“The family Drayden is powerful indeed, but their reach does not penetrate the Academy’s walls.” Ebon heard steel hidden in her words—not anger at him, but an unyielding promise of strength. “Especially since Dean Cyrus was lost. Stay if you wish, and I vow that no one will drag you forth.”
Her conviction, and the kindness that rested behind it, brought a lump to the back of his throat and made his eyes smart. But he wondered if she would speak so confidently if she knew of Mako, who seemed to appear and disappear from the library on a whim. “I thank you, Instructor. And if it were only my father who wished to see me, I might do as you say. But it is my mother as well—in fact, the note came from her—and my aunt Halab, who has always been kind to me. And most of all, my sister, Albi, who I have missed the longest. No. I will go to see them, though the good will be tarnished by the bad.”
“As you wish. You may go now, if you like. I will send a note along to excuse you from the day’s classes. As I said, discuss the vault with no one.”
“I will not, Instructor.”
She gave him a sharp look, eyes glinting. “Not even with Theren and young Kalem?”
Ebon swallowed and looked away. “I … of course not, Instructor.”
Her pursed lips made him wonder if she believed him. “Hm. Well, if you should think of anything else that might help …”
“I will tell you at once, Instructor,” said Ebon. “And … thank you.”
He left her and made for the Academy’s front door, shaking his arms as he went, for a thrill of fear still coursed through him.
EBON STOPPED IN THE FRONT hall. He had meant to go straight into the street and make for the manor. But now he wondered if he should go up to his dormitory and change into fresh robes. His hands shook no matter how he tried to rid himself of his anxiety, and his breath came so shallow that it set his head to spinning.
He heard his father’s voice in his mind. Coward. Sniveling coward. And indeed, he felt himself on the verge of tears. Self-loathing filled him at the fear that blossomed in his breast, and yet he could not dismiss it.
What did he think would happen? Did he think his father would strike him? Harm him? Try to kill him, even? No, certainly not. Especially not if Halab were there, which she would be. Would Shay try to remove him from the Academy? Ebon doubted it, for he could have done that by letter—and again, there was Halab. She would object, and Shay would not gainsay her.
Mayhap Ebon only feared the look in his father’s eyes—the hatred he knew he would find there, and the scorn.
He forced himself to square his shoulders. Never mind going upstairs to change. He had no other clothes—only his student’s robes were allowed in the citadel. He could don a fresh set, but why? It would make no difference to his father. Let Shay see him with some of the day’s dust upon him and with palms smudged with ink from his books. Ebon was a wizard now—or at least he was studying to be one. Shay could face that truth or fly into a rage at it, but it would change nothing.
He went to the Academy’s wide front door. Mellie stood there, and Ebon made to stop and explain. But before he could, she reached over and opened the door without saying a word. He stared for a moment, confused, but then shook his head and left. He had long ago given up on trying to make sense of the mad woman’s actions.
Winter had come at last to the High King’s Seat, and snow fell gently from the grey above. Though clouds covered the sky, they were thin, and so the sun still shone through them, lighting the island in its glow. The snow muffled all sound, so that the clattering of construction and the rumbling of wagon wheels sounded distant, like a city observed from atop a mountain.
Ebon had retrieved his overcoat from where it hung outside Perrin’s classroom, and he wrapped it tighter about himself. His hood helped keep his hair free of the falling snow. Quietly he murmured thanks that the streets were clear, for his shoes were not meant to wade through deep drifts. Servants of the High King had been about, their horses dragging great plows that pushed the snow off and into the gutters.
Back home in Idris, the cold had sometimes been worse than this. But Idris was a desert, and never saw snow. Some thought that meant the land was gentler, but in truth it was the opposite. Here in the green lands, the earth itself resisted any changes in weather. When the day was hot, the ground held that heat so that evening took longer to cool the air. And when the sun rose in the morning, the trees clutched at night’s chill and sent it wafting along on dawn’s breezes.
In the desert, change came fast and harsh. The sun’s absence turned night into a frozen void where one could die from exposure in no time. And daylight’s baking rays were reflected by the sand itself so that travelers were roasted from above and below. All life and society in Idris were tailored around the desert’s merciless nature, from the homes to the horses. Despite the snow that dusted him now, Ebon found this land far gentler, and felt grateful for it.
He had thought the road to the Drayden manor would seem longer, with the dread of his father looming over him. But in fact, it seemed far too short a time before he stood outside the gates, hands shoved under his arms to protect them from the chill. He hesitated before stepping forwards, keenly aware that he could still turn around and go back to the Academy. Certainly his family would fetch him, one way or another, but it would stall the reunion for at least another day.
But then he thought of his father the last time they had seen each other. It had been in the courtyard, the very one before which he now stood. And without saying farewell, his father had hidden within a carriage, concealing his face in the curtains, too ashamed to so much as glance at his only living son.
Ebon’s heart burned. He was not the coward. That epithet belonged to his father.
He stepped forwards and pounded on the iron gate.
A hatch slid open, and a yeoman peered out. “Master Ebon,” grunted the man. “You are expected. A moment, my lord.”
The hatch screeched shut, and then the gate groaned as men dragged it open. A slight wind wafted out from the courtyard through the gap, making Ebon blink. When the gate was open, he saw the courtyard was filled with wagons. Trade goods to be sold upon the Seat, Ebon guessed—spices, most likely. He trudged through the snow, for here there were no shovels or plows, and through the front door.
No one waited for him in the front hall, nor on the high landing that overlooked it. The staircases were empty, and no servants could be seen moving through the adjoining hallways. But Ebon heard voices from the upstairs common room, and then a light laugh that sent his heart racing: that was Albi for certain, though there was something different about her voice.
Excitement seized him and banished thoughts of his father. He leapt up the stairs two at a time, hand gliding on the rail as a smile forced itself across his face. Feet pounding on the stone, he ran like a child down the hallway and threw open the door.
There they sat—but not for long, for as soon as they saw him they all rose to greet him. Halab caught his eye first, her beaming smile warming him to the heart, and then his mother, who rushed forwards to embrace him. But she was overtaken as a short, plump figure threw itself past her and into Ebon’s arms, clutching his neck and crying delight into his ear.
“Ebon, you useless, horrible, horrible …” Albi’s words vanished, replaced by sharp sniffs as she choked back tears.
He held her, arms locked as though he might never release her—though he did, when Hesta arrived and demanded a free arm to hug her with as well. Albi drew back a step, looking up at him with shining eyes.
“You have grown taller,” she said.
“I? It is you I can hardly recognize.” He laughed and hugged her close again.
But then a shadow darkened his mood, for a man stood up behind Halab. Ebon braced himself—but then he looked again, for it was not Shay who stood there, but a man he did not know. A man of the family Drayden, certainly—he had the eyes, the stolid brow. Doubtless some cousin or uncle of Ebon’s. But another glance around the
room confirmed it: Shay was nowhere to be seen. And then, in the room’s deepest corner, Ebon saw Mako was here as well. The bodyguard leaned against the wall, a sarcastic smile playing across his lips as he watched Ebon.
Hesta must have seen the confusion in Ebon’s expression, for her lips tightened. “Your father was caught up in business the very day we left Idris to come here. He was forced to stay home.”
Ebon looked at Albi. “I … I thought from your letter that he would be here.”
His mother looked as though she thought he had gone mad, but Albi gave a sad smile of recognition. Another would have thought Ebon was disappointed that Shay was missing, but Albi would know how overjoyed he was. “He, too, thought to visit. His decision to stay was made at the final hour.”
“It was all quite sudden, but nothing to concern ourselves with,” said Halab, who had now approached to stand behind Hesta. Ebon’s mother and sister drew aside in deference. “Well met again, my dearest nephew. My heart has been fairly sick in your absence.”
Ebon kissed one cheek and then the other, gripping her shoulders tightly. “Dearest aunt. How I have missed you.”
She turned and gestured to the couches surrounding the hearth, where the fire still burned. Together they crossed the room—but they halted before taking their seats, for the man still stood there, looking at Ebon with something very much like a glare.
“Doubtless you remember your uncle, Matami—brother to your father and I.” Halab inclined her head. “He came in Shay’s place.”
At hearing the name, Ebon found that he did remember. He had met Matami once or twice, although the last time was quite some years ago. “Of course,” said Ebon, bowing deep. “Well met, uncle. It has been a long time.”
“Indeed it has.” Matami gave a loud sniff and turned away, returning to his seat. Albi met Ebon’s gaze and playfully rolled her eyes. Ebon barely managed not to laugh out loud.
He took an armchair between Halab and Hesta. Albi left her chair and sat on a rug at his feet, her head leaning on his knee. “So, Uncle Matami,” said Ebon. “What business do you conduct for my father here upon the Seat?”
“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” said Matami, each word terse and clipped. But when Halab gave him a sharp look, his jaw tensed, and he continued. “I mean only that you are a student of the Academy now, and doubtless the family’s business would strike you as uncommonly dull.”
In fact, Ebon thought he might be right—but he almost wanted to inquire anyway, only to prove Matami wrong, for he found himself with an immediate dislike for the man that only grew with every passing moment. But over Matami’s shoulder, he saw Mako snickering while sipping his ale. Ebon’s mood lightened at once, and he suppressed his own smile as he gratefully took an offered goblet of wine.
Evidently Halab was still dissatisfied with Matami’s answer. “No need to be so brusque, brother. Matami is here to escort the wagons in the courtyard—doubtless you saw them when you arrived—as well as the goods inside. They are spices for the High King’s palace.”
“Spices?” said Ebon. “That many wagons full will surely fetch a fine price.”
“They do not mean to sell them,” said Albi, sounding annoyed. When Ebon looked down at her in surprise, she sighed and looked skywards as though searching for strength. “They bring them as a gift. Something to ease negotiations for a new trade route through Wadeland. I see only wasted riches. That many wagons would fill our coffers to bursting for a decade.”
“And the new trade route will fill them for a century,” Halab chided. “Dear niece, this is a lesson you must learn well: today’s wealth is well spent if it earns tomorrow’s fortune.”
Again Albi looked at Ebon and shook her head, and again he had to stifle his laugh. Halab suppressed a smile.
“I see your secret, scornful looks, girl,” she said, delight dancing behind her words. “I will attribute it to youth, rather than disrespect. You are wise beyond your years, but life will bring you more wisdom still.”
“As you say, dear aunt,” said Albi. “But now that Ebon has arrived, may we eat? I fear I will simply starve.”
“Of course.” Halab motioned to the servants standing near the door. “We will take our supper now.”
They rose and went to the dining table at the other end of the room. The last time Ebon had eaten here, they had sat at a high table and chairs, after the fashion of the Seat and most other kingdoms. Now the dining table had been replaced with one in the Idrisian design, a low table with cushions all around it upon which they could sit cross-legged. One by one they settled in. Halab gestured for Ebon to sit by her right hand at the head of the table, with Hesta to her left. Albi quickly seated herself beside Ebon while the servants brought dishes and trays of food. Matami did not look pleased to be shunted down near the other end of the table, but he took his seat beside Hesta without comment.
Ebon’s mouth watered at the smell of roasted lamb. It was placed at the table’s center, and before him were set small plates of figs, light crackers, and chickpea spread mixed with many fine spices. Liya, one of the household servants, leaned over him to fill his goblet with wine.
“Thank you.” Ebon reached over to lift the goblet and make it easier for Liya to pour. But she recoiled with a sharp hiss of breath, and wine spilled from her pitcher. Ebon yanked his hand back before it got soaked, and the wine splashed on the table instead.
“Liya!” said Halab sharply. “What is the matter with you?”
Ebon looked up at her. The serving woman’s face was filled with fright—far more than seemed appropriate in response to Halab’s mild rebuke. “I am sorry, mistress. I will fetch him a new place mat immediately.”
She ran from the room and soon returned, replacing Ebon’s mat as quickly as she could. Hoping to dispel the awkwardness, Ebon met Albi’s eyes and made a face. She giggled.
Soon the dinner had been served, and the servants withdrew. Ebon dug into his lamb, savoring the way the sweet, tender meat broke apart in his mouth. He was unable to help himself from letting out a small groan of delight. Albi nearly choked on her food as she giggled again.
“Do they starve you at the Academy, my son?” Hesta smiled from across the table. “You sound as though you have not eaten since we saw you last.”
Ebon shook his head. “The Academy takes excellent care of us, Mother. Only, they must serve so many, you understand, and their cooks cannot hope to match the skill of ours.”
“And do you find yourself missing all the trappings of home? Your family has never kept you wanting for luxury, dearest nephew.” To Ebon the words sounded almost like an accusation, but Halab smiled to soften them.
“I have grown used to life within the Academy. It is only now that I realize how different things are from the way they were in Idris.”
“And your studies?” said Hesta. “Are they going well?”
Ebon smiled, trying to make it look modest. “Well enough. I wish I were moving faster. But I did complete my first class in two months when it should have taken a year.” A thought came to him, sudden and perhaps mad, but he went on with it. “I could show you a spell, if you wished. A small one only.”
Albi’s eyes shone, and Halab gave an indulgent smile. But Mother’s eyes widened, and for some reason she looked at Matami with what looked like fear.
“If you wish,” said Halab. “Only do not put a hole in the table, please.”
“Of course not,” said Ebon, shaking off his worry at Mother’s expression.
He picked up an empty wooden cup from the table. Focusing, he called forth his magic. The room seemed to grow brighter as his eyes glowed.
Stone rippled out around his fingers, turning the wood, until the spell was finished. He placed the cup, now wholly stone, back on the table with a small thunk.
Albi squealed with delight. But Matami was glowering down at his food, and his cheeks grew darker by the moment.
Halab’s eyebrows raised. “That is most impressive. I knew
when I sent you there that my faith in your wits would not be misplaced.”
“My instructors also say I am a quick student,” said Albi, beaming. “Since you left, Ebon, I have been learning all sorts of new things, from accounting to history to everything in between.”
“I have noted you show particular interest and skill in the courts of the nine lands,” said Halab with a gentle smile. “That subject is complex and intricate, and ever-shifting, yet it is one of the most valuable things any merchant could know.”
Ebon frowned slightly. His father had never permitted him to learn much about the other kingdoms. It seemed he was fearful that Ebon might seek a better life, mayhap someplace where he might be permitted to learn his magic.
Now Halab cast her bright smile to Albi before turning to place her hand upon Hesta’s. “Bright minds run in the family, it would seem. I can only imagine your pride.”
“What mother could wish for more than to see her children succeed?” said Hesta. Yet it seemed to Ebon that some worry still hovered about her. Matami had stopped eating entirely.
It felt as though the wind had fled from Ebon’s sails, though he knew that was foolish. He had thought Halab and his mother would wish to speak of him, not Albi. After all, they saw her far more often. And sky above, he had performed magic! Was that not more impressive than the knowledge of courtly graces?
He took another sip of wine, trying to dispel such thoughts, and replaced the goblet on the low table. He was reminded of the table that had been there before, and that cast his mind back to the night he and his friends went to the eastern docks, where they saw the manor’s servants stealing away on a ship like thieves, taking the furniture with them.
Carefully he drummed his fingers on the wood, trying to appear nonchalant. “I notice many things in the manor have been replaced. The furniture, the tapestries and rugs. Even these dishes look new. Were things lost in the attack upon the Seat?”
Halab’s happy smile dampened, and she glanced at Hesta for a moment before sliding her eyes quickly away. Hesta looked down into her lap, suddenly fidgeting with her napkin. But Matami had looked up at last, and now he fixed Ebon with a withering glare, so furious that his brows nearly joined to one above his eyes.
The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3) Page 32
