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I sigh. Another dead end.
My feet begin to ache from all the walking we've been doing and without having to tell Eris, she suggests we make our way back toward the rowhouse, but when I take in my surroundings, I don't recognize the street she tugs me down.
"Where are we going?" I ask, caution bubbling in my gut.
"The Harland House."
"I haven't been this way before."
"There's something I want to show you on our way."
I trust Eris, but the thought that my trust might be misplaced always nags in the back of my mind. Not just with Eris, with everyone I meet these days. I suppose it will take me a while to fully trust without thinking someone might have ill-intentions, but I'm determined to get there one day. So, I follow after my friend, zipping down the block until we stop in front of a storefront with an enormous bay window. I step up to the glass when Eris motions for me to glance inside and see children no older than twelve or thirteen sitting in front of propped up easels with canvases perched. They have beige smocks draped over their clothing, and I watch in keen interest as they paint lush landscapes, realistic portraits, and fantastical dragons.
"They're incredible," I say softly, as if my voice could possibly break their concentration. I step back to look at the wooden sign swinging above the door. "Gustav's. What is this place?"
"It's an art school."
"For children?"
"For anyone." She slides up next to me and stares inside. "Classes for children take place during the weekend, so it doesn't interfere with their schooling. During the week, the adult classes are in session every night."
"Did Atlas take classes here?" I ask without thinking.
Before Eris can answer my question, as if just speaking his name conjures him, Atlas appears. He's inside the studio, a splattered and worn apron tied around his neck and waist. He rolls his black sleeves up to his elbows as he hovers behind one of the students and points at his canvas. Whatever he's suggesting to the young artist, I can't hear because of the glass window that separates us, but by the pride flashing in the student's eyes, it must be a wonderful critique.
My heart pounds so loudly I can feel it in my ears. "Wait, he teaches here?"
"I'm surprised he didn't tell you."
"Is this where he sneaks off to at night?" My stomach tightens. All this time I thought he might be seeking comfort in another woman's bed, but he's been here… teaching art.
"He teaches here three nights a week. The weekend class for the youngsters was his idea," Eris confirms.
"So, he teaches at Magikos Grammata during the day…"
She nods, "And here at night."
Suddenly, I'm warm all over and the hair on my arms stands up. His passion is art. I see him smiling – actually smiling – at these children, and it makes my heart soar. He's in his element and the joy emanating from him is overwhelming. People all over Dalerin fear him, tremble when he wields his shadows, but here in Tronovia, I see who he really is. He might be lethal but he's also kind, giving, and selfless. Watching him praise each child, encouraging their creativity, and cultivating their skills, has my lower belly aching. I've been holding myself back from letting him into my life, into my heart, because I'm afraid of what would happen if I do.
Little by little I'm discovering how amazing he is and how involved he is in his community, giving back, helping and instructing. What have I done? What do I have to offer anyone?
I've never set foot in the city of Midori. All my life, the Golden Palace has been the only reality I've ever known. I have never had a conversation with anyone outside those my parents permitted me to speak with. I don't have a hobby and I certainly don't have any skills to pass on to the next generation. Suddenly, I feel completely useless, and realize why I should never pursue a relationship with Atlas. He's so much better than me and deserves someone who is his equal. Titles mean nothing, if you don't use your power to lift up those around you.
"Shaye? Are you alright?"
I clear my throat and nod, "I'm fine."
"Which means you aren't fine."
"I am." The lie rolls off my tongue easy enough, but I hate myself a little more for fibbing to the woman I consider my best friend.
"Would you like to go inside?" Her gentle tone sets my entire body on fire.
I shake my head. "No. I'd rather Atlas not know I'm here."
"I'm sure he would be happy to see you," she encourages with a bright smile. "He might even show you how to paint."
The selfish part of me wants him to look up and notice me, to wave me inside, but I turn away, slip my arm around Eris' and tug her forward. "It's better this way."
