and dance close together. Maybe, after the dance was over, I would kiss him.
"Fine," he snapped. "I'll dance with you, but I'm expecting something big in return."
"Yeah, sure. I'll make sure to get you something worth it," I said, placing a hand on his knee, just like the captain had done during our talk.
He looked surprised at the touch and straightened up.
"You're going to get me into so much trouble, you know," he said, distracted.
He grabbed the hand on his knee and lifted it, planting a kiss on the back of my hand. There it was—a mixed signal. I wondered if brothers kissed their sisters' hands like that. I supposed I would never know, because the only family I'd ever had was him.
He kept my hand in his and, from his shirt pocket, procured a bracelet—my palm-leaf bracelet.
"You lost this," he said.
"Thanks," I murmured as he tied it around my wrist.