Crow could be short-tempered, unreasonable, intimidating, pompous, and impatient. Like Abelard.
Or Gryphon, Han thought, once again undecided. Crow was bitter and sarcastic—just like Gryphon.
Crow’s flat expression didn’t change. “I don’t know why it’s so important that you know who I am.” He rolled his eyes. “The charms are real, aren’t they? They work, don’t they?”
“Yes.” Han nodded. “They work.” It was true. Crow’s charms worked very well, in Aediion and out. So well that Han’s masters were amazed by his rapid progress.
“If I guess who you are, will you tell me?” Han said.
Crow smiled—he could be a charmer when he tried. “You are relentless, Alister. I like that about you.”
Abelard, Han thought again. “What kind of name is Crow for a blueblood, anyway?” he said.
“You know how crows are,” Crow said, his smile fading. “They pick over the bones of the dead.” He stood, head down, as if lost in memory, the light through the window extinguishing itself in his hair.
What’d they do to you, Crow? Han wondered. Could it possibly be worse than what they did to me?
Crow might be bitter, but he was also focused, determined, persistent, brilliant, hardworking, thorough, and incredibly knowledgeable.
Crow still sometimes crowded into Han’s head without permission, to demonstrate some difficult bit of spellwork. It may have been convenient for Crow, but it left Han feeling invaded. Crow often did it when Han was nearly drained of power.
Sometimes after their sessions, Han felt like he’d been drinking turtle’d cider. There were huge holes in his memory—time passing that he couldn’t account for. He felt as though his mind had been trampled and reshaped.
I’ve got to find out how to keep him out of my head, Han decided. But it was unlikely that Crow would show him that trick.
They always met in the same place—the Mystwerk Hall bell tower. Dancer had kept watch for Han the first few times, but Han had shooed him off after that. Dancer had his own work to do. He couldn’t be sitting up every night, holding Han’s hand.
Han found a new crib among the dusty stacks high in Bayar Library, where they kept texts and records so old and strange that no one ever used them. He set up a back room with a pallet and dragged a table up from three floors below. It was easier to get to than Mystwerk Tower, and he didn’t have to worry about the bell-ringers stumbling across his empty body. It amused him to lay claim to a bit of Bayar Library.
Three or four nights a week Han slipped away to his hideaway, crossed into Aediion, and worked like a slave until his amulet was totally drained.
It posed a problem since his daytime classes required power. It was all he could do to replenish his flash between late-night sessions. Gryphon never missed an opportunity to take a poke at him when his depleted amulet failed to produce.
Crow seemed to have unlimited energy. Of course he did. Han did all the work.
In the mornings he’d often wake bone-weary; half-remembered dreams still circulating in his head, feeling like he’d worked all night. Sometimes he failed to wake on time. He’d go straight to class from the library in the same clothes he’d worn the day before. Several times he’d been late to Gryphon’s class, which, unfortunately, was the first of the day.
When Han stayed away all night, Dancer assumed he was seeing a girlie and didn’t want company. Wrong, Han thought. I’m living like a dedicate.
He and Crow would agree on a four-hour session and Crow would keep him for six. He’d keep at it until Han’s amulet was wrung dry and Han was limp and dizzy, then complain that Han needed to pack in more power the next time.
Crow’s barbs always rankled because Han was hungry for knowledge. He’d never worked so hard in his life. We could get a lot more done, Han thought, if we could trust each other. If we didn’t spend so much time carping at each other. It’s like we both want to be gang lord.
“Alister!” Crow’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You’re in a stupor.”
“Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” Han said. “Thank you for the lesson.” Taking hold of his amulet, he spoke the closing charm.
And opened his eyes to find light streaming in through the library windows.
He sat bolt upright, swearing. What time was it, anyway? The last thing he needed was to be late to Gryphon’s class. Again.
As if to answer his question, the bells in Mystwerk Tower began to sound. Bong-bong-bong, he counted to eight.
Bones. He was in trouble.
He didn’t have time to pick his way across the roofs. He barreled down the narrow staircases, circling around and around to the ground floor. Fortunately, there was no proficient on duty yet. He plowed through the front doors and smashed right into Fiona Bayar, nearly knocking her to the ground.
He grabbed hold of her arm to keep her upright. “Sorry, I — ah — didn’t see you.”
Mam was right, he thought. You are demon-cursed.
Fiona was nearly as tall as Han, so she looked him straight in the eyes. “Just because you’re late to class, Alister, doesn’t mean you can run people over,” she said. She looked down at his hand on her arm, and he let go quickly.
Han jerked his head toward Mystwerk Hall. “Come on. We’re late as is.”
“What were you doing in the library?” she asked.
“Getting an early start on my reading.”
“The library isn’t even open yet.”
“That way it’s nice and quiet.” Han began walking, not looking back to see if she was following.
“Your face is improved,” Fiona said, trotting to catch up. When he said nothing, she persisted. “The sling is gone, so I assume your broken arm is healed?”
“Collarbone, actually,” Han said. It gave him twinges now and then.
“What exactly happened?” she asked as they entered Mystwerk Hall.
“I tripped on the stairs.”
Fiona snorted.
“No, really,” he said. “Ask your brother.” They mounted the steps to the lecture hall.
“That should never have happened,” Fiona said. “My brother doesn’t always think things through.”
Han grabbed the rail to keep from stumbling. Was she saying she was sorry?
“Our father won’t be happy when he hears,” Fiona went on, as if listening in on his thoughts. “He wants you brought back alive for questioning before you’re hanged for murder.”
“Hey now, fair’s fair,” he said as he opened the door to the lecture hall. “If I do the dangle stretch for murder, then so should Lord Bayar.”
His voice seemed to echo through the quiet lecture hall. Heads turned. Micah Bayar left off slouching and sat forward, hands braced against his knees, staring at them.
Gryphon had been speaking, but his voice drained away into a charged silence as Han and Fiona made their way to separate seats. “Newling Alister, Lady Bayar. You are late.”
And some demon spirit made Han say, “Sorry, sir. Lady Bayar needed help with her homework.”
Fiona shot an incredulous look at him from across the room.
Gryphon gazed at him for a long moment, his surreal turquoise eyes standing out against his pale face. “You, Alister, have been late four times in the past two weeks. It seems you would rather sleep in than come to class. Perhaps you think this is a waste of time. Perhaps you believe you’ve gone far beyond our flimsy efforts.”
“No, sir, that’s not true,” Han said. “It’s just I’ve been up late, working and—”
“Then summarize chapter nine for us.” Gryphon thrust his head forward like a predatory bird.
“Chapter nine.” Han wet his lips. He hadn’t opened Kinley, in fact. He’d been up all night with Crow. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I haven’t read it.”
“No?” Gryphon raised an eyebrow. He scribbled something on a piece of paper, folded it, and pushed it to the front of the lectern. “You are excused from this class for the balanc
e of the term. Please take this note to Dean Abelard’s office. Fifth floor.”
Dean Abelard’s office was three floors up from the lecture hall. Han dragged his feet all the way like a small child sent for a whipping. He’d seen the dean in their study group, week after week, but he’d avoided any more one-on-ones with her.
Of all his classes, Gryphon’s was the one he wanted to stay in. Charms, spellwork, use of amulets—aside from Abelard’s study group, it seemed in line with his purposes. He was learning from Crow, but he didn’t want to have to rely on him for his magical education. He wanted to go beyond defense and killing charms.
When the proficient ushered him into Abelard’s office, the dean was finishing up a bit of correspondence. “Sit, Alister,” she said, waving him to a chair.
He sat.
Abelard sat back in her chair, resting her hands on the edge of the desk. “Well? What is it this time? Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”
He handed her the note. “Master Gryphon booted me from class for being late.”
Abelard scanned the note. “I see. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“I was late. I overslept.”
“Hmm.” She dropped the note on the desk. “I understand that your attendance in class has become erratic. You are constantly late. And yet your performance on examinations and practica is far superior to that of your peers. How do you explain that?”
Han shrugged. “I work hard. That’s why I overslept. I was up late.”
“Then you arrive in class exhausted, your amulet nearly depleted,” Abelard said.
“I try to load it up. Maybe I’m just not all that powerful.” Han looked down at the desk.
“Perhaps you are not being challenged in your classes?” Abelard tapped her fingers against Gryphon’s note.
“No, that an’t it. I get a lot out of Gryphon’s class. I meant to be on time. I just miscalculated.”
“Who else are you working with, Alister?” Abelard said softly. “Is someone mentoring you?”
Han conjured a puzzled look. “My teachers are the same as everyone else’s. Gryphon, Leontus, Firesmith —”
“Don’t lie to me,” the dean said, eyes glittering. “I have the power to make your life very, very difficult.”
“I read a lot,” Han said. “Ask anyone. I’m always in the library.” He looked up at her. “If I’m going to play bravo for you, I need to study up if I want to stay alive.”
They gazed at each other for a long moment, and Abelard looked away first. “Would you like me to rescind Master Gryphon’s order?” she asked, pulling a pot of ink toward her and picking up a pen.
Han shook his head. “No, thanks.”
Abelard tilted her head. “Why not?”
“Gryphon’s right,” he said. “I can’t be late to class all the time. It was fair, what Gryphon did, even if I don’t like it.”
Abelard leaned forward. “If you’re concerned that Master Gryphon will be angry if I intervene, let me assure you that—”
“But I would like to come back to class in the spring term,” Han interrupted. “Maybe you can put in a word for me on that.”
“Of course,” she said, making a note.
“Good.” Han smiled. “Is there anything else?” He made as if to get to his feet.
“I want you to teach the study group next term,” Abelard said abruptly. “The topic will be travel to Aediion.”
Bones. “Dean Abelard, I don’t think that’s—”
Abelard raised her hand to stop his speech. “I understand that your success may be due to your amulet. Still, I would like you to coach the other members of the circle. If even a few of us can master the technique, it would be most useful for communication throughout the Seven Realms. One day soon we may have better tools in our arsenal.”
“It’s a waste of time,” Han protested. “Master Gryphon’s already covered that, and likely everyone in the study group has tried it.”
“I’m not giving you a choice,” Abelard said. “You’ll have plenty of time to prepare. But be ready in the spring.”
Han stuffed down more arguments, and nodded. “All right.”
Abelard still gazed at him, tapping her long fingernails on the desk blotter. “Alister, you are difficult to read. Clearly you carry wizard blood. You look like a pureblood. You haven’t mentioned your father. Is it possible your mother coupled with—”
“No,” Han said, suddenly desperate to get out of her presence. “It an’t possible. My father was a soldier, and he died in Arden.” He stood. “If there’s nothing else —”
“That’s all.” Abelard dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
“What happened with Dean Abelard?” Dancer asked when they left Fulgrim’s class and walked toward the dining hall.
“I’m out of Gryphon’s class till end of term,” Han said. “That’s just another week. She’ll get me back in for spring.”
Dancer nodded. “Could be worse.”
It is worse, Han thought. His head ached and swirled with worry.
“If you slept at Hampton, I could make sure you got up,” Dancer offered.
“It an’t your job to nanny me,” Han growled. He felt as fragile as a pane of glass, shattered into shards that no longer fit together.
“I’m your friend,” Dancer said, matching Han’s longer strides. “It’s my job to help you if I can. Like you would help me.”
Han sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Thank you. Maybe we can try that after winter break.”
Cat was waiting for them in front of the dining hall. Two or three times a week, at least, Han ate lunch with Cat and Dancer. At first he’d felt like a referee, deflecting Cat’s digs and insults. But that died down as Cat realized that slinging slurs at Dancer was unsatisfying. They just slid off him.
Cat seemed to be thriving. She’d stopped displaying her knives on the outside of her tunic, though Han knew she still had some hidden away. Her eyes were clear of turtleweed and razorleaf and the effects of too much drink.
I’m glad we convinced her to come here, Han thought. Whatever else happens, that’s one thing I did right.
Just now, Cat was all crinkle-faced, as if she had a secret she was bursting to tell, or a question she was dying to ask, but couldn’t decide how to spring it. They carried their plates over and sat at their usual table by the window.
Han didn’t have the energy to pry it out of her, so he ate his meal in silence, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand.
And Dancer wouldn’t ask. He pretended not to notice, though there wasn’t much he didn’t notice about Cat. Instead, he launched into a long description of the talisman he was making with Master Firesmith, something that would protect a dwelling from flame.
Cat rolled her eyes and looked at Han, as if hoping to change the subject. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’ve been booted from Gryphon’s class for the rest of the term,” Han said.
“That’s it?” Cat squinted at Han, as if she didn’t believe him.
Han shrugged. “That’s why I’m here. To learn wizardry.”
“I thought maybe your blueblood girlie broke your heart,” Cat said, smirking.
This caught Han’s attention. He looked up at Cat. “What blue-blood girlie?”
“Well, I knew you was walking out with someone, because you’re out nearly every night, leaving me with this copperhead all the time.” She jerked her head toward Dancer. “Last night, I finally figured out who it was.”
“Who?” Han asked, mystified. He glanced at Dancer, who looked just as puzzled.
“Rebecca,” Cat said triumphantly.
“Rebecca who?”
Cat gave him a “This is me, remember?” kind of look. “Rebecca Morley, you snake. I saw her outside the Temple School last night.”
“She’s here? In Oden’s Ford?” Han stared at her. His heart thudded against his ribs so loud it seemed like the other two would hear it.
“Well, th
at’s where the Temple School is, an’t it?” Cat drew her brows together. “You an’t been seeing her?”
Han shook his head. “No. I didn’t even know she was here.”
“Oh.” Cat grimaced and dug into her potatoes, as if that were the end of that.
Han’s mind raced. He thought he’d seen Rebecca outside of the stables, the day they’d arrived at Oden’s Ford. He’d dismissed it because it didn’t make sense.
“You’re sure it was her?”
Cat nodded, chewing.
“Why was she there?” Han asked. “Is she going to the Temple School?” It was possible, though he would’ve thought she’d go to Southbridge or the Cathedral School back home.
Cat shook her head. “She was wearing a dirtback uniform.”
“She’s at Wien House? That’s not likely.” Though she could be fierce, Rebecca was small and lightweight. Not really soldier material.
“I can’t help that,” Cat said, scowling. “That’s what she wore.”
“What was she doing at the Temple School?” Han asked.
Cat shifted in her seat. “Well, glad I cheered you up, anyways,” she said. “You don’t look so hangdog as before.”
“Cat.”
“She was — she was spying on that Corporal Byrne.”
Corporal Byrne was here too? “She was spying on him. What was he doing?”
Cat gave up. “Corporal Byrne has been walking out with Annamaya. You met her, remember? At the Temple School? He’s been coming by regular, twice a week. They never do anything but hold hands, all formal-like.” She rolled her eyes as if to say, What’s the point?
“So I’m coming up the walk to the dormitory, and I see somebody crawling behind the shrubbery, peering in the parlor window. I look through the window and see Corporal Byrne sitting with Annamaya. And the girlie was Rebecca, spying on them.”
“The Corporal Byrne from Southbridge, right?”
“That’s the only one I know.”
Han couldn’t picture that Corporal Byrne cheating on Rebecca. Or keeping two girlies on the line.
Exiled Queen, The Page 31
