Ebon took another tentative step forwards. He tried to lean over, to place himself in the boy’s field of vision. But the boy did not move. Another step. Still he read on, his nose only a few inches from his book. He could not have seen more than fourteen years. His eyes, now squinting as he read, were close together, and his hair shone with a copper tint in the light of lamps hanging on the library walls.
Though he felt at a loss, Ebon chastised himself. The boy was at least two years younger than he, his attention fixed on the page, except when he moved to scribble notes with his quill. The boy was not even reading the book that Ebon wanted.
“Ahem!”
He cleared his throat far louder than he had intended. Every student within twenty feet jumped in their seats, then turned to glare. Ebon felt his cheeks darken and tried to wave his apology without a sound. Slowly, they returned to their books.
All but the boy with copper hair. Now at last he was looking up at Ebon. His blue eyes were wider than Ebon had at first realized, and now seemed to swallow the larger part of his face. His head was cocked to the side, button nose reminding Ebon strangely of his sister Albi’s, though otherwise the two of them could not have looked more different.
Ebon stepped closer. Now he was at the table, standing above the boy. “I was told to read this book by Instructor Jia,” he whispered. “Will you need it much longer?”
The boy’s gaze fell to the book. “Yes,” he said, and resumed his reading. His quill darted across the parchment.
Ebon stood frozen. Then, unsure of what else to do, he pulled out the chair opposite the boy and sat. That drew the boy’s attention again. “I am sorry—mayhap I did not speak clearly. Jia told me to read the book. Might I use it—at least until you require it again?”
The boy blinked his blue eyes twice in quick succession. His brow furrowed. Again he looked at the book, as though he was hearing Ebon’s words for the first time. “Wait. You say that Jia told you to read it? It is a tome of history.”
“I know,” said Ebon, growing somewhat annoyed. “I told her that was what I wished to read, and she pointed me this way.”
The boy’s widened. “You asked to study history? Sky above, I can’t remember meeting another student who found such interesting.” He drew back, looking suspicious. “Is this some jest?”
“It is no jest,” said Ebon, frowning. “Listen, may I read the book or not?”
“But it is a beginner’s tome,” said the boy, shaking his head. “You are older than I am. Certainly you must have studied beyond it by now.”
Ebon looked over his shoulder nervously. But he did not think anyone was near enough to hear their whispers. “I…may I please just take it? You may come and fetch me when you need it, if you wish.”
Again those blue eyes widened. The boy leaned forwards, but his whisper grew louder. “You are a beginner. How can that be? How old are you? I would guess at least sixteen.”
Quickly Ebon cast another glance over his shoulder, but no one had taken notice. “Do you need to shout it? I may be new to the Academy, but still I would wager I could take you in a fight, if that is your preference.”
The boy only gave a little smile. “That settles it—certainly you are new. Well, you are in luck, friend. I have read the treatise through and through, more times than I have counted. Jia told you, I imagine, that it is meant to point you to something else in the end?”
Ebon felt his nostrils flare. “She mentioned something of it, yes.”
The boy grinned. “But I can tell you what to read instead already—you will enjoy it far more, if you have sense at all, which I suspect you do. It is a history of the Wizard Kings.”
The room seemed to darken. Ebon felt the urge to look behind him again, but fought it away. Even a whisper of such dark words felt like a crime. “Do you mean this place has books that speak of them?”
“I am not sure if it is even supposed to be here.” The boy leaned forwards, his thin forearms pressing down into the book. “I found it one day, searching for something else. It bears no title, either on its spine or its cover. I think the library’s attendants simply missed it.”
Despite himself, Ebon found himself yearning to see the book. He stuck out a hand across the table. “Then show me. I am Ebon.”
“Kalem, of the family Konnel.” The boy reached out to grasp Ebon’s wrist. “Come. I have hidden it away, to keep it from being found.”
They stood, the red book forgotten. Kalem took his hand and dragged him down the walkway and around to the other side of the library. But he stepped too near the railing for Ebon’s liking, and Ebon drew away.
Kalem blinked back at him. “What is it?”
Ebon eyed the railing distrustfully. “I do not enjoy heights.”
He thought the boy might laugh at him, but Kalem only gave a solemn nod. “I did not either. Then I spent two years on this floor. The feeling will pass in time, but for now we shall walk closer to the wall.”
So they did, until they reached the other end of the floor. There on the southern wall, Ebon found to his surprise that there were two passageways leading around it. Kalem led him through, until Ebon found himself in a room that mirrored the library on the other side—just as wide, equally long, but with only a single floor below. He realized that this second part of the library must extend back into the citadel quite a ways, until it butted up against the dormitories’ rear walls.
“It is even bigger than I thought,” Ebon breathed.
Kalem grinned back at him. “You had not seen this yet? Is it your first day?”
“My second. How could so many books have been written? It must have taken a thousand scribes a thousand years.”
“I do not doubt it,” said Kalem. “Come.”
There were far fewer students in this part of the library, and Ebon saw none on their floor. The lamps were less tended, and there was no amber skylight to fill the place with a warm glow. They passed from light to shadow and back again. In the farthest, darkest corner of the library, Kalem stopped at last.
“No doubt you received some training wherever you came from,” said Kalem. “You can come here and do this any time you like. Only remember where it is.”
So saying, he went to the narrow space between two bookshelves, where the granite wall showed through. Placing his hands to the wall, he concentrated. From behind him, Ebon saw the glow of his eyes. The stone shifted beneath Kalem’s fingers, turning liquid and sliding aside. He removed his hands, and a perfect hole, like a shelf, appeared in the rock. Upon that shelf sat a book bound in blue leather. With careful, reverent hands, Kalem reached in to withdraw it.
“Here it is,” he said. “An Account of the Dark War and the Fearless Decree.”
Ebon shuddered as though an icy draft had blown down his back. “You say you found this shelf? How did you know it was there?”
Kalem shook his head. “I found the book in the library. I made the shelf myself. It is no great feat.”
He led Ebon to a corner, where a small table waited with two plush red chairs beside it. Before they sat, Ebon risked a look around, but still no students were in sight on their floor. But Kalem saw his look, and his copper brows drew closer together.
“Why do you keep looking about? No one is here to see us read it.”
“It is not that. I only…” Ebon stopped. How could he tell this boy that already he was mocked for having to study with children, and had no wish to give Lilith and her friends further cause to torment him?
But Kalem must have read something in his face, for again he looked solemn and nodded. “I am young. You think I am a child, and do not wish to be seen with me.”
“It is not that,” Ebon said, wishing he had been quicker to find a lie. “I…that is, a tome of the Wizard Kings…”
But Kalem waved him to silence. “Do not trouble yourself. I am well used to it by now. They placed me in a class more advanced than my years, for I learned my first transmutation lessons too quickly. None of the oth
er students in my class wish to spend much time with me, either. I am somewhat used to it.” But despite the boy’s words, Ebon could see how Kalem avoided his gaze.
His words caught Ebon’s attention for another reason. “Did you say you are an alchemist?”
Kalem blinked in surprise. “Of course I am. You saw me slide the stones apart—and you should not use the commoner’s word.”
“You and I share a gift,” said Ebon. “I too am an alch—that is, a transmuter.”
Kalem’s mouth fell open, his cheeks flushing with joy. “Sky above. You are in Credell’s class, then?”
“Sadly, I am.”
“Sadly? What do you mean?”
Ebon struck the table, harder than he had intended. “Credell seems terrified of me. He quivers instead of teaching. I only hope he gets over his terror long enough for me to pass beyond his class.”
Kalem nodded. “Ah, I see. I suffered much the same fate when I studied with him, though not so bad as you, from the sound of it.”
“Did you? Why?”
Again the boy’s cheeks flushed, and he lowered his gaze. “I imagine you must not know much of the kingdom of Hedgemond. I am a member of the royal family there, a smaller clan, yet still holding close to some power. You must be royalty as well, for that would explain Credell’s manner—though from your look, I would guess you are from Idris. I suppose that makes us kin, though no doubt distant.”
Ebon let the words pass without correcting him. If Kalem thought Ebon to be royalty, so be it. At last it seemed he had met a friendly face, and he would do nothing to drive the boy away with the name of Drayden. And if he invited scorn by befriending Kalem, what of it? It seemed that to Lilith he was already a laughingstock, and to the other students he was someone to avoid. Kalem’s friendship could hardly hurt. “How, then, did you deal with Credell? For you said you took to your lessons quickly, or at least quickly enough to leave his classes behind.”
Kalem did not seem to notice that Ebon had avoided his question. “I did my best, listened when he instructed the others, and practiced whenever I could. Once you pass the novice test, you will move beyond Credell’s class.”
“What is the novice test? No one made mention of it to me.”
“Indeed?” Kalem gawked. “You must be close kin of the High King indeed, if Credell is that scared of you. The novice test is to turn a rod of wood into stone.”
Now Ebon thought he understood the wooden sticks the other students had been holding in class. “Turning wood into stone? Is such a thing really possible?”
“Have you really never seen such a thing? I am sorry, Ebon. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for you, so sternly kept from what should have been a great joy.”
To his surprise, Ebon found himself bristling. “I am not some beggar. I never lacked for coin or food. My father merely thought magic…unseemly.”
Kalem drew back, looking at Ebon with hooded eyes. “Are you—are you, by some chance, your father’s eldest child?”
Ebon felt he had drifted upon dangerous ground, but he did not know what it was. “I am. I had a brother, but he was killed.”
“You are the heir, then? The heir to your family’s throne?”
He swallowed hard, wondering if he could maintain the deception of being royalty. “I suppose.”
“Do you think your father meant to keep your talents hidden, and put you upon the throne?”
Ebon felt himself blanch. “No one would try to put a wizard upon a throne. That would invite the High King’s wrath. You know this.”
“I do,” said Kalem, looking at his fingers where they toyed with each other in his lap. “Yet I have heard rumors that some have tried. Always they are found and put to death, by the Mystics and the King’s law both.”
“That was not my father’s aim, I promise you. He would sooner see me in exile than holding any power.”
Kalem looked at him. “I am relieved to hear it, though it is a sad thing indeed. My father never had to worry about such—my sister waits to take his place at the head of the family, and I have two older brothers besides. Sometimes I think he scarcely notices me. And he is…”
Kalem blushed and looked down. Ebon leaned forwards. “What is it? You may tell me.”
The boy was silent a moment. “He is more concerned with our coin than with me, I think. We do not have the wealth we once did, and sometimes I have heard him and my mother speaking of what they might have to do if our coffers should dry. I sometimes wonder if they will be able to keep paying for my teachings here. I do not know what I would do if they could not.”
Pity flowed through Ebon, much to his surprise. Of all the many causes for concern his family had often provided, worry of their wealth was not among them. It seemed that the Drayden coffers were bottomless. And with that thought, Ebon had a flash of inspiration. He turned his chair to Kalem and leaned forwards.
“Then let me make you this bargain, Kalem of the family Konnel. I shall learn nothing while I am under Credell’s tutelage. So you shall teach me instead. I shall give you my allowance in trade—all I can spare. You can save it, and if your family cannot pay for your schooling, you shall do so yourself.”
Kalem looked at him, eyes shining. “You would do this? Why?”
Ebon shrugged. “Coin is of little concern to us. I am much more worried about how fast I shall learn. It seems that each of us may solve the other’s problem. What do you say? Is the bargain struck?”
Kalem grinned and thrust forth a hand. “It is.”
Ebon shook his wrist. “Done, then. And I propose that we celebrate our pact. Let me take you out upon the Seat tonight, and we shall toast our bargain until we cannot see to find our way home.”
The boy’s smile vanished, and his eyes grew wide. “Do…do you mean to say we shall drink?”
Ebon smiled. “As an alchemist you may be the master, but it seems I have much to teach you as well.”
thirteen
THEY LEFT THE LIBRARY AS soon as the ending bell rang. Ebon greatly wished for better clothes to wear out, but neither of them had anything grander than their simple black robes. But that meant no delay in their departure. If given the chance, Ebon thought Kalem might turn tail and run.
“It is only that I have never had wine or ale before,” he said, as Ebon practically shoved him through the Academy’s front door and into the street. “My mother and father thought drinking as unseemly as, it seems, your father thought of magic.”
“Then they are all wrong, though for different reasons. There is much joy, and perhaps even some wisdom, to be found in the bottom of a cup, as you will soon learn. But we should find a place as far from the Academy as we can, so long as we can still find our way back.”
They were not the only ones leaving the Academy. Black robes flooded the streets, all of the students seeming to share Ebon’s intent: to forget the day’s lessons and worries with fermented grape and grain. Ebon saw many taverns as they walked, but black-robed students were entering them all, and so he passed them by. Soon the streets thinned out, except for the Seat’s usual crowds: tradesmen bringing their wares home for the day, merchants and nobility traveling here and there to parties and balls.
He found himself much more comfortable than the last time he had walked these streets, with Tamen at his side, worrying that any misdeed might be carried to the ears of his father. Now he spun as he walked, eyeing the buildings around him. Some were tall and mighty, others small and modest, but all felt warm and comfortable.
“The Seat is nothing like back home,” he said, only half speaking to Kalem. “Even in the capital, all the buildings are built of white plaster, and they glare in the sun until they hurt the eyes. Everyone wears veils to protect themselves. Only the king’s palace is different—lavish, built from stone and steel, shining with gold spires and great domes. A pretty enough sight, I suppose. But I prefer the Seat.”
“I still miss home,” Kalem said quietly. “Our king rules from Highfell, and t
hat is certainly no place so mighty as the Seat. Yet though the buildings are simpler, they seem more welcoming, and though the palace is nowhere near so grand as the High King’s, still my breath was stripped when first I beheld it.”
Ebon looked at the boy in surprise. He spoke with surprising passion. Ebon wondered what it was like to be homesick—truly homesick, yearning for the place from which you hailed, rather than the few people whose company you enjoyed.
He had not seen a black robe for the last many streets, and so Ebon cast his eyes about for a tavern. Soon he found one, a place with no door barring its entry and a wide window in the wall. He thought, with a flutter in his stomach, of the window through which he had spied a blue door. Had that really only been a few days ago? It seemed a lifetime. Well he remembered that place, far to the west of here, and in the back of Ebon’s mind he decided that he might visit again, if given the chance. Had not Adara told him that she hoped he would? They were the words of a lover, mayhap spurred by coin. Yet now he could know for himself.
He drew his mind back to the present and pulled Kalem towards the inn. “Come, we shall drink here. It seems a fine place—near enough that we shall not have trouble finding our way home.”
“Are you certain?” said Kalem, looking up at the sky. “Already the day nears darkness.”
“Then we shall walk home in torchlight. Come.”
They stepped in through the door. Ebon was gratified to see that no one gave them a second glance. He feared Kalem might run if given a chance, so he kept his hand on the boy’s arm on their way to the bar in back where a stout man with great sprouts of brown hair on his cheeks surveyed them with a keen eye.
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