“Positive,” Linden replied, that knowing smile still plastered across his face. “He mentioned something about having extra free time this week, too. Something about swimming practices being canceled.”
“Swimming?” I repeated, the word sending a jolt through me. An image flashed in my mind. The pool, weeks ago, when I’d been caught skinny-dipping. That flustered guy who’d stumbled in on me, his eyes wide with shock and desire before he’d fled. Could it be...?
“Earth to Nerion,” Linden waved his hand in front of my face. “You just went somewhere else entirely. What’s going on in that fishy brain of yours?”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Nothing. Just... thinking.”
“About finding your mystery man?” Linden’s grin widened. “I’ve never seen you this worked up over anyone before. It’s actually kind of adorable.”
“I am not adorable,” I snapped, feeling my scales threaten to emerge with my irritation. “And I’m not worked up. I’m just...curious.”
“Uh-huh,” Linden nodded, clearly not buying it. “Well, curious one, where are you going this early in the morning? And you still have that meeting with the Dean this afternoon, right?”
The reminder of the Dean’s meeting sobered me instantly. “Yeah. Not looking forward to that. And I’m going to the painting studio to work. Some of us have to actually do things and not just make plants grow.”
“Growing plants is hard work,” Linden grinned. “But they can be a little more self-sufficient than paintings. At least to begin with.”
We continued walking toward the art building, but my mind quickly returned to this new information Linden had provided. A swimming spellcrafter. It wasn’t much, but it narrowed things down considerably. And if my hunch was correct, if Theo really was that flustered guy from the pool...
“You know,” Linden said casually as we approached the studio, “that exhibition opening is this Friday. Lots of students will be there.”
I glanced at him, understanding his implication immediately. “You think he’ll show up?”
“He might. His mask was beautiful. Maybe he has an appreciation for art.” Linden paused, giving me a significant look. “Or maybe he’s looking for someone.”
The thought sent an unexpected flutter through my chest. I quickly squashed it down. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It was one night.”
“One very special night, from the look on your face,” Linden teased.
I didn’t dignify that with a response as we entered the studio. The familiar smell of paint and turpentine greeted me, helpingto ground me back in reality. This was my world. Oils and canvas and the safety of creating something beautiful without risking myself. Not masked strangers with golden touches and eager lips.
“I need to finish my piece for the exhibition,” I said, changing the subject as I headed toward my workspace. “And figure out what I’m going to tell the Dean about my little singing incident.”
“Just be honest,” Linden advised, setting his mask down on a nearby table. “Tell him it was an accident, and you took care of it right away.”
“Right, because the Dean is known for his understanding when it comes to potentially dangerous magical mishaps,” I replied sarcastically, pulling out my current painting. “After everything with the Purity Front a couple years back, he’s been a lot less lenient.”
My current painting was another seascape, of course. Stormy waters, turbulent skies, a ship battling the elements. But unlike my usual work, this one had a break in the storm on the horizon and a hopeful ray of light catching the waves.
I’d started it the day after the critique, determined to prove Professor Aurelia wrong. That my work wasn’t about trauma. But now, looking at the lonely ship facing the storm, I felt like it was missing something.
“This is new,” Linden remarked, peering over my shoulder at the canvas. “You never paint sunlight.”
“I’m trying something different,” I muttered, setting up my paints.
“Hmm,” Linden hummed knowingly. “Interesting timing.”
I shot him a warning glance. “Don’t you have plants to water or something?”
He laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m going, I’m going. Just... don’t overthink things, okay? Sometimes good things happen when you least expect them.”
With that cryptic advice, he left me alone with my painting and my thoughts, both of which were more complicated than I wanted them to be.
I stared at the canvas for a moment before picking up my palette knife. With the sharp edge, I began to sketch into the still-wet paint, adding a solitary figure facing the storm as the bow of the ship. As the sketch developed, I realized he was looking toward the sunny horizon, toward a world beyond the storm. Toward…hope.
And suddenly knew this was exactly what my paintings had been missing. Picking up my brush, I began to work on the figure’s hair, transforming the nondescript scratches into a man with a distinctive golden hue that caught the light breaking through the storm clouds.
My brush moved almost of its own accord, adding definition and form to the previously ambiguous sketch. Strong shoulders, a determined stance, and a sense of quiet courage emerged from my brushstrokes.