Chapter 8: The Pond

"Who gave you the page?" I asked.

Jasper stood in the library corridor with his hand still on the doorknob.

"My father."

"Did you read all of it?"

"I read what I needed." His mouth twisted. "Cordelia told you to ask me that."

"Yes."

"She has always had a soft spot for strays." He let go of the knob.

"It's an old custom, Ostley. The heir hands his choice the Hundred."

"Nobody keeps them, and the heir drops her at the Harvest Moon with everyone's blessing."

"And that is what you're doing."

He didn't answer.

He walked past me and down the hall, and I let him go.

That night I went out to the garden after dark.

Moonflowers open at night, and the whole back bed was white and sweet-smelling under the half moon.

I knelt in the dirt with the watering can and told myself I was not waiting for anyone.

The new gate clicked.

I did not turn around.

"Rule one hundred and one," I said to the flowers. "Last night did not happen."

"That's right."

"So tonight can't be the second time."

A long silence.

"No," Jasper said, low and rough. "I suppose it can't."

I stood and turned.

He stood just inside the gate in his shirtsleeves, with his hands open at his sides.

"Touch me first," I said. "If you want to."

He crossed the grass and put his palm on the side of my neck.

I was shaking before his thumb moved.

The kiss started slow, and it did not stay that way.

I pulled him by the shirt to the old stone bench under the apple tree and pushed him down onto it.

He let me.