Soft as Spring

Chapter 3: What He Was Promised

I found Noah in the workroom three days later, trying to make a length of iron fit into a gap that was too narrow.

"Could I help?" I asked.

He looked up. "Do you know how to bend iron?"

"No."

"Then probably not."

I could have taken the dismissal as a reason to leave. I nearly did.

Instead, I pointed at the beam. "I can keep the wood from splitting while you fit it."

He studied the cracked support, then nodded. "All right."

I placed both palms against the old oak. The timber vibrated under my hands. Noah braced the iron, leaned into it, and pushed. The beam held.

"More?" he asked.

I kept my magic steady. It was the kind of work I knew how to do: quiet, careful, no one looking at me for anything beyond a task.

When he finished, we stepped back together. The new support disappeared into the old framework, as if it had always belonged there.

"I thought the restoration was voluntary," I said.

Noah wiped his hands on a rag. "It is."

"Your ring looks like a bond token."

He stopped wiping.

The cord rested against his collar. The silver ring had a narrow line of text etched around it, too small to read from where I stood.

"Where did you get it?" I asked.

"It's mine."

"I didn't mean—"

"You did."

My throat went dry. "Professor Wren said you'd volunteered."

"I did."

"But you're wearing a Conservatory token."

"It isn't a token."

His voice had gone flat. I understood that I had stepped somewhere he didn't want me to go.

"Sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have assumed."

He tucked the ring inside his shirt. "No. You shouldn't."

He lifted the iron tools and carried them toward the bench. I watched his back and tried to sort through the questions I hadn't asked.

The next day, I went to Professor Wren's office.

"Why did you match me with Noah?"

She set her pen down. "Because he wanted an exercise partner, and you needed one."

"Did he ask for me?"

"He asked to work with someone whose magic was restorative."

"Not me specifically?"

"I told him you'd been doing the most careful work in the glasshouse."

I looked at the blue-ribbon folder, still on the corner of her desk. "What is the ring?"

Professor Wren's expression shifted. I only saw it for a second, but I noticed.

"What did Noah tell you?"

"That it was his."

"Then it's his to explain."

"Is he bound to the Conservatory?"

"I can't discuss his contract."

"I thought he was a volunteer."

"He volunteered for the practicum."

"That's not the same thing."

"No, it isn't." Professor Wren took off her glasses. "I made the distinction clear. You both agreed to work together. If you don't want to continue, you can withdraw."

"And if he wants to?"

"He can withdraw too."

"But you can't tell me why he needs the work."

"No."

The answer landed harder than I expected. "You paired me with someone you know is in some kind of contract and didn't think I should know?"

"I paired you with an adult who can make his own decisions."

I left without the answer I'd come for.

Noah was outside the glasshouse, tightening a bolt on the new support. I stopped a few feet away.

"Professor Wren told me she can't explain your contract."

He kept his eyes on the bolt. "She shouldn't."

"I don't want to take part in something I don't understand."

"Then don't."

"Is it dangerous?"

"No."

"Is it forcing you to work here?"

He finally looked at me. "I told you I volunteered."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"It answers the question I'm willing to answer."

I took a breath. "You're right."

His expression softened by a fraction, then closed again.

I wanted to tell him I wasn't accusing him. I wanted to ask him not to shut me out. But those were two different things, and neither belonged to me yet.

"I'm not going to ask you again," I said. "If you want to tell me, you can. If you don't, we can keep the exercise separate."

Noah looked down at the bolt. "That's fair."

It wasn't a yes. It wasn't a goodbye.

For me, it was enough to stay.