Page 39 of A Whisper of Cinders

“Milady?”

Oh, right. He is waiting for me. I take one deep breath, gather all my courage, and open the door.

Aramis leans against the doorpost, his blond waves fall across his forehead and his bicep flexes while his forearm rests above my head. Damn he is tall. And while he lowers his arm to stand up straight, I can’t help but throw one more glance at those upper arms.

“Well, don’t you look lovely.” He says, drawing my attention back to his face. His eyes travel up and down my body not in disgust, but in…appreciation.

I glance down, unsure how to respond or act. ‘Lovely’ isn’t really a word I would put in the same sentence as ‘me’. The clothes do look pretty though.

He probably notices how uncomfortable I am, because he offers a charming smile and steps away, waving his hand as he goes. My stomach rumbles for the third time and Aramis chuckles. “Right, food. Let’s get some breakfast, shall we? Althea had an emergency, but we’ll manage perfectly fine on our own.”

He looks over his shoulder, throwing me a glance I can’t quite decipher, but one that makes my insides melt. A second too late, I notice I’m shamelessly staring and force myself to move forward.

I follow Aramis, who adjusts his pace to mine. We pass several doors, but they are all closed and only silence remains in the hall. Everyone’s probably at breakfast, we’re probably running late.

The hallway has a dark wooden floor that leads towards a grand square shaped staircase, one going up multiple levels, the other going down. Large windows line the walls in between doors, revealing glimpses of the white landscape. Dark clouds hang low, a snow storm is about to come down. Maybe not so different from Nivraen after all.

Aramis follows my gaze. “A snowstorm is about to pass by,” Aramis says, confirming my line of thought. “Don’t worry though, miss. We don’t get them often here. The weather is usually quite stable.”

I glance up at him, before looking out the window again. “Snowstorms don’t frighten me and I don’t really mind the cold,” I admit. “They can be wild and untamed, but in the eye of the storm, all you can find is serenity and quiet.”

I close my mouth, pressing my lips on each other. Damn it, I’m rambling to the first person who is kind to me. Not a good sign. He probably thinks I’m insane and will pardon himself with a flimsy excuse in a few seconds.

But when I throw a careful glance at Aramis, he isn’t watching me as if I’ve gone mad. No, surprise lights up his eyes. “I couldn’t agree with you more, milady.”

His eyes twinkle and even if I wanted to, I can’t look away. But then my mouth starts moving again and my trance breaks. “You can call me Maily.”

One of the corners of his mouth tip up. “Maily.” My name curls sensually around his tongue and my cheeks burn. I can’t help but feel a little relief that we’ve reached the stairs. I shift my focus on not falling down them instead of staring dreamily in those vivid green eyes.

The bottom of the stairs opens up in a wide hall that is mainly empty with a high ceiling that has multiple dark wooden beams. A courtyard spreads out to my right, snowy trees and bushes stand around a frozen pond and a few students hang around, some of them lounging on the benches.

We move past them towards a grand, double arched wooden door at the other side of the staircase. We halt in front of it, and Aramis looks down at me. “This is the cafeteria,” he says, as he squeezes one eye shut. “Horrible name for it, honestly, but you’ll see for yourself.”

He pushes open the door and holds it as I enter. My jaw drops. The cafeteria in Anima was quite big, it was all clean and sterile, nothing warm about that place, but this? This is something else entirely.

We step into a hexagonal entryway, the shape is apparently a thing here, with towering wooden pillars. The ceiling is an intricate stained-glass masterpiece of the moon and stars, filtering golden and blue light onto the pale wood floors underneath our feet. A few steps down lead into the main dining area, with arched beams and vines that curl towards the ceiling. The space is open and airy, dotted with round rustic tables, plush brown leather seats and fluffy white pillows. Across from where we’re standing, tall windows offer a view of crisp snow and greenery.

Near the east wall, a handful of students lounge after breakfast. The left side of the room houses an open kitchen, where chefs move in rhythmic coordination, the scent of warm food filling the air. I take a deep breath, a delicious smell curls inside of my nose. My stomach tightens. Are those… “Mmm, pancakes.”

Aramis grins. “Yep. And trust me, they taste even better than they smell.”

I remember the first time I ate pancakes — or at least the first time I’m aware of — it was also the last time I had them. It was for my birthday, the first one I had at Anima, I was turning sixteen. Ami felt sad for me, being all alone with no memory of my parents or any other family member. She snuck into the kitchen, baked pancakes at the crack of dawn and delivered them in my room, with one candle on top of the stack.

Ami sat on my bed and told me she used to make them with her family every now and then, sometimes for special occasions like birthdays, other times for no reason at all.

Of course, at Anima, it wasn’t allowed to bake things on your own accord and she unfortunately did get busted. They made her do kitchen duty for a whole month. She didn’t mind, not really, not when she could give me all kinds of delicious treats the staff would usually hide away.

I smile at the memory, but it slips as soon as the reality of what happened rushes back to me. I close my eyes and breathe, in and out, pushing back the tears and steadying my thunderous heartbeat.

I open my eyes again and see Aramis staring at me, a worried expression edged on his face. Please don’t ask if I’m okay, I plead with my eyes. I only have this much restraint, and if someone asks how I’m doing, I’ll start crying, unsure of when I’ll be able to stop.

Instead, Aramis offers me a compassionate smile and explains how most of the fruit and vegetables are freshly grown and harvested in one of the greenhouses.

It means they have to keep up with the seasons. The snow is always there, but apparently it might get a little warmer around certain months of the year.

“You can see the menu up there.” He points to a chalkboard above the serving area, where several breakfast-like dishes are lined up. I don’t recognise any of them. We only ate bread with plastic cheese, or sometimes cereal or oatmeal if we were lucky. “Those are only suggestions,” Aramis continues, unaware of my internal monologue. “You can always get the standards like scrambled eggs on toast, a ham and cheese sandwich, things like that.”

Those are standard things here? What is this place?