Soft as Spring

Chapter 2: The Rules of Asking

I met Elias in the Conservatory's sunroom two days later, with a list of questions I had written out in my neatest hand.

I had spent most of the morning crossing them out.

The first draft had begun with Do you like anyone? The second had begun with Why did you pick me? By the time I walked into the sunroom, the page had one question left on it: What do you want from this?

Elias was already there. He had chosen a chair near the window, where the light fell across the scar in his eyebrow. A cup of coffee sat untouched beside him.

"You came," I said.

"I said I would."

"I know. I just... wanted to make sure."

He nodded toward the empty chair. "Sit down, Elowen."

I sat. The paper crinkled in my hand.

"Are those your questions?" he asked.

"One of them."

"Which one survived?"

I unfolded the page. "What do you want from this?"

He looked at the question, then back at me. "A place to stay until the thaw."

The answer surprised me. "You live nearby?"

"Not anymore."

He told me that the north road had been closed after a bridge washout, and the village where he'd lived had fallen under the authority of a landholder named Lord Varden. Elias had worked as a mapmaker, surveying the old water channels that fed the valley. When Varden's people came to claim the channels, Elias had refused to sign their maps. They had dismissed him from his room and seized his papers.

"Do you have family?" I asked.

"A sister. She's safe."

"Are you safe?"

"At the moment."

I lowered my eyes to the paper. "And the accord?"

"Maura said the Conservatory sometimes offered temporary shelter to practicum partners. I need somewhere I can stay while I find work. The Conservatory needs a candidate for your course. She thought we could help each other."

"Did she say anything else?"

Elias took a slow drink of coffee. "She said you were kind."

I stared at my question. "She shouldn't have said that."

"Why not?"

"Because it makes me sound simple."

"It doesn't make you sound simple."

I searched his face for pity and found none. "I don't want you to agree to something because you need a bed."

"I don't want you to pretend the bed isn't part of it."

That answer landed harder than a softer one would have.

I folded the paper. "Then we should write the terms down."

"Agreed."

We went over the Conservatory's standard agreement. Elias could use a room in the west wing for the length of the practicum. I could not use his shelter as proof of his affection. Either of us could end the process. If we did, he would receive a month of additional housing while he arranged another place.

The terms seemed fair, but I kept imagining a line hidden beneath the printed ones. I had no reason to trust Maura's word more than my own.

"I want to see the original rules," I said. "Not a summary."

Elias leaned back. "Good."

At the Registry, I asked the clerk for the practicum ledger. She gave me a narrow binder and watched me read every page.

The accord rules were written in clear, unadorned language. No vow could transfer property, employment, or legal custody. No candidate could be required to continue after withdrawing. Housing offered during a practicum could not be conditioned on a final bond.

I underlined that last line.

"Do you expect someone to break it?" Elias asked.

"I don't know."

"You've got a careful way of saying yes."

I glanced at him. "I've spent five years watching people say things they don't mean."

"And what do you mean?"

I felt my practiced answer rising: I mean to do my best. I mean to make the course work. I mean—

"I mean I want to get better at asking."

He nodded. "That's honest."

"Then may I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"Why did you choose me?"

"I didn't know you."

"Exactly."

"I chose the shelter. Maura chose you."

My stomach tightened. "That's not the same thing."

"No." He pushed the binder toward me. "If you want my answer after we know each other, ask me again."

That afternoon, we sat in the sunroom and planned the first meeting of our practicum. It was supposed to be a shared task that required neither of us to pretend to feel anything.

Elias chose the old water channels.

I chose the dead rosebush.

We agreed to work on both.