“You have a forked tongue, Lilith,” said Theren softly. “And I care not what you do with it. But you will not use your magic against my friends again.”
Oren and Nella made to move past Lilith towards Theren, but she stopped them with outstretched arms. Her jaw spasmed again and again, but she spoke no word to Theren. Instead she turned hate-filled eyes on Ebon again.
“Until the morrow, jester,” she hissed. “You find yourself in fortunate company.”
She spun on her heel and swept from the room. Oren and Nella followed after only a moment’s hesitation.
The other students in the room turned quickly away. If Ebon had thought to earn more friends, those hopes seemed dashed. But Theren was smiling, and even Kalem wore a nervous little grin. That seemed enough, at least for now.
“I have not had such fun in months,” said Theren, grinning. “Come, goldbags. Let us see if we cannot get ourselves a drink before nightfall.”
fifteen
THE NEXT DAY, EBON SPENT his time in the library reading Kalem’s hidden tome on the Wizard Kings, while Kalem sat by and worked on his own lessons. Often Ebon would have some question about the text, and would ask Kalem. The boy’s knowledge was incredible, and he would always answer Ebon with some tale from another of the library’s volumes. Ebon would record the names of other books that Kalem thought he should read, and soon his parchment was full. He looked upon the list with some dismay; it seemed to be half a lifetime’s worth of reading.
When he tired of the book, he would take out his stick, and Kalem would try teaching him to turn it into stone. But try as he might, Ebon could not summon the magic to do it.
“Take your time,” Kalem told him. “It is only your third day.”
“You do not understand. As long as I am in Credell’s class, my time here is wasted.”
“I passed his class early, and yet still it took me half a year. You cannot expect to do it in a week, especially when you have never been allowed to practice.”
That day passed, and the next, and the next. Soon Ebon found himself settling into a comfortable routine, at least outside of Credell’s class. Although soon even that became more tolerable. The instructor still looked at Ebon with wide-eyed terror whenever he spoke or moved, but soon the other children forgot their fear of him, and soon he learned their names. The wild-haired girl he had seen on his first day was named Astrea, and she seemed to take a particular liking to Ebon, though she appeared afraid to speak with him. Sometimes he would catch her staring from across the room, but she turned and blushed whenever he looked. Though Astrea did not resemble Albi, still something in her manner reminded Ebon of home. He would catch her gaze and stick his tongue whenever he could manage. She would giggle behind her hand and quickly return to her lessons.
Then each day he would huddle in the library with Kalem. Ebon finished the history of the Wizard Kings in his first week, and began on his catalog of other tomes. But commonly he would come upon something that gave him some question, and he would refer back to the great blue book. He and Kalem spent as much time trying to learn spells as they did reading, though Kalem often warned him that they were supposed to use the time for studying, and Jia would be most cross if she found out.
After three weeks, Ebon began to feel comfortable. Already, when he thought back to his first two days, they seemed to have happened to someone else. Even Lilith’s torments had lessened, though she still gave him an evil look whenever they passed in the hallways, and sometimes she jostled him in the dining hall. But Lilith gave him a wide berth whenever he was with Theren, which was often, and if Theren ever caught her nearby, she stared until Lilith scuttled away. Ebon suspected there was some history between them, but when he asked Theren, she merely shrugged and said, “Some, yes. Now she knows better than to make any more.”
On occasion Ebon would sneak out of Credell’s class and onto the training grounds. The instructor could not possibly have failed to notice his absence, but perhaps he was relieved not to have the young Drayden in his classroom. Ebon knew he would get in trouble if he were ever discovered, but many hedges ran along the Academy’s wall, and he could go there to hide himself and watch the other students practice their spells.
Sometimes he watched classes from the other three instructors: mindmages, firemages, and weremages. But most often he went to the smaller grounds to see the alchemists practice. Their spells were less spectacular, not the sort of magic he often heard in tales and the like. Yet Ebon knew, or hoped, that this magic lay in his future, and so it kept his interest better than any of the others. He did not see the student who had turned her instructor’s arrow to dust, but saw the others performing similar spells with the cloth balls thrown amongst each other.
When he saw the weremages, there was an instructor he watched often—an older man, black hair dusted with grey, wearing his thick beard trimmed close to his face. Ebon thought he had the look of a Selvan man. There was something familiar about him, mayhap because the man looked so kindly. Always he spoke to his students in a calm and measured tone, and Ebon noted how he would show them a spell over and over until they had learned it. Then he would leave, while keeping careful watch from the corner of his eyes. Ebon often thought wistfully how he wished Credell were such an instructor—but this man was a weremage, and could not have taught Ebon even if he wanted to.
One day, nearly a month after his first day, Ebon was in the library with Kalem, rod in hand, trying to change it, yet unable to manage.
“Try to feel it, instead of just seeing it,” Kalem suggested. “Sometimes that works better.”
“Of course I feel it,” said Ebon. “I am holding it in my hands, am I not?”
“I do not mean feel it, I mean…Feel it,” he finished lamely.
“That makes it all much clearer. Quick, run to fetch Credell! I am ready for my test.” Ebon shoved the rod back into his robes. “Enough of this. I have found a book written by a member of my own family, many hundreds of years ago, and today I meant to start it. I shall return in a moment.”
He stood and strode away from their table, in and among the shelves all about him. Ebon found the section he was looking for easily enough, for he was now well practiced in seeking the library’s many works. He scanned the spines on shelf after shelf, searching for his book.
“Well, little goldbag, how go your studies?”
Ebon nearly jumped out of his skin, and gripped the bookshelf to steady himself. He turned, and for a moment could not believe his eyes. Mako leaned casually against the shelf behind Ebon, the wicked knife at his hip shining as bright as his sparkling eyes. He had folded his thick, tattooed arms over each other, but in one hand he held a book, which he had opened to the middle and appeared to be reading. With a start, Ebon realized that it was the very book he had come here to find.
“Mako? What are you doing here?” Something made Ebon’s skin crawl, more than his normal reaction to the man. How did Mako get here, to the library’s third floor, without causing some sort of commotion in the Academy? Guests were not allowed to roam these halls unescorted. Yet no one else was in sight.
“Your lack of hospitality wounds me,” said Mako, frowning. “It seems an eternity since last I was privileged to lay eyes upon you.”
“It has only been a month.”
“The days turn to years, and all that drivel.” Mako slapped the book shut and made to return it. But then he caught Ebon’s eye upon the volume, and he held it up in mock surprise. “Oh, were you looking for this one? Here it is, young lord. Take it with my compliments.”
“How did you know?”
Mako’s too-friendly grin widened. “How did I know what, Ebon? There are far too many answers for me to deliver them all here and now.”
“Never mind. What do you want?”
“That question, too, comes with a host of replies. And why should I answer your question, when you have failed to answer mine?”
“Yours?” said Ebon, blinking.
“Th
e first thing I asked you: how go your studies?”
Ebon looked about, unsure. “They go well enough, I suppose. Though I find it—”
Mako clapped his hands sharply, and Ebon’s words died in his mouth. “Quite enough of that. I have come for another purpose. The family requires something of you.”
The library was utterly silent, except for the thunder of Ebon’s heart. “The family. By which, I would guess, you mean my father. What does he need?”
Mako looked down at the fingers of his right hand. His left drifted to his knife, and Ebon’s hands tightened on the spine of his book. But when Mako drew the knife, it was only to pick under his fingernails with the tip, which glistened in the dim orange glow of the library’s lamps.
“What sort of question is that?” said Mako lightly. “He is your father, and the reason you attend the Academy. Are you not happy to fulfill his heart’s desire, whatever that may be?”
“Of course,” Ebon said quickly. The last thing he wanted was for Mako to run back to his father with tales of ingratitude. “I only meant to ask, how may I be of service to him?”
“There will be a package left for you. Tonight, after the Academy’s lanterns have been dimmed and that white-haired old bat has left the front door. You will receive a special permission slip from the Dean, your loving cousin Cyrus, allowing you to leave the Academy after nightfall.”
Ebon’s heart caught in his throat. “Leave the Academy?”
Mako took his meaning and grinned. “Not forever, boy—only for tonight. You must bring the package to the west end of the Seat. Near the western wall, you will find an inn called the Shining Door. A man there will recognize you, and you must deliver the package to him.”
“What is in the package?”
“You need not trouble yourself over that.”
“Could you not bring it yourself? This seems an awful amount of trouble.” Mako’s eyes grew cold, and Ebon shivered. “I mean only that, certainly my father would like it done fast, and it will be many hours until I can leave.”
Still the bodyguard stared with his icy eyes, his grin unwavering. “He has patience enough for this. And besides, I am somewhat well known in that part of the Seat, and not in any way you would consider complimentary. But no one there will think that you are up to anything nefarious.”
“And will I be?”
Mako winked. “Why should you be? You are only delivering a parcel. Any mischief shall be on your own account.”
Ebon felt the jaws of some unseen trap slowly closing about him. “But students are not supposed to leave the Academy so late.”
“And yet you have the Dean’s special permission.”
Ebon wanted to refuse, to tell Mako he would not do it, and that the guard could deliver the parcel himself. How did he know that this was actually at his father’s request? It might be Mako’s own scheme, into which he meant to ensnare Ebon against his father’s wishes. But Mako must have seen something of these thoughts on his face, for he sucked a slow breath between his teeth, and shook his head.
“Ebon,” he said genially. “Could you truly be so eager to disappoint your father? Halab may have spoken for you, but he could withdraw you on the slightest whim. Do this for him, out of respect and gratitude. He cares for you so very much.”
The words carried no obvious threat, but still Ebon heard one. He could imagine himself cast from the Academy, his tuition no longer paid, allowance cut off, being bundled into a ship bound for Idris. Again he saw his father’s triumphant sneer as he marched in through the doors of the family manor.
“Very well,” said Ebon. “I will bring the package, if that is what my father wishes.”
“He does.” Mako pushed himself off the bookshelf and gave a bow—but Ebon thought he saw mockery in the gesture. He turned from the bodyguard, opening his book as if he meant to read it right there. “One more thing, little goldbag—do not look inside the package.”
Ebon turned to look at Mako, but the man had already vanished. He leaned out to look around the bookshelf, but the aisle was empty on either side.
sixteen
THE DAY ENDED QUICKLY, FAR too fast for Ebon’s liking, for he was dreading his errand. But soon the daylight had faded through the Academy’s many windows, and he felt an uncertain anxiety settle about him. He sat with Kalem in the common room—not the one outside Ebon’s dormitory, for Kalem feared to go where the older children lived. Ebon had taken to visiting Kalem instead, three floors higher. The other children in the room were of Kalem’s age. They looked at Ebon somewhat fearfully, and left him alone. He found that he much preferred it, when he compared it to wondering if Lilith would arrive to torment him.
As day turned to night at last, and attendants came to light fires upon the hearths, Kalem yawned heavily in his chair. His eyes were bleary, and he rubbed at them. “I slept poorly last night. Or rather, I slept not enough. I became caught up trying a new spell my instructor showed me yesterday.”
“Hm?” Ebon looked around. He had only been half listening.
“What has gotten into you?” Kalem looked at him oddly. “You are half bouncing in your seat, and seem distracted.”
“Nothing,” said Ebon. “If you are tired, I will leave so that you may retire.”
“I can stay up a bit longer, if you wish to talk. We have not tried your spell yet.”
“I myself am weary.” Ebon stood, and felt at once that he had done it too quickly. “I will make my way to my own room. Good night.”
“Good night,” said Kalem, yawning again.
Ebon made his way quickly downstairs. The hour in which he would normally be forbidden from leaving the Academy drew near. He wished to avoid the common room outside his dormitory, for fear of meeting Lilith, so he stole down to the first floor and made his way to the dining hall. Spare loaves had been left out on the serving table, as they were each day, and Ebon snatched one up. Something about his anxiety had turned him ravenously hungry.
He took the loaf and went out through a white door onto the training grounds. The moons were just rising in the eastern sky, their glow drifting down to cast the grass in silver. The stars were bright, and he watched them make their slow way through the sky. Soon it would be time, and he would have to go. But for a moment, Ebon could rest here on his stone bench, and pretend it was where he meant to spend his night.
Voices sounded on the air, coming from around the corner. Without thinking, Ebon dived back over the bench into hedges by the Academy wall.
A pair of instructors rounded the corner, obvious by their age even when their dark grey robes looked black as a student’s. Ebon recognized the kindly-faced weremage he would sometimes see when sneaking out onto the training grounds, walking with another instructor, one Ebon did not know by name, though he thought she might be a mindmage. They walked slow, almost aimlessly, their talk seeming to hold no purpose.
But as they passed, Ebon noted a curious thing. The grey-haired weremage paused, and turned so he was looking straight at Ebon’s hiding spot. Ebon’s pulse pounded hard enough to burst the heart from his chest. But after a moment the instructor resumed his walk, taking two quick steps to catch up with his companion. Soon they had passed beyond the next corner, and Ebon lost a sigh.
It was time, or past time now. He snuck out from the hedge, wolfing down the final scrap of his loaf, and made his way back to the Academy’s entry hall. He half hoped to find Mellie standing guard as she always was, but Mako had spoken true: it was a new woman now, a thick, matronly sort whom Ebon had never seen. Her fat cheeks puffed as she stood to greet him. Under her arm was a parcel wrapped in brown cloth.
“You are the Drayden boy.” Ebon was unsure if it was a question, and so he did not answer. She shoved the parcel into his arms, led him to the front door, and threw the latch.
“Knock thrice, then twice when you return, and I shall know it is you.” Then she very nearly pushed him out the door and closed it behind him.
Ebon sighed, looking up
and down the street. A few figures moved about in the torchlight. He swallowed hard, hoping they would not ask after his purpose. He knew it was not unheard of for Academy students to go out after hours on some official business or other, but did not know how he would respond if someone inquired about his business.
He set off into the streets. Then he changed his mind, thinking it might be better to stay out of sight. There was an alley nearby that looked like it ran west for a ways. He made for it, blinking hard to help his eyes adjust as he slipped into shadow. But not fast enough—he ran into another figure with a crash and a yelp.
“I am sorry,” he stammered, stepping back into the moonslight. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he recognized Theren, looking just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.
“What under the sky are you doing here?” Her sharp eyes narrowed.
“I might ask the same of you,” he said defiantly, trying in vain to hide the parcel behind his back.
“And I will answer you readily. I am off to visit a house of lovers. Now it is your turn.”
“I…” Words failed him for a moment. At last, too late, he found them. “As am I.”
“Truly?” she said, and he could hear in her voice that she did not believe him. “Then what is that package you are trying oh so earnestly to conceal behind you? It is too fat, or you are too thin, I cannot tell which.”
“It is nothing,” said Ebon, turning it sideways to better conceal it.
Her thin nose twitched. “Very well. Keep your secrets. It is no business of mine what a man does with his lover. But if we are of a purpose, then let us walk together. These streets are dark, and can be dangerous.”
Ebon scoffed. “Do not mock me by saying you wish for my protection.”
“I would never dream of it. I mock you by saying that you require mine.”
“I can fend for myself,” he said, hoping the moonslight did not reveal his burning cheeks.
The Alchemist's Touch Page 12
