Page 5 of Growing Memories (Valley of Sylveren #2)

Chapter Four

“I’m confused,” Gransen said. “Shouldn’t your new valet be doing this part?”

“Don’t call her that,” Ollas muttered, glancing up and down the hall, but Eunny was nowhere in sight.

Which was to be expected, seeing as they hadn’t planned on meeting to familiarize her with the greenhouse complex until later in the afternoon. No reason to expect to find her in the university administration building.

“I thought the whole point of her becoming your personal aide was to provide, you know, aid.” Gransen lifted Ollas’s bag of books and amendment samples in one hand, and the stack of papers that hadn’t fit amongst them in the other.

“Only once classes start.” Ollas reached for the papers destined for turn-in at the registrar’s desk. “I said I could manage.”

Gransen skipped out of reach. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re broken. What kind of person would make his critically injured best friend haul his shattered?—”

Ollas poked Gransen in the shin with his cane. “There’ll be a statue of you in the courtyard any day now, I’m sure.”

Gransen heaved a dramatic sigh. “I wish they wouldn’t. Sculptors never get my hair right.”

Ollas continued down the hall, but Gransen easily kept pace with his limp.

“Give me the truth, though. Why are you being so weird about this?” Gransen asked. “It’s ideal. You, injured, and Eunny nursing you back?—”

“Me being injured is your version of ideal?”

“Are we really going to pretend that this isn’t the perfect opportunity?”

“For?” Ollas said, voice stubbornly neutral.

Gransen tipped his head back and made an exasperated noise. “You save her life. She saves your job. You’re hurt, she’s helping. You’re going to be in the greenhouse. A lot. Alone. ” He gave Ollas a sidelong look. “Are you going to make me say it? This is your chance, Olly.”

“We’re… you know, friends. And I feel bad about it.”

“Why? The woman you’re pining over just volunteered to be your personal helper while you recover—a deal you accepted. But you’re sulking and peeking around every corner like you’re afraid we’ll run into her. Explain to me how that works out.”

“I didn’t ask— She felt bad and I—” Ollas floundered for a response.

For words that could explain the conflicting emotions roiling in his chest. Because, though Ollas wouldn’t admit it aloud, Gransen wasn’t entirely wrong.

Eunny’s offer, and what it entailed, it was the kind of opportunity Ollas had been hoping for ever since he’d accepted the teaching job at Sylveren.

A chance to be back in town with a level of permanence.

To make amends for past wrongs. The collapse of the café was an unwanted wrinkle in those plans.

“She only offered because she feels bad. Responsible,” Ollas said with a grimace. “Not just the café, but for, you know. Before. I feel like I’m taking advantage of her guilt.”

Not to mention his own shame. Her magic had backfired, but he’d been responsible for the ordeal, too.

Earned that damned nickname, the Homegrown Hero, because he’d been the one to lead his Sentinels group to the camp where the trade delegation was being held captive.

Never mind that none of them had known the delegation had gone so badly, that the Eyllics had gone back on their word and refused to let anyone leave the camp until a favorable deal was struck.

Or that Ollas had thought he was simply following the trail of poachers and had found their hidden cache.

It had been chaos, those moments of finding out the cache was really the delegation’s camp.

Ollas remembered digging through the supply crates, so na?ve in his curiosity about the foreign plants and seeds he’d found, thinking it was just the spoils of illegal harvesting.

Remembered being interrupted by the sounds of screams and fighting.

Recalled running off to join the chaos, to help, for whatever he was worth.

Ollas was a decent enough ranger, but the Sentinels had let him stay on more for his forestry knowledge than any martial skill.

Perhaps none of that was blameworthy. But he’d seen how exhausted Eunny was after hours of healing, applying magic in a way she wasn’t properly trained for.

He should’ve refused when she offered to mend him, too.

His wounds could’ve waited until they made it to the Sentinels’ nearest outpost. But he’d wanted to feel her touch.

Her magic. When else would he ever get the chance?

When the opportunity presented itself, he indulged.

What had happened after—his inability to heal, having to stop active patrolling with the Sentinels because such lack was a liability—it was his penance for being weak.

Horrible, yes, but brought upon himself.

Gransen watched Ollas’s face, solemnity replacing his usual joviality. “It’s understandable,” he said slowly, “why she’d feel that way, given what happened. But things are good between you, right? You seem fine, from what I’ve seen.”

The safe, mild interactions that were inevitable in a town the size of Sylvan.

Inescapable, when his mother and her aunt were so close.

And brief, for Ollas had spent so much time up in the mountains for his Adept Two studies.

It was easy to stay friendly when the relationship never went deeper than the surface. But go down a layer or two?

You’re safe from me.

Eunny’s bitter words rang in his head. The lingering spot of tension that was still alive between them, so quickly recalled, was his to fix. Until then, he didn’t deserve her friendliness, let alone anything resembling affection.

“Are you at all”—Gransen made a questioning motion with his hands—“maybe a taddy bit resentful still about?—”

“No.” The emphatic decisiveness of the word took Ollas by surprise, but in an affirming way. He meant it. Good to know his subconscious was on board. “No, not at all. It was my— It was bad luck, is all. Who could’ve known?”

“Glad that’s settled.” Gransen said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’ll ask her?—”

“Don’t.”

“—all subtle-like. You’ll see.” Gransen gave a dismissive flutter of his fingers as Ollas tried to protest. “We have a rapport. It’s how I got to be manager of the café.”

“She calls you the café gremlin.”

“It’s a term of endearment.”

“Isn’t the reason I was the one picking up the order because you got yourself banned?”

“And I was right about the condition of the place, wasn’t I?” Gransen smirked. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got your back.”

“Don’t make things weird for me, please, Granse,” Ollas said. Then, in a low mutter, “I’m not really the type of guy she’s interested in, anyway.”

“Earthen take you if you were,” Gransen said. “Short-lived flings with Renstownies. Aim higher, Olly, darling.”

Hiding a smile, Ollas moved stiffly down the hall.

At least his injuries were on opposite sides, and he could manage a cane.

Once he’d dropped a few forms off with Administration for the Initiate One Basics of Arcane Soil Development class, then he could sit for a minute.

Despite his protesting, he would’ve been in a bad way if not for Eunny’s offer to help with his greenhouse duties.

Just getting from his apartment in the Grove to the classrooms was going to be a chore.

“What do you mean, ‘unavailable?’” Eunny’s familiar voice carried around the corner. “I was just here this morning and?—”

A softer voice interrupted Eunny, too low for Ollas to hear the words. Eunny’s answering sigh was enough of a hint that whatever had been said earlier in the day no longer applied.

“Do you have anything else available? Preferably not in?—”

Ollas and Gransen walked around the corner in time to hear the housing clerk say, “The prospective student rooms in the House of Syvrine are clear.”

Eunny’s eyes closed in a long blink, reticence writ large across her face.

“What happened?” Ollas asked.

“Nev. Gremlin,” Eunny said by way of greeting. “I’m cursed.”

Ollas cast a questioning glance at Gransen, who shrugged.

“The section in Belle Complex for overflow faculty is under emergency construction. Initiate Fours too excited for the start of their last year.” The clerk shrugged. “All of our other options are full in the meantime. The best I can do today is the prospective students’ rooms.”

Eunny shook her head, mouth twisting with a wry grimace.

“Already paid my dues. Prospies are in the thick of it.” She snorted, a touch of fond humor replacing her disdain.

At Ollas’s blank look, she added, “Get the prospies sloshed, then surround them with a bunch of baby mages learning body magic in earnest for the first time, all puffed up thinking they know how to mix up a hangover remedy. It’s not pretty. ”

The clerk disguised what Ollas was pretty sure was a laugh with a delicate cough. “I’ll put you on the waitlist.”

Eunny bobbed her head in thanks.

They stepped away from the desk to make space for the next person in line. Gransen nudged Ollas. Then nudged him again when Ollas didn’t react. “What?”

“I have an idea,” Gransen said.

“No.” The word was out of Eunny’s mouth before he’d finished talking. “Sorry, Granse. Force of habit. You were saying?”

“We’ve got space, right, Olly?”

“Uh.” An odd blend of horror and hope surged within him as Ollas gleaned his friend’s intent. “Yes?”

Eunny’s head whipped toward him, a questioning look in her eyes. Brown eyes were the most beautiful, he’d always thought, and Eunny’s above all others. They were also scary as they narrowed in his direction. But then her lips twitched.

“Going to milk those injuries for all they’re worth?” Her attempt at sounding wry failed when she gave a cackle. “Want me to stick around?”

Yes, always. Not that he could ever say as much.

“We have the adjoining room free,” Gransen said. “I mean, there’s all your old teaching stuff in there, but we can shove that to the side.” He handed Ollas’s bag to Eunny. “I’ve got to go. Ollas can give you the details.”