Face down on her new bed, Damia’s tears soaked into the covers beneath her. They fell in a steady stream, uninterrupted by sobs or hysterics. Damia no longer felt the rage that had gripped her when she first learned that she would be coming to Altriel. Her room back at he Prismatic Academy had suffered some minor destruction, much more than mere tears on her bedspread.

  That had not been a proud moment for Damia. She had been frozen when Lady Vessimir had first told her of her assignment, and barely managed to keep herself together on her way back to her rooms. She was thankful that at least no one at the Academy had witnessed her meltdown as she had torn books from her walls, and even accidentally shattered a decanter in her fit. She missed that room of hers in the Academy tower. Even torn apart, it was better than the dark, damp, cramped quarters she now inhabited.

  When her tears finally stopped, Damia’s stomach let out a loud groan, reminding her that she had more pressing matters to attend to than her homesickness. Where was that meal Theonin had promised to have sent to her room? Damia cracked her door open to see if it had been left outside and she simply missed the knock at her door. But there was nothing.

  Without a window in her room, Damia couldn’t tell exactly how much time had passed, but it seemed to have been long enough that someone should have come by now. She peaked down the corridor and, seeing nobody, realized it would be up to her to make sure her needs were met. As she stepped into the hallway, carrying only her key, Damia sighed at the knowledge that she was completely on her own here. She couldn’t even remember exactly how to get back to the great hall the way she and Theonin had come.

  Her expression soured when she thought of the man that had hurried her to her quarters with such false hospitality. Did he forget about her as soon as he left her room? Damia suspected this was not quite the case, but didn’t have the crity of mind to make better sense of the situation. Perhaps she should give him the benefit of the doubt, she thought, at least partially for her own sake.

  As Damia wound her way down one corridor after the next, she could finally see that the sun’s setting light had almost completely disappeared from the sky. If she didn’t find the kitchen or banquet hall soon, she was going to miss the evening meal all together. Maybe she already had.

  She wrung her hands in the skirt of her ivory gown. She had not seen a single person wearing white since she had arrived in Altriel, and she expected that she never would. White was the color of a mage’s attire. It represented her mastery of all varieties of magic.

  All she seemed to see around her was lic. Damia wondered if everyone associated with the pace, including the king, wore it every day the way she wore white every day. She wondered what life was like for the people who inhabited the pace of Altriel. She wondered, for the thousandth time, what life would be like for her. How could she ever find contentment, fulfillment outside the Academy?

  Her pondering halted abruptly as Damia heard soft, but heavy footsteps approaching from a connecting corridor ahead. Having yet to encounter a single other soul in this pace since Theonin’s departure, she hurried forward, hoping to catch up with someone who could give her the directions she needed.

  Her own steps thudded down the corridor, dulled by the navy blue rug under her boots. With how dark it had become outside over the course of her wandering, Damia would have missed the eborate, flowing designs on the rugs entirely had it not been for the warm glow provided by wall nterns every so few feet. While the general presentation of Altriel and its pace were, at a gnce, highly utilitarian and imposing, Damia was pleasantly surprised by the subtle beauty that still managed to reveal itself everywhere she looked.

  Turning the corner, Damia almost plowed head first into a burly figure. The man before her appeared to be in his early thirties or so, and was almost as broad as he was tall. If she had run into him, she expected she would have simply bounced off his chest the same way she would if she ran into the stone corridor wall. His beard and hair were a warm, dark brown, and Damia wasn’t sure if that was a tint of auburn red she saw, or if it was just a reflection of the ntern light. His hair grazed his shoulders with half of it pulled back in a braid, and his beard was full and thick.

  He wore a retively simple but well-made bck tunic woven with amethyst colored thread. In the crook of us arm were two cloth wrapped bundles.

  He said nothing, looking down at Damia with cool gray eyes. His mouth and jaw were rexed, but his brows furrowed slightly. Damia stared up at him, her heart hammering in her chest now even though she hadn’t run for more than a few strides to catch up with the steps she had heard. Perhaps the pounding of her heart was brought on by how strikingly this man reflected her earlier thoughts about the pace of Altriel — imposing, but with an unavoidable underlying beauty.

  Realizing her loss for words had gone on for an embarrassing string of seconds, Damia blurted, “Where are the kitchens?”

  Before she could scramble an apology or a proper introduction, the man pointed behind him. “Down this corridor and to the right. But you won’t find anything ready to eat there now. You’re better off leaving the pace,” he responded, before adding, “There’s a tavern close by.”

  “Oh, of course,” Damia mumbled, feeling for her room key in her pocket. She hadn’t thought to bring any money with her. As her stomach growled low and long, her face reddened, and she knew she’d have to go back to her room to get some. This had to be the longest she had gone without eating anything since before she joined the Academy, she thought bitterly.

  The man was about to walk past her when she unthinkingly reached out to touch his sleeve to stop him. “I’m sorry,” Damia rasped, “I don’t know how to get back to my room. Could you please help me?” Feeling utterly pathetic, she raised her chin to meet his eyes again. They studied her face, but whatever they saw didn’t so much as ripple his expression. He simply nodded before beginning to walk in the direction Damia had come from.

  Flustered, she shuffled to catch up and walk beside him. She tapped her middle finger and thumb together absentmindedly as a spark of electricity connected them each time they separated. Feeling her whole body buzz, Damia did not notice the manifestation of magic in her finger tips.

  “So, what do you do around here?” Damia asked after they had been walking for a minute or so.

  “The same thing my father did,” the man responded gruffly, looking straight ahead.

  “Ah, a family trade then?” Damia followed up hopefully after he neglected to expand on his original answer.

  “Something like that,” he grunted, running a hand through his beard. He sighed, but still said nothing more.

  “Lovely,” Damia murmured, feeling her face heat yet again. Lady Vessimir had advised her to be a friendly presence in her new kingdom, but it seemed like nobody she had encountered here had any interest in her presence, let alone her friendship. She felt a swell of guilt in her stomach at the resentment she felt for her former mentor.

  “Oh, I’m Damia, by the way. I’m the new court mage, from the Prismatic Academy,” she rambled, unable to help the words tumbling out from between her lips. This was not the way she had trained to converse with others, but it was what she could muster in the strange, magnetic company of the man next to her.

  “I know,” he said in a low rumble that made Damia shiver.

  “Are you going to tell me your name?” she asked slowly, looking over at him.

  “Sam,” he said shortly, though he stopped, looking at her intently yet again. His eyes seemed softer this time. But if that softness were ever truly there, it was fleeting as he turned again, walking faster now.

  Damia hurried after, but didn’t say anything. After a short while, they arrived in front of Damia’s door. It had taken them much less time to make it back here than it had for Damia to get herself lost.

  “Thank you, Sam,” Damia said firmly, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to salvage some of her professional image to this man. Who knew, she may encounter him again in the capacity of her mage duties, and she needed all the positive working retionships she could get. If she couldn’t be the researcher she wanted to be at the Academy, she’d be damned if she were kept from being the best court mage she could be for mere social reasons.

  “Don’t mention it,” Sam responded as he pushed the two cloth wrapped bundles of unknown contents into Damia’s arms. Turning away, he added, “Seriously. Don’t.”

  As he disappeared around the corner and the dull thud of his heavy footsteps faded away, Damia fumbled to bance the two lumpy bundles in her arm while she fished for the key in her pocket. Her mind and body finally started to ease their buzzing as she turned the key in the lock and slipped into her room.

  She shut the door gently behind her, then set the two bundles on the desk and allowed them to fall open. Inside were bread, cheese, dried meats, and a little bit of fruit. Damia almost sobbed.

  Her mind was blissfully bnk as she inhaled the gift before her. The bread was crisp and crusty and went beautifully with the slices of firm, salty cheese. She saved the fruit for st. There was an orange and a bunch of red grapes, and though the grapes she’d had in the Prismatic Citadel were rger, these were infinitely sweeter.

  Damia would definitely need to eat a heartier breakfast, she thought, but for Sam to have given her this food is the kindest thing anybody had done for her in Altriel yet. As her mind began to return to her with her stomach mostly filled, Damia reflected on her interaction with the man who had just saved her from a very uncomfortable night.

  He must have been coming from the kitchens when Damia ran into him, seeing as he was carrying all that food. Which meant he must have collected it for himself to eat. Which meant that he would now presumably be going hungry instead of her. The color drained from her cheeks. Why would Sam do that? He didn’t even know her, and had already been kind enough to help her find her way back to her room.

  But if Damia didn’t know where her own room was, how the hell did Sam? While he had been avoidant and a little off-putting, he had clearly gone out of his way to help her for nothing in return. He must have some reason to know where residents of the pace are roomed. That was a broad expnation, but no less broad than the answers Sam had provided about himself. It would have to suffice for now. She was truly grateful to him, and no amount of suspicion could outweigh that in the afterglow of her small meal.

  Stretching her arms out then crossing them on the desk, Damia lowered her head to rest on the crook of an elbow. She just needed to get her strength back up. Then she’d climb into bed. When she could lift her head again. Soon.