Then I pass out.
Chapter Thirty
“There is nothing riskier than handing your heart to another person and trusting them to keep it safe.”
—A Season for Everything
When I come to, the field is warm, not a single crystal of ice remaining. Sang is saying my name, and Mr. Burrows is rushing over with water. I hear Ms. Suntile talking frantically to someone, and Paige is standing several feet away, watching.
“Hi,” Sang says when the world comes into focus and my eyes find his.
I blink several times. “Hi.”
He brushes the hair out of my face and helps me sit up.
Mr. Burrows hands me a glass water bottle, and I take several long sips. I’m not in pain anymore, and my vision is back to normal; I just feel overwhelmingly tired.
“Are you hurt?” Mr. Burrows asks.
“What do you care?” I know the words sound immature, but I say them anyway.
Mr. Burrows looks startled. “Clara, I know you don’t agree with my methods, but you must see that everything I’ve done is because of the sincere belief I have in you and your ability to make a difference in the world.”
But I don’t see it, and when I don’t respond, Mr. Burrows keeps talking. “We’ll get you back to your room so you can rest. What you just did…” he starts, then trails off. He shakes his head.
“Was fucking wild,” Paige says.
Mr. Burrows looks at her. “Yes. Precisely that.”
Paige looks down at me. “You’re okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Good.” Then she turns and walks away.
The moment lodges in my throat, making it painful to swallow. The way she made sure I’m okay while standing several feet from me, guard up but not all the way, sears itself into my mind. The way she stayed long enough to ask, even though Sang is beside me with his hand on my back. She did it despite herself, and that means something.
“Would you help me stand up? I want to get to my cabin and take a nap,” I say.
Sang helps me to my feet, and I hear Ms. Suntile tell someone to get a cart.
“I could always give you a piggyback ride,” Sang suggests, his voice light.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Park,” Ms. Suntile answers for me, but I swear she tightens her lips to keep from smiling. Mrs. Temperly comes into view and stops the cart next to me. I get on the back.
“Ms. Densmore, we’d like someone to stay with you for a while to make sure you don’t have any delayed reactions. That was a significant amount of magic you used, and I’d feel better knowing you’re being looked after. I can send the nurse down, or Mr. Park can stay with you. It’s your choice.”
“Do you want to take the afternoon off? Work on your research?” I ask, but Sang grabs my hand.
“My nephew tells me I’m the best tucker-inner he’s ever seen,” Sang says.
“The best?”
Sang nods. “The very best.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” I look at Ms. Suntile. “I’d like Sang to stay with me.”
She nods. “Mr. Park, if her condition changes, you’re to call the nurse and myself right away.”
“Understood.”
“And Clara,” Ms. Suntile says—the second time she’s ever used my first name—“thank you for what you did.”
She turns away before I can answer, and Sang sits on the back of the cart next to me.
When Mrs. Temperly drops us off at my cabin, Sang opens all the windows and turns on my fan. He waits with his back to me while I change into a camisole and boy shorts, and then I crawl into bed.
I watch him as he pours me a glass of water and brings it to my nightstand, this simple gesture that causes my heart to ache. The blizzard makes me hopeful that my magic is under control, that it’s done targeting the people I care about. But in the quiet of my cabin, seeing Sang doing something as ordinary as getting me water, my confidence wavers.
I want these moments with him, these routine, everyday moments that have nothing to do with magic. And the selfish part of me wonders if we could have this even if I were stripped.
Staying for the eclipse would give me absolute certainty that my magic would never hurt him, never go after him. And watching him right now, hope doesn’t feel like enough.
I want certainty.
My eyelids are heavy. I’m so tired.
Sang pulls my sheet up to my chin and goes down the length of my body, shoving the sheet under me until I’m tightly tucked in. Then he drifts his fingers all the way back up until they reach my mouth. He gives me a soft, slow, lingering kiss. Then he pulls away.
“How’d I do?” he asks.
“I do believe your nephew is right,” I say. “The best tucker-inner I’ve ever seen.”
He kisses me on my forehead, and I close my eyes.
“I remember what I said before passing out,” I whisper. “I meant it.”
“I know.”
I’m so glad he knows.
I sleep for fifteen hours.
***
Rumors about the blizzard tear through campus like a gale-force wind, and the classmates I’ve worked so hard to barricade myself from keep coming to chat with me as if we’ve been friends forever. I don’t mind it; if I heard about magic like that, I’d want to know more too.
But I feel awkward and uncomfortable, not exactly sure how to react. I smile at odd times and force myself to laugh, the sound of it foreign in my ears. I’m invited to the dining hall and crowded by groups of witches who want to know what it feels like, looks like, sounds like. They ask me to take them to the control field and summon their magic, aching to see their power used in a season not their own.
But that’s where I draw the line, and Ms. Suntile lets me use her as an excuse to repeatedly say no.
After two weeks of nonstop questions and stares, I’m happy to be eating lunch in my small cabin. Nox is
