Instead, we’re enabling her.

  “Did Tychon have many caemi friends?” Veaer ripped herself apart inside for the desperation that came with her questions. Either Elise would figure out what she was doing, or…

  When she has no use for me anymore, I’m next.

  “He does,” she answered, cool and smooth, like Tychon was just next-door having lunch in the cafeteria. “Well, our circles don’t mix very much. The caemi girls I spend time with aren’t the same caemi he spends time with.”

  At least there was that; Elise knew Tychon was involved with other people, though whether she cared much or not for that wasn’t clear in her tone. Did she ever wonder if those caemi were also keepers of secrets? The same Tychon had, that she asked about too often?

  Elise resumed her walk and Veaer tried her best to keep pace, so she wouldn’t have to look at Tychon.

  Finally, they arrived in front of room eighteen, floor four.

  Mounds of dust were gathered upon boxes, cloths and weathered gold frames—enough to coax a chorus of sneezes from Veaer.

  Looking at the sign attached to the door—gallery storage—things clicked into place.

  The learning centre featured its very own white walled, open floor gallery section to showcase art student folios at the end of every semester, plus other fancy events that brought potential enrolments in. It was the art stream’s theatre, for music and performance students; or gym, for fitness and sport students; or podium hall, for international studies. There were more comparisons she could list, but she wondered why the school would build a storage room all the way on floor four when the gallery was on the first floor. Everyone else must’ve thought the same, as the storage hadn’t been touched for months, with cobwebs and a noticeable colour difference between these planks and the ones in the hallway to show for it.

  As Veaer rubbed the tip of her nose with her palm, Elise held a handkerchief up. She didn’t realise the princess would carry one—personally Veaer thought it unsanitary and weird—but the offer was like a bouquet of flowers. Beautiful, a gift, and welcome, if from Elise herself.

  She grabbed the small cloth and sparks flew up her arm as their fingertips touched for a moment, lingering, Veaer’s warmth against Elise’s cool. She returned to the week before, where in a few hours it would be exactly a week since then, the afternoon that she spent breaking into Elise’s room, into Elise’s arms. And it wasn’t until now that she realised how much she missed that. They had been so close, chest against chest, thighs against thighs. Veaer could’ve kissed her then, but the thought alone was blasphemous. She had deceived Elise that day, and for that she was proud, but she knew she wouldn’t earn such affections that way. The next time it happened, would Elise beckon her again? Hold her wrists and guide her arms forward to wrap around Elise from behind?

  Elise let go of the cloth and turned away to explore the room, choosing a few shelves to the side of the entrance to look through. Cans of paint, sets of brushes, rolls of tape, spare paper and canvases. The hallmarks of touch-up and restorations supplies.

  Veaer stuffed the handkerchief in her pocket and wrung her hands together. The room was quite large to fit big paintings and other art pieces. She stepped over to a statue that seemed to have been cared for during its creation. Clean edges, a vision in mind. But then discarded to this dusty room afterwards. What did it take for an artist to do that?

  Sitting opposite from the restoration supplies was a dark wall with the paintings of past students. Veaer didn’t allow herself to go closer, with a thought that they might come to life and take her down in a room that no one visited anymore. It didn’t help that Tychon’s ghost stood in front of each one for several seconds, in his contorted way, staring closely like he knew exactly what they were about. The paintings may have been talking to him.

  Veaer swallowed her spit. “There’s something about this room…” A confession remained stuck in her throat. She didn’t want to be afraid; she didn’t want to give into fear.

  “I agree. But at least I’m with you,” Elise replied as a bottle fell from her pushing things around and she caught it in her open hand.

  “With me?” Veaer arched her brows and distracted herself from the speaking paintings by staring at Elise nudging the bottle back in its place.

  “I’m safe. Since you’re here. I enjoy your company.” Elise’s voice was so quiet that Veaer wondered if she imagined those words, and it took everything to refrain from calling What? so she wouldn’t ruin the moment.

  Elise enjoys my company. She’s happy I’m here. She feels safe. Safe. Safe. Safe. Is that not the highest privilege one can have with such a beautiful girl like you? Safe.

  “I enjoy your company too.” Veaer let a smile stretch over her lips though she was more than aware of the creeping feeling between her shoulders. The walls spoke to her, “You are not safe”, because Tychon wasn’t safe at all. She paced over to Elise as the young princess circled the room again and began looking between paintings that were on the floor and stacked against the wall. A large rack of more paintings sat next to them. She watched the shadows dance over Elise’s cheeks, darkening her already black hair. She reached out and—gently, so gently—lifted a few strands with her index finger. Silky and soft, well taken care of. She’d known luxury her whole life, with a father that could provide and a brother who was successful.

  And as if Elise heard her thoughts, she said, “I’m glad Izot didn’t sweep you away with his words.” She didn’t bear to turn to Veaer, but enough light bounced from the open doors that a sheen was clear in her eyes.

  Veaer’s smile drew into a smirk, leaning to one side, clumsy but feeling right. “How do you know that’s true?” Veaer knew. She would never be whisked up by that prince. They were too different in many ways; they simply wouldn’t be found in the same social circles at all. It was never a matter of being good enough or trying to get Izot’s attention. And with the twins as friends who didn’t care much for that either, it didn’t make their earlier conversation a dilemma at all.

  Except for the fact that he knows something.

  “He knows something you don’t.”

  I’m going to find out my way, and I don’t need him.

  Elise sighed and stepped around a pile of boxes covered in a large white cloth, pressing her palms down on them to test her weight before taking a seat. Veaer joined her, like her aura had melded into Elise, dragging her along, despite Elise not having the heritage for an aura herself.

  “Well, you wouldn’t be here right now. You would’ve left the second you saw me in that doorway.” She paused and Veaer held her breath in her throat. Technically she wouldn’t have, as she was doing her folio work, so she had no reason to leave, but she gained an understanding of what Elise meant the more she pondered on it. “I don’t know what Izot said to you except for his word of caution, but it’s the same he says to everyone else. Nothing new. It’s nothing new if you want to go.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Veaer said too quickly, realising too late for her words but soon enough for her hand that was reaching for Elise’s. The princess’ eyebrows were drawn together, and her shoulders slouched forward to make way for her arms to wrap around herself. “I’m not leaving.”

  “There always seems to be something. My brother, my status, the way I act. Sometimes people see me too much as my family members, and others see me too much for what they think I am, which is wrong. And no matter what, I always feel a bit… reluctant. Afraid. Unmotivated.”

  Veaer opened and closed her mouth, knowing with every fibre that she wanted to comfort Elise, but still unsure how to do it. She didn’t understand what Elise was saying except for the sadness that strung along her words. Like something was missing or hadn’t come home for a long time.

  Elise continued, “To try again, I mean. To keep reaching out to people and bringing them close only for them to turn away from one little thing. And I feel like I try my best and express my gratitude for them and enjoy my time with them. I listen to their worries and if they need something, I’m there. But why, the second I want something for myself, is it taken away? Am I that selfish?”

  The first time Veaer watched Elise’s chest heave as it was now and heard her express so much of herself and her emotions in confidence, was the day Tychon died in her arms.

  And the first thought that came to Veaer now was: I don’t want to cry.

  Because pressure built behind her eyes and a well of tears drew up from a sparse oasis. And the emotion that rushed into Veaer was overwhelming and heart wrenching. And she wondered why it was so easy for her to absorb all of this, to hold it inside of her, thinking that maybe she was helping Elise this way. Just like on Monday, just like today.

  She cried too much this week already, into her pillow, behind her door, in Haiwrin’s lap, and times she couldn’t remember. And she told herself that things like this deserved tears, but she didn’t like how they made her put her entire body into it and then left it sore even after patching up her emotions. The numbness that came after crying was only a reminder of her mistakes.

  She scrunched her hands into fists to keep the tears back. These were Elise’s emotions, not hers—she couldn’t just make it about her. It was not her place to incapacitate herself just because she somewhat understood what Elise was saying despite being unable to recall exact memories that her words could be applied to.

  “You’re not selfish,” Veaer whispered, because speaking too loudly gave room for voice cracks and weakness. “Some people don’t get it. They take advantage of nice people and don’t look back. And they get rid of others so easily. All you can do is give your best and it will hurt sometimes but when things do work out, too, then that’s even better. We should be good even if others aren’t.” Veaer gathered the courage to grasp one of Elise’s hands and pull it towards her, meeting in the middle. Elise didn’t need to shield herself from the world. “You’re not selfish.” She held Elise’s hand closer, keeping her fingers together. “I’m not leaving.” Veaer pressed her lips to Elise’s knuckles, meaning nothing and everything at once. “Let’s be good together.”

  Elise blinked, her tears running to the corners of her eyes and sliding down the sides of her face. A shaky inhale, then another, until Elise wrapped both her hands around Veaer’s and squeezed. “Thank you.”

  And Veaer was happy with the silence that followed—

  —before the room filled with rattles and clanks, and the wall in front of them opened into a mouth of chains and metal.

  CHAPTER 24

  AN UNDERGROUND DESIRE

  When the wall stopped groaning, Veaer and Elise had hidden behind the pile of boxes and cloth. The wall wasn’t completely transformed, but a large panel had shifted open on old hinges, and peering through the dark revealed a metal box indented into the wall.

  It appeared to be some sort of storage space, but very mechanical like senti technology from years ago.

  A small gasp escaped from Veaer and she clamped her hands over her mouth. Elise crouched nearby and lightly placed her palm on Veaer’s forearm.

  Someone stepped out of the metal box and then shut the panel with both hands. They walked over to the rack with paintings and reached between two of them. A switch snapped into place and the clanking from earlier returned. The box took its time to do anything but, when it did, it moved downwards and showed its guts of moving chains and gears again. It wasn’t just a compartment—it was some sort of large dumbwaiter lift. Then the wall covered back up.

  Veaer couldn’t help but stare at this mysterious person, until she caught a glimpse of their mask. A full-face mask covered in painted eyes. Eyes, eyes, eyes. The same as she saw that day in Tychon’s room.

  This time the person was wearing a cloak over their uniform, which they stripped off and laid in a cardboard box that they covered back up with another box. But she still couldn’t be sure if this was a different person or not. They left the room and closed the door before she could gather any more information.

  “Did you know that person?” Elise whispered, bringing her hands back to herself.

  “What?” Veaer turned to her and then turned away, putting on as straight a face as she could. “No, I don’t.” Tychon’s ghost hovered by the door, looking through its tiny window, refusing to peel his hundreds of eyes away from the corridor.

  “You were staring at them like you wanted them to turn around and say hi. And your eyes widened. And your body tensed up. You’re either afraid of them or know them—or both.” Elise listed the observations on her fingers.

  “Wouldn’t you be afraid if you were just alone in a room and then someone walked out of the wall?” Veaer stood up immediately to avoid her point being further questioned. She marched to the shelf where the switch was and tried to look between the paintings, only to find more darkness. “I don’t remember which paintings they reached between…”

  “You want to bring that lift back up?” Elise asked and investigated the wall instead. She prodded her hands around for some sort of open edge, but everything seemed flush against the wall. Perfect for hiding. “This is what Tychon wanted us to find,” she whispered with rising realisation.

  Veaer hadn’t known herself to figure something out before Elise, or at least she could only remember the wonders of Elise’s inquisitive mind. A well of pride filled her chest and made her even more determined to find this switch, even if the rattling irritated her ears and made her want to pull her hair out. Even as Tychon lurked over her shoulder and ran his feathered hand across the shelf.

  She decided that taking out the paintings would give her a better chance at seeing the switch, and so she began to pile them on the floor, until she pulled one and it didn’t budge. The next one didn’t either. The third one moved smoothly and joined the others.

  Veaer tried to lean deeper into the shelf so she could push the painting from the back before she looked upon the piece. A burning tree. She whipped around to the other one, fast enough that she accidentally knocked over the mountain of paintings she was making. A blossoming tree full of fruit. Both artworks were two sides of the same coin.

  The Tree of Life yields fruit.

  “And it burns with the fire of wisdom and grace.”

  She reached between the paintings and a rough switch pressed against her palm. With no hesitation, she hooked her fingers and slammed the switch into the other position, and the sound of turning gears washed relief and anxiety over her.

  Yes, she’d done it. She had proven herself useful.

  But now, she had to commit, and perhaps this lift was nothing at all and they had just wasted their time.

  But the spark in her eyes just then. It meant something. The patrons above wouldn’t hand me such beauty and keep a glorious resolution from me. I can make her smile; I can make her proud. I can make her feel loved.

  The bell signalling the end of lunch shook Veaer inside out, but Elise was unfazed, waiting for the panel to make an appearance again, and that was enough for Veaer to take a few deep breaths. 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2—

  The lift arrived on the wrong beat, but she distracted herself with a closer look at this contraption. The inside was indeed made of metal, and it was large enough to fit two people if they held their knees to their chests. Looking around the room, it appeared to be suitable for transporting most of the artworks and supplies needed for the gallery.

  “Storing gallery items on the fourth floor must come with good protection.” Elise leaned into the metal lift, her voice sounding hollow. “It means valuable pieces are less likely to be taken. If thieves can be stopped before they even get up here.”

  You’re so clever.

  One question answered, many more to go.

  “Shall we find out what business Tychon had with this?” Veaer put on her bravest smile for Elise and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

  “We shall, Rosell.”

  Curled up in a metal box, going down, down, down, through a shaft she didn’t know existed before today. Her knees shivered in resistance to being held in one position for too long, and her arms shook from everything else.

  The stench of chlorine stabbed Veaer’s nostrils, but what set her on edge was the musty undercurrent of something rotten. Whenever a shred of light passed through, bleached spots of metal flashed in her eyes.

  She couldn’t tell how far they’d gone, but the lift suddenly slowed, and she began to rock side to side.

  “Are you cold?” Elise asked in the dark. She was incredibly still, and maybe she wasn’t even there. Just another ghost.

  Veaer swallowed and wrung her hands together. “No, why do you ask?” It’s actually quite warm in here. It’d be more so if you were sitting with your back against me and I could wrap my arms around you.

  “You’re shivering. Or at least your arms are. Which I find strange because I can feel your body heat.”

  She can feel my warmth.

  Veaer’s gaze darted around, but there was nowhere to look. “Nerves, I think. This space is small and I don’t know where we’re going. What if this lift breaks down? Will anyone hear us if we get trapped?” For all she knew, she was venting to nothing. The clanking around them made it hard to have a conversation anyway.

  I wonder if she hides a knife in her jacket.

  Or if her hair clips are incredibly sharp.

  Or if she could pull a sheet of metal from these walls and slice it across my throat while my body turns itself inside out. The stretches of my muscles would be on display, and she could play music with my bones.

  Then the lift stopped and Veaer clamped a hand over her mouth. Stopping could mean anything. Broken lift, stuck in the middle of the shaft. Back on the floor they started on without them knowing… Worst of all, did they arrive at their destination?

  A whimper fell from her lips, and she wanted to pull her hair out.

  “Rosell, we’re okay,” Elise’s hushed voice carried through the dark. It was breathy and real. “You’re doing so well. Thank you so much for doing this with me.”