The Sky that Nobody Sees

The Family

Legolas's elbow slipped off the edge of the desk and he lifted his head, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. "Yes, Professor?"

She blinked up at him, having known he was asleep. "How would you conjugate the English present perfect tense for the verb 'to have'?"

"I have made, he has made, they have made."

She nodded. "Well done. Markus...."

Legolas closed his eyes again.

When he climbed down from the back of the auditorium she extended a hand to request that he wait, as he'd expected, and as soon as she'd answered the question of another student she turned to him, shuffling folders before her on the podium. "You fall asleep in class a lot. Are you all right?"

Legolas nodded, sliding his suit jacket on over his waistcoat, tugging his cuffs straight beneath the jacket's sleeves. "My sister isn't well, and can't attend university. Sometimes I lose time taking care of her."

She nodded. "All right, then. Make sure you take care of yourself as well. I'll see you Thursday."

Legolas slung his bookbag back across his shoulders, trying not to move his right arm, and was glad she hadn't noticed how much his cracked rib had hurt when sliding on his jacket. It had been a busy weekend, with far too many people spending it trying to rob pedestrians or jack cars, and the car door that had slammed into his right side had made quite the punctuation mark to the end of it all.

Retrieving his phone from his pocket, he texted Inladris to let her know he was on his way home—at her request, as she preferred not to have people walk in on her singing along to the radio, not that he or his father minded. It wasn't as if she didn't consistently forget they were home and start singing anyway.

Then Legolas unlocked his bike from the rack, swung his leg across the bar, and rolled down the wide sidewalk along the rectangular pond, reflecting the tall, pale, castle-like face of Moscow State University as he made his way toward the business district of the city.

"Mr. Volkov," their doorman greeted as Legolas leaped off his bike, extending his hands to take it—his father would not permit something as trivial as a bike rack before a building this impressive.

"Thank you, Abram," Legolas said, slipping through the revolving door and strolling through the throngs of people milling about the entrance floor. His father being the most popular music producer in Russia had its benefits—such as getting into any bar or club he wanted at any time without a cover charge—but it also meant ignoring the crowds of people who occasionally recognized him, and thought he had any modicum of influence over his father's decisions.

Legolas punched the code in for the private elevator, not in the mood to take the stairs, and smiled to himself when it opened on the top floor: Inladris was still singing to herself, and she sounded especially ridiculous now that she'd put her headphones on. "I'm home!" he called when he opened the door, loud enough that she would hear.

She stopped singing with comical abruptness. "You were supposed to text me!"

He grinned, coming around the corner to see her pounding dough flat on the black soapstone of the long island counter, and set his bookbag on one high chair while he took his place at another. "Where's your phone?"

"It's cha—ah. Never mind. So how was school?" she brightly asked, sliding one headphone behind her ear. Inladris pointed a doughy finger at him. "If you are going to be spending significant time in here you know the rule."

He smiled, and obligingly stood again, wincing, to retrieve a hair tie from the jar next to the toaster. "It was fine. The professor in English likes to ask below-level questions of those who fall asleep in her class."