Best I keep that to myself.
By the time Ebon finished his tales, his throat was raw from talking. Halab had nodded, with twitters of appreciation at just the right moments. When at last he dwindled to silence, she chuckled and shook her head. “Had I known you would take so well to the Academy, I might have spoken to your father years ago. And yet, in another sense, I think you arrived at the perfect time.”
Ebon was about to ask her just what she meant, but she jerked his arm to the left as they nearly passed a street. “Quickly. This way. We do not want to miss the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?”
But before Halab could answer, the thunder of trumpets and bells tore the air asunder. The sound made Ebon nearly jump out of his skin, but Halab stood steady, as though she had expected it. Looking around, Ebon realized they stood scarcely a street away from the High King’s palace. They were at the mouth of a main thoroughfare where it met the Seat’s greatest road—running straight west and east from the palace to the wide gates at either end. A crowd had gathered around them. As Ebon looked up at the palace now, resplendent in white and silver, shining in the morning sun, its great gates swung open.
Once enough space appeared between the gates, troops began to march forth. First Ebon saw many soldiers on horseback, hooves dancing gaily as they bounced. Behind these came many more on foot, marching in full plate, their steps strong and sure, careless of the metal bearing them down. All wore tabards like Ebon had found in the Shining Door: white with gold edges, and the four-pointed star in the center. The sigil of the High King.
After a time, the High King’s army had passed, and still more troops marched. These were tall and stern, their finely-crafted armor polished until to a shine, throwing sunlight in Ebon’s eyes until they burned. Their cloaks were red, hoods thrown back and down their shoulders.
“They are Mystics,” Ebon whispered in wonder.
“Indeed,” said Halab. “This is the greater part of all the Mystics here upon the Seat. They march by command of the Lord Chancellor himself, and he at the High King’s order.”
“But where are they going?”
“To join the war in Wellmont, in the southwest of Selvan. Or, it is more correctly put, they go to end it. The High King has at last decided that this border squabble is unseemly, and aims to halt it by strength of arms.”
“Can she not simply command them to cease their fighting?”
“Oh, dear Nephew. The minds of kings are stern and stubborn and difficult to sway. She might issue such a command, of course, but Dorsea might not listen. And even if they did, resentment would burn like a bonfire in their hearts, only to erupt again into war, and mayhap a worse one. At times, soft words may serve for diplomacy. But a wise king knows when to use an ironclad fist. Come.”
Though the march was not yet over, she turned and led Ebon away. He cast one last look over his shoulder at the red-cloaked soldiers, but they soon marched by and were lost in the crowd.
She led him unerringly through the streets, and soon he recognized the neighborhood surrounding the Drayden family manor, standing two stories above the adjacent buildings, its stones painted gold like their homes in Idris. His steps faltered, and he felt as though a cloud had shrouded his heart.
“Come along now,” said Halab, tugging at him playfully. “Your father does not wait within. Today, it is only you and I.”
He smiled, as if to disavow the thought, but she waved him to silence. They found the gates open and waiting; they climbed to the fourth-floor dining hall to find that a feast had been spread before them. From the steam, Ebon guessed it had been uncovered a moment before their arrival.
After two months, Ebon had nearly forgotten how well his family ate. He feasted on lamb and figs, fine spiced soup, and salad dressed with oils that teased his tongue delightfully. Though he never went hungry at the Academy, he ate like a man famished. When at last he could not stomach another bite, Ebon sighed with contentment and sank back into his plush cushions. Halab had finished eating some time ago, and was now watching him over steepled fingers, a small smile playing across her lips.
“Should I investigate the Academy for starving you?”
“Not at all. It is only that they have so many to feed, and do not have cooks so fine as ours. I am ever grateful, and will remember this meal for months to come.”
She reached for her wine goblet and took a delicate sip. That reminded Ebon of his own cup, and he took a deeper pull. “Remember it indeed, and in good health. Now, my nephew, tell me. You have spoken much of your time at the Academy. Have you enjoyed your time here, and your new friends? Truly?”
Ebon frowned. “Of course. Does it seem otherwise? I am happier here than ever at home.”
Halab’s gaze was fixed on his, and her eyes had grown sharp. “Yet it seems to me I hear something behind your words, some source of discontent that troubles you. Do my senses deceive me?”
Ebon balked. She was right, of course. But how to tell her? He owed his father little in the way of loyalty, but still did not wish to trouble her with such matters. For he was her brother, and it was not well to speak ill of kin to kin.
Halab sighed and put down her goblet. “I see you do not deny it, and now I see your reluctance to speak. Let me, then, hazard a guess, for recently I have spoken with Mako.”
The blood must have drained from his face, fear tingled in his fingers. If Halab knew what Ebon had been up to, mayhap she meant to withdraw him from the Academy. Was that her true purpose on this visit to the Seat?
But Halab pressed on before he could answer. “He has told me that your father sent instructions, through Mako, to deliver a parcel. I know little more than this, for neither did Mako. Is this true?”
“Yes, Aunt.” Ebon’s voice betrayed him.
She leaned forwards and patted his hand. “There, nephew. Do not worry yourself about such things. Though we may never know the truth behind your errand, do you truly believe your father would use you for some evil end? Surely you cannot think that badly of him.”
“Of course not, Halab.” Ebon’s words sounded hollow even in his own ears, and from the look in her eyes, she heard it.
“Shay has always enjoyed his little schemes, even when we were children. They may be cloaked in secrecy, but they are always harmless. And if he should send Mako again, you should not hesitate to obey him. After all, it is by my brother’s grace that you are able to attend the Academy at all. I spoke on your behalf, of course, for he did not welcome the idea. But if Shay insists, he could withdraw you from the Academy and have you brought home. I do not believe either one of us wishes for that.”
“No, certainly not,” said Ebon, shaking his head.
“Good. Then serve your father as he wishes. It is a small price to pay. Now, I have had the attendants tending carefully to the roses. I shall show you the garden.”
Ebon rose to follow Halab down and into the garden, smiling through the day, as the sun surrendered first to dusk and then to moonslight, but Ebon thought hard upon her words, and wondered when Mako might come for him next.
The next day, as soon as Ebon could find Kalem and Theren in the dining hall, he told them what had happened. At first they were both keenly interested in the High King’s army marching forth, but their moods dampened as he shared Halab’s words. Kalem looked bemused, but Theren troubled.
“I take this for good news,” said Kalem. “If you have done nothing wrong, then you have nothing to fear.”
“A foolish notion,” Theren argued. “Many heads have rolled free from bodies that committed no evil. Something dark has indeed transpired, and your aunt seeks to distract you.”
Kalem looked confused. “I thought you said your aunt was one of the kind ones in your family.”
“She is,” said Ebon. “No worse than I, certainly. Therefore I think you are half-right, Theren. I think my father works some dark plot, but keeps it concealed from her. I only wish to know what it is.”
“You do not suppose anyone in your family knows what we have been up to?” Kalem asked, his voice quivering. “If that truth becomes known, I do not think any of us will remain students for long.”
“You worry overmuch about nothing,” said Theren. “If they knew what we did, and meant to expel us, it would have happened already.”
“Unless they cannot prove it,” said Kalem.
Theren shook him by the shoulder. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Since when have the rich needed proof or just cause to punish those who displeased them? Certainly they would not hesitate to cast me from this place, though I do not doubt Ebon would remain.”
“What?” Ebon frowned. “Why me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Come now, goldbag. You are a Drayden, as is the Dean. Now he even begins to take secret meals with you. Surely you cannot still think to deny that you have his favor?”
“He has not ‘taken meals’ with me,” said Ebon angrily. “He ate with me once, and only to obtain information. I tell you, my family cares nothing for me. Why do you still take me for a favored son?”
Theren shrugged. “All sons are favored whose cribs are lined with gold.”
Ebon slammed his bowl on the table. Students around them grew silent. “I think I have had quite enough of your small-minded scorn.”
He stood and swept away, leaving his dishes behind.
Let her clean up after me, for once.
twenty-five
THE NEXT TWO DAYS WERE terrible, as Ebon was forced to avoid Theren in the dining hall and in the Academy passageways. Whenever he saw her heading towards him, he would cast his eyes to the floor, turn if he could, or hurry by without speaking. Theren, for her part, seemed content to ignore Ebon as well.
He still spent his days in the library with Kalem, for he had no gripe with the boy, and Kalem seemed equally miserable. Again and again he tried to convince Ebon that he should reconcile with Theren. But only to himself would Ebon admit that he was sorely tempted; Theren and Kalem were his only friends here. But no matter what they went through together, it seemed she would never see him as anything more than some rich and pampered child, worthy only of her scorn.
Where once he had visited Theren and Kalem in the common room outside of Kalem’s dormitory, now Ebon spent most of his evenings wandering the training grounds. They were extensive enough that he could go for hours without seeing another soul, if he was careful to avoid them. There were hedges and bushes, planted to separate the training grounds, into which Ebon could easily lose himself.
As moonslight lit the grounds on the second day since his quarrel with Theren, Ebon sat on a bench near the Academy’s outer wall. It was nowhere near the sheds Theren used to sneak out at night—he had made certain of that. He rested upon a bench, leaning back against the granite wall and picking at his fingernails. But he saw nothing, for his thoughts were far away: on his sister Albi back home, on the smoldering anger in Theren’s eye when he saw her now, and especially on Halab and Mako and his father.
A sound pulled his mind to the present: the snap of a twig in a nearby bush. His gaze drifted to the sound, and he sat forwards. “Who is there?”
No answer came, but Ebon thought he heard rustling leaves. His pulse quickened, and he pushed himself up from the bench. Hands clenched to fists, but he hesitated. Perhaps he had heard nothing, and was merely being ridiculous.
An unseen force gathered him up from the ground, hurled him through the air, and slammed him into the outer wall. His breath left him as he crashed to the grass. Before he could find his feet, the unseen force struck again—this time as a hammer blow to his face. He felt his lip split on his teeth, and blood spattered the stone.
“What—” he managed to stammer, before another invisible blow struck him in the gut. He cried out, tears spilling unbidden from his eyes. At last he recognized it for mind magic. Theren? It seemed impossible. She was angry with him, but surely not this angry.
The force lifted Ebon, pressed him against the wall, and held him. Through glazed eyes he looked down. But it was not Theren he saw.
“You saw her,” rasped the Dean. Though his eyes glowed, Ebon could see the hatred twisting his brow. “You saw Halab. You spent the better part of a day with her, and yet you did not tell me.”
“I…what?” Ebon had utterly forgotten the Dean’s request to inform him of his dealings with the Draydens.
He flew a pace away from the wall and then came crashing back. His head struck the stone hard, and stars exploded in his vision.
“Impudent whelp. Did I not tell you? Did I not ask you, ever so kindly, to tell me if you spoke to our family? I did, and yet you disobeyed. I knew you were in league with them. I knew you had the ear of your precious aunt. Tell me why they have cut me off. Tell me why they no longer answer my letters, no matter how many I send. Tell me!”
Again he slammed Ebon into the wall, and then the invisible strings vanished. Ebon fell forwards, so senseless he could not even break his fall. The grass cushioned his landing, but still it felt as though he had been punched in the chest. Barely able to see, Ebon pushed himself up to his elbows.
“She told me nothing,” he said, voice coming thick and bubbly through the blood gushing from his lip. “She said nothing of you. I do not know what has—”
His limbs were seized, and Ebon rose into the air, not too high—no doubt the Dean feared to lift him into view of any students who might be in the training grounds—but he could go much, much higher if Cyrus so wished it.
“You lie. You are in league with them. You were sent here to spy on me!”
“I was not,” Ebon said, now sobbing. “I do not know why I was sent here. Halab said nothing to me of you. I swear it. She asked only after my studies.”
“Tell me the truth, or I will throw you over the wall, and let you splatter to soup on the pavement beyond! This is your last chance. Tell me what you and Halab spoke of.”
“I swear it! I swear it to you!” His guts churned in shame, but Ebon could not stop himself from crying, crying as he had not since he was a little boy, and word had come of Momen’s fate; killed in some far-off land, a battle far from home and family. Now Ebon faced the same fate.
Cyrus studied him, his face twisted in fury. Then he relaxed and lowered his hands from where they had been twisted to claws before him. The glow died from his eyes. Ebon crashed back to the dirt, and lay there shaking.
“A pathetic boy you prove indeed,” snarled Cyrus. “No subterfuge can be that complete. I wager if I stepped closer, I could smell that you have soiled yourself.”
Ebon offered no answer, pressing his face deeper into the grass, groveling. He waited for Cyrus to continue, but no words came. After a time he looked up, only to find that the Dean had vanished into the darkness. His face fell back to the ground, and Ebon wept until his tears had soaked the grass, mingling with the blood still flowing freely from his mouth.
He heard quick footsteps growing louder, before hands seized his shoulders and rolled him onto his back.
“No! No, please, I swear I know nothing!”
“Shush!” Theren dragged him to a sitting position, and then pulled him close. There she held him, his face pressed into her shoulder, uncaring of the blood and tears soaking into her robe. “Shush,” she repeated, now rocking him like a mother to her babe. Ebon clutched Theren like a wall in an earthquake, and sobbed.
It was a long while before his tears finally subsided. When they did, he sat back, and to his shock saw that Theren, too, was weeping. She tried to hide it, swiping a sleeve across her cheeks, but Ebon could see where her tears had left their marks, and the red of her eyes in the moonslight.
“I saw him,” she said, her voice shaking. “I saw it all. Forgive me, Ebon. I wanted to intervene, but I was so afraid. He is the Dean…he is more than a match for me, and I…forgive me.”
She clutched at Ebon again, and he found himself comforting her in turn. “I forgive you,” he murmured. “I would have been just as scare
d.”
“You are not even a wizard yet. I am a mindmage. Mayhap I could have stopped him. If he had tried to send you over the wall, as he threatened, I would have torn down the Academy to stop him.”
“I know you would,” Ebon said, pushing Theren back and looking into her eyes. “I know it. You are my friend, after all, are you not?”
She gently pounded his chest with hers. “A terrible friend I have proved to be. Too craven to stand in your defense, and too arrogant to believe what you said about your family.”
“Ah,” said Ebon, forcing himself to smile. “So at last you believe me when I say I am no pampered, favored son of the Draydens?”
“I should say so.” She laughed despite herself, and swiped at her nose with a sleeve. Then her tears welled anew, and she looked away, as though unable to meet his eyes. “Ebon, I wanted so badly to help you. But I would have been expelled.”
“Yes, you would have. As I said, I might have done the same.”
“No, that is not all I meant. Ebon, leaving the Academy would be the worst thing that could happen to me. I doubt the Dean could have killed me, but he could have sent me away. And I fear that more than death itself.”
Ebon frowned. “Why?”
Theren stood instead of answering, and then helped Ebon to the bench nearby. Together they sat. Still she said nothing, her hands pressed together, gaze far away, as Ebon’s had been before the attack.
“When I discovered my gift,” she finally said, speaking slowly, “I was living on the streets of a city called Cabrus.”
“It is in Selvan, is it not?”
“It is, and no decent place for an orphaned girl. I fled the orphanage when I was young, for the matron there was cruel to us. But on the streets I found someone far worse: a weremage who tried to kill any urchin girls she found. I avoided her as long as I could, hoping to one day find passage from the city and finally out of her grasp. That is when I learned of my gift, and before long, word reached my patron.
The Alchemist's Touch Page 18
