Chapter 73: His Empire Had a Curfew

Jett’s date arrived while Dante was trying to persuade the lamp in room 314 that his black coat was not an insult to its taste. The lamp wore the same small paper crown it had possessed on his first day. It had also turned itself toward Jett’s desk, giving him excellent light while leaving Dante to search for his phone in the shadows.

“An unfair use of public resources,” Dante informed it. Jett opened the door before the lamp could make its position darker. The woman outside smiled, and Dante remembered that tonight had been negotiated before his research test, complete with an agreement that he would study elsewhere.

He collected his coat immediately. “I was just leaving you to a private review of residence policy.”

“We have a date,” Jett told her. “He was almost normal before college.”

“That accusation will be examined when witnesses are less attractive,” Dante said, and left before Jett could offer evidence.

Posey’s message waited on his phone. Practice had finished before her library appointment, and she was ready to meet him at the public entrance. He took the stairs two at a time, then slowed near the ground floor so nobody could accuse him of being summoned. A man could arrive eagerly without surrendering the entire government. She stood beside the return desk in a cream sweater, her blonde hair loose over one shoulder. Two repair sprites were stitching a torn cover behind her, arguing about whether the book had deserved it.

Posey saw him and stopped checking the clock. That small change did something to his chest no audience had managed quite as cleanly. “You answered my message,” she said, taking his hand.

“I was warned there might be consequences,” he said, pleased she had waited.

“There still could be, depending on where you were taking me.” He led her toward the student union, pleased to have chosen somewhere before she asked. Its windows faced the lawn, and the corner booths had enough space for two people who did not intend to use all of it.

An illustrated dessert menu shuffled its own pages until an expensive pudding appeared beneath his finger. Posey turned it back to the fruit pastries. “The menu had a commission,” she said.

“Then we respected an ambitious opponent.” They ordered pastries and hot drinks, and she sat beside him instead of across the table. He had once pictured that exact choice on the drive to Blackwell: a woman taking the seat near him when other seats were available.

He had imagined doing something impressive afterward. Mostly, he wanted to stay still long enough not to spoil it. Posey touched his hand. “Did the shaking come back?”

“No. Professor Bell told me what to watch for, and I’ve been following the instructions.”

“Did that include all of them?” she asked, keeping his hand.

“The useful ones, which unfortunately included the others.” She smiled, but he showed her his steady fingers rather than treating the question as an excuse to perform. Then he asked about the routine she had been practicing.

She explained a change in the count, tapping it lightly against his wrist. The rhythm shifted where he expected another beat, and he lost it immediately.

“You made that sound simple on purpose,” he said.

“It was simple when I did it.” That was an outrageous thing to say to a man whose hand had displaced a professor’s spell. He stood beside the booth and invited her to demonstrate.

Posey checked the clear space before showing him the step. Dante copied it with enough confidence to carry him through the wrong turn, catching the back of the booth before his coat joined another couple’s drinks. Her laugh came out against her hand. He looked at her, briefly considered blaming the architecture, and asked her to show him again. The second attempt was better. Her fingers stayed at his wrist, warm and certain, and when he found the missing beat she rewarded him with a look he would have repeated considerably more exercise to receive.

“I remembered your first flyer,” he said as they sat. “You had to pin it down before the little people stopped curling into the wall.”

“You held it for me,” she said, remembering the same afternoon.

“I was qualified for very little else that afternoon.”

“You still noticed the catch.” He remembered saying anybody could fall impressively. She had remembered him noticing the part that took practice. For a moment, he had no improvement to make on that.

Posey leaned closer when he brushed a crumb from the edge of her sleeve. Her knee pressed against his, and his thoughts abandoned public service for a much less respectable occupation.

“Were you going to ask?” she whispered, her fingers still at his wrist.

“I was giving the matter the attention it deserved.” She blushed, then caught the front of his coat and gave him a clearer invitation.

He kissed her, forgetting the drinks until her quiet laugh reminded him that they were still in the student union. She stayed close when he drew back, blushing as he took her hand again.

Afterward, they remained together over cooling drinks. Posey stole the last piece of his pastry and accepted his protest with the calm of someone who expected to be forgiven. He listened while she finished the story about practice, already wanting another evening like this. His phone rang only after she had settled comfortably against him. Mom wanted to arrange a visit once his remaining assessments were finished. He checked his timetable, and they chose the afternoon after the last short test.

“Tell me where to park,” she said. “I remember what happened the last time the buildings changed.”

“I’ll meet you at the gate,” he promised, checking the time they had chosen.

“Good. I’m bringing the coat thread you left at home.” Posey looked delighted by that piece of information. Dante ended the call before the country suffered further damage.

Rhae’s message arrived while he put the phone down. It contained a public event notice and a photograph of his own face beside the chairwoman’s name.

Posey read it with him. “We met her about the old terms and the complaint. Nobody agreed to give her a demonstration.”

He believed her. The problem was the board, which appeared to believe somebody else. Below the false promise sat the entry details for a team competition. A study room and equipment credit were listed as prizes, with independent teams welcome. Dante pictured their crowded common-room table, Honey moving her bag whenever someone arrived, and people pretending they could work on their knees. Then he pictured the chairwoman handing him the prize in front of everyone who had seen her notice. Both images were excellent, and his inner council approved the budget before discovering there was one.

He opened the group chat with Jett and Lucan and sent the entry notice. “We’re entering this,” he wrote, already imagining the room full of people who had chosen to come.

Lucan replied first, asking whether Dante had checked the rules. Jett wanted to know whether his date had somehow become a military briefing.