After he took a searing hot bath, Arram joined Preet in his room and plunged into sleep. He regretted it. In his dreams he drifted in the river without protection, inhaling water, dropping to the bottom, and sinking into soft, lumpy mud. Several times he bumped into Faziy’s unwrapped corpse, chained to its rock. The last time he was her body. He was still alive, screaming, and drowning as he fought the chains. Lightning snakes darted everywhere, trying to free him, but they only passed through his bonds.
This time, when he woke, he knew it was a couple of hours until dawn. Preet, normally a sound sleeper, was perched on his chest, cheeping anxiously.
“I’m sorry, Preet,” he murmured. He looked over the edge of the bed. Sunstone was there as well. Arram had yet to figure out how the tortoise got into the room when his door was firmly shut. “I’m sorry, Sunstone. Bad dreams, that’s all.” The tortoise wandered out, grumbling to himself.
Rather than risk more dreams, Arram gathered up his things. “I’m going to take another bath,” he told Preet. “You can come with me and sleep there, or you can meet me at Master Yadeen’s.”
Preet hopped onto his book bag, choosing to come along.
Yadeen frowned when the wet-haired Arram arrived for his lesson. “I would have thought you’d bathed last night.”
“I did,” Arram said, heading for the teapot. Yadeen already had his large cup in his hands. “And again this morning.” The roll of distant thunder reminded him of lightning snakes, but he had more urgent questions. “Sir, did you find out what killed Master Faziy?”
Yadeen, caught in the act of drinking tea, choked slightly and lowered his cup. “I recall Sebo telling us you are never to mention this again.” He raised his free hand and wrote two signs in the air. Instantly Arram felt the tightening of his skin that meant Yadeen had enclosed his workshop in protections against eavesdroppers.
Reminded, Arram made a rueful face. “You were there. I thought it would be all right if I spoke of it to you.”
“You are braver than me,” Yadeen said. “I would not want the old woman angry with me.” He sighed. “Drink your tea. You look about to fall over.” As Arram obeyed, Yadeen said, “They will get nothing from Faziy’s body. The mages who killed her melted her brain before they sank her. Sometimes it’s possible to find the memories of the dead, but she was in the water for weeks. Any memories are a shot drawn at venture after so long. They made sure the shot would have nothing to strike.”
Arram couldn’t tell what was more fascinating, that memories could be gathered after the spirit had gone on to the Black God’s realm, or that the brain could be melted in its skull. “And there’s no way to untwine the magics in the wrappings, to see who belongs to what?” he asked, deciding to get all of his questions out of the way. “They were all blended together, so I couldn’t even tell what they were.”
“No,” Yadeen replied. “It was a very well-constructed plot.”
Arram chewed his lip. Three weeks ago the lightning snakes had not visited him when the great storm rolled over the university and struck Prince Stiloit’s fleet. If the storm had been a normal storm, nothing would have interfered with a visit from the snakes.
“Sir, do lightning snakes prefer storms when mages are mucking with them? Or are there mages who can trap lightning—including the snakes—and wield it deliberately? Make it go where they want it to go?”
“Why do you ask?” Yadeen leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Arram.
He told him what he’d told Sebo: how he’d called the lightning snakes and they hadn’t come.
Yadeen looked up as approaching thunder rolled. “Outside. Preet, stay here.”
Arram began to shed his robe in resignation. He was going to get wet again.
“Good idea,” said Yadeen. He stripped off his shirt. Arram did the same, even though his next class was with Cosmas, who would dry off the rest of him. Or perhaps this time Cosmas would teach him how to do it for himself.
Yadeen led him out to the practice area where Arram had accidentally shown lightning snakes to Chioké and Ozorne. They waited in silence as the thunder boomed closer and closer. Finally Yadeen said, “Call them,” and stepped away.
Arram reached up and silently called, imagining the long, jagged strokes against the sky, splitting into forks and lesser branches. His Gift flew out from his fingers, shaping the same kind of strokes in the air as it reached for the purple-black thunderheads. Light flashed behind the heaped clouds as they rolled forward; noise made the ground beneath his feet shiver. The wind whipped his hair, the long grasses around the edges of the field, and the trees on the far side. Arram grinned in exultation. For a moment he forgot about the grim day before, enjoying the sound and sight of the storm.
He saw bolts of lightning strike out of the clouds and vanish, except for a few. These walked forward through the air as if they felt their way. He called again. Thunder crashed. Solid whips of lightning joined the first, stretching and splitting as they reached out. When the first delicate fingertips touched Arram, his hair stood up. Then the hands surrounded him, the spirits that came with them giggling and asking him to admire their shapes, their thunder, and their clouds.
He assured them that he did. Then, taking a chance, he asked, “Are there ways you can be trapped to do someone’s bidding?”
They vanished, and the clouds opened up. Arram reached out, catching one laggardly streak. “Please! I didn’t mean I would do it, ever!” he explained as it flickered in the hold of his Gift. It stung fiercely; had it been larger it would have hurt him badly. “Tell the others that. I need to know if someone did do it recently. I swear by the Hag I would never take advantage of you that way!” His mouth trembled. It was Faziy who had told him that the snakes answered to the local trickster god.
The whip of lightning hesitated, shimmering. Then it reached down and curled around his wrist. Silently it replied, It was done. The moon was half full.
Arram released it and looked for Yadeen.
When they were back inside, Arram repeated the lightning snake’s words. Then he said, “What if Faziy called lightning snakes three weeks ago?” He was about to ask, “What if she turned the storm and the snakes on the fleet?” but Yadeen gestured. Arram closed his mouth.
“I know what you were about to say,” Yadeen murmured. He made a far deeper impression than if he’d shouted. “Never speak of it, do you understand? If it is true, there is no way to prove such a thing. They still made certain Faziy would never speak. Stiloit had enemies, powerful ones. The kind of men and women who could pay a cabal of mages to drown any number of ships to kill one man. Do you think they would stop at one student?”
Arram gulped. “No, sir.”
“I will see to this. But do not investigate further, understand?”
Arram nodded, though he couldn’t help but think, What if these people go after Ozorne? What if Mikrom thinks Ozorne is trying to get rid of everyone between him and the throne? Or that his mother is the plotter?
It wouldn’t be the first time a Carthaki heir chose to rid himself of those who were next in line. Emperor Mesaraz’s grandfather had done just that, the truth coming out only after he was on the throne.
Had Stiloit faked his death by drowning, planning to hide until he had rid himself of Ozorne and Mikrom? That had happened at least twice in Carthaki imperial history. In fact, the entire history of the Carthaki throne tended to be a bloody one.
What if Ozorne was killed because he didn’t know his danger?
Somehow Arram struggled through his afternoon classes and retreated to the baths for another soak. When he finally reached his room, hoping for a brief nap, he found Lindhall’s area in an uproar.
Servants were carrying boxes out of the rooms across the hall. Three men in the uniform of the Imperial Guard, the elite soldiers who guarded the emperor and his heir, stood on either side of the door, eyeing the servants. Here in the university, where weapons were viewed as a source of trouble and, worse, an inspiration for mistakes, these forbidding individuals were armed. They carried short swords and at least three daggers, one in the belt and one in each black leather boot. Shimmering on their belts revealed magic: Arram sharpened his gaze and discovered protective spells keyed to spoken words, not the men’s Gift, for they had none. These spells were the kind that would spread to cover people closest to the men who wore them.
He was so engrossed that he didn’t pay attention to the third guard until the man crossed the hall and grabbed his arm. “Here, you,” the soldier growled. “What’s your name and business here?”
Preet began to scream in alarm. A large dog who slept with one of Ozorne’s roommates leaped through the door and began to bark. The three-legged hound and the tiny blind dog who also shared the suite followed and added their barks to his. The guards unsheathed their swords.
Arram, terrified they would kill the animals, snapped the first spell he could think of around them. It thrust the guards down the hall. When they began to run back toward Arram, he used the same spell to keep them where they were.
“Mithros rising, what is going on?” shouted Ozorne, walking out of his room. “Sit, sit and be silent!” The dogs instantly obeyed. Ozorne rubbed his head. His hair was disheveled and his tunic smudged. “Arram, release my guards.”
“Your guards? Ozorne, what’s this?” Arram asked, still angry. He kept his spell’s grip on his captives. “Those men drew steel on the dogs and Preet! Who are they, and what is this? Who’s moving?”
“That would be me,” Ozorne said. “The emperor insists. If I’m to stay, I need a ground-floor room with more exits, and I must have guards. I’m not happy, but I wasn’t permitted to argue. Now, release the men, before they tell Uncle that you’re a danger. He might not remember that he likes you.”
Arram released the men, who ran to their charge. Ozorne snapped, “Sheathe those blades! Did you forget your orders? Only under real attack do they come out of their sheaths! And memorize this man’s face.” He pointed at Arram. “He is Arram Draper, my best friend, possibly the cleverest student at this university—except for me, of course.” He and Arram smiled at each other. The guards only bowed to Ozorne and turned their eyes on Arram. “The bird is Preet. Harm one feather on her head and I will ask my uncle for yours.”
“Ozorne!” Arram protested. These men could not know Ozorne’s sense of humor. They might believe he meant it.
Ozorne grimaced. “Arram as well as Varice Kingsford and Master Chioké may be permitted to my presence at any hour, understand? No questions. I don’t care if I’m sleeping.”
“Ozorne, does Lindhall know?” Arram asked as the soldiers bowed and separated to let the servants go by with their crates.
“Yes—he was there when the commander and Master Cosmas came with the happy news.” Ozorne slumped against the wall. “Look at it this way—now I have room for all of us to gather when we’re bored with the libraries.” He grabbed Arram’s arm and dragged him into Lindhall’s suite, shutting the door behind them. “I have to find the good in this, understand?” Ozorne slumped against the frame of Arram’s door. “I didn’t know it, but Chioké and Master Cosmas have been arguing with my uncle and my mother since we came out of isolated mourning for my cousin. They finally persuaded my family of how useful it would be to have an imperial heir who is also a mage. I had to swear all manner of oaths to let guards follow me everywhere.”
“Can you blame them?” Arram asked. He crouched to pet the three-legged dog. “Your mother and the emperor, I mean. The other heirs haven’t been particularly lucky.”
“No, only stupid or unhealthy,” his friend retorted.
“Ozorne!” Arram said, shocked.
“I’m not wrong, except where Stiloit is concerned. He was unlucky.”
Arram swallowed a lump in his throat. He wanted so badly to tell Ozorne that it was not at all a matter of luck for Stiloit.
The older boy scrubbed his face with his hands. “Listen, I’m all over dust. Why don’t I clean up? We can walk over to supper and then the library. At least I can get some studying done tonight.” He walked into the hall.
“But…your things,” Arram protested.
“I told these people where they go. They can arrange them better than I would anyway,” Ozorne said over his shoulder. His tone made Arram think that perhaps he was not as resigned to the presence of his guards as he claimed. “Oh,” he called, and came back to the door. “I have more news, the kind that delights you.”
“Better news than I won’t have you snoring across the hall?” Arram asked.
Ozorne’s grin was the essence of wickedness. “So much better than that,” he said. “Mother has moved her palace suite on a somewhat permanent basis. She means to entertain, and asked me to put you and Varice on notice. She wants you to attend the parties and dinners that she intends to stage for me.”
Arram whimpered. “She wouldn’t be happy with just one supper to say hello?” he managed to ask. Preet, on his shoulder, croaked her opinion. She knew she would never be allowed to attend such events, any more than Lindhall’s students’ dogs would be allowed. “I have the infirmary, as well as my lessons….”
“Oh, no,” Ozorne murmured. “She mentioned ‘bringing some life into the great barn.’ I don’t know where she got the idea you might bring life, but…” He shrugged. “Mothers.” He vanished into the suite of rooms again, the inside guard following. “For the time being, you can teach me the pushing spell you used on the guards!” Arram heard him call.
Arram let his head fall back until it banged the wall. “Mithros, Minoss, and Shakith,” he said, though what he prayed for he did not know. He shouted to Ozorne, “It’s only a mix of ordinary barrier spells and runes for movement, concentrated into one sigil that I wrote into my palm!”
“ ‘Only,’ he says,” one soldier growled.
On Saturday Arram went downstairs for a trip to the city’s biggest market. He and Preet joined Varice at the foot of the stairs. “He’s been shouting,” the young woman whispered behind her hand. Together they walked down to their friend’s new home. There eight guardsmen and a furious Ozorne waited in the hall.
“Ozorne?” Varice asked, smiling at the guards. “What’s going on?”
“According to our new ruler, Sergeant Okot”—Ozorne waved a hand at the sergeant, whose face was diplomatically blank—“according to him, this is how I am to go to the city, or I am not to go at all. Never mind that we’ve been perfectly safe without so much as a pocket picked for years!”
“Your Highness, you were not Prince Mikrom’s heir in that time, and your protection was not my responsibility,” the sergeant said. He spoke with the kind of patience that indicated this was not the first time he had made these arguments.
“My friends are as good as an army!” Ozorne snapped.
“If we aren’t visiting the book stalls or the spicers.” Varice tucked Ozorne’s arm in one of hers. “Really, shall we spend the day here while you scream like a gull? This poor man is only following orders from your mother and your imperial uncle. Or do you want to see if we can match those jade beads you like so much?”
Ozorne looked down at her. “How did you know I liked them?”
“Because you bought all the gem seller had in June, silly. He told you he’d have more in September. If he hasn’t been holding them for you all month, I am a bonobo.” Varice smiled at the sergeant. “He’s ready to go now.”
Okot ushered them outside to a waiting carriage, while Arram murmured to Varice, “Thank you.”
“I heard that,” Ozorne snapped. “You two don’t have to live with an extra clutch of people making your life their business.”
As Okot pointed Arram to the spot on Ozorne’s free side, Varice said pleasantly, “I know you’ll feel differently the first time someone tries to kill you, Ozorne. Sergeant, do you have a mage to check—” She raised a glittering hand and smiled. “Oh, you’re the one trained in the detection of poisons and poisoning spells.”
Arram could tell the sergeant was a mage, but he hadn’t tried to discover the man’s specialty, if he had one. Ozorne saved Arram’s pride by asking for himself: “How did you know he’s expert in poisons?”
Varice turned up her nose, looking very pleased with herself. “How do you lads think a kitchen witch would know?” she teased.
More calmly Ozorne asked, “Where did you study, Okot?”
The sergeant looked at Varice with respect. Bowing to Ozorne, he said, “I began at the City of the Gods on Tortall’s northern border. When they understood my Gift was best employed to protect and investigate, I was sent to Jindazhen and the countries of the West to learn what I could, and then to…other masters, closer to home. When I was judged fit to serve in a noble or royal house, I made my bow to the emperor.”
Varice sighed, the picture of a girl in love. “I don’t suppose— No, you must be far too busy.”
Okot raised his brows a touch. “Once the lads and I are settled in here, and with His Highness’s permission—”
Ozorne gave a bark of a laugh. “Far be it from me to stop Varice from adding another string to her bow, particularly when I hope to benefit!”
“He’s so good to me,” Varice told Okot.
“When I know my off-duty hours, I will let you know, mistress,” Okot said. “In the meantime, if you have not read it already, you may wish to look at Strange Things in My Stew by Farmer Cooper of Tortall. It was written three hundred years ago and is out of fashion, but there are things in it you will not find in the modern texts.”
“Wonderful!” Varice said. “Thank you so much, Sergeant!”
She is marvelous, Arram thought. This could have been a miserable outing, or no outing at all. Yet with a little flirtation, teasing, and honest curiosity, she made everyone feel better, even Ozorne. Even Okot.
Two men rode inside with them, the sergeant and another guard rode on top, and the other four rode around the carriage. It made for a quick ride down the broad city ways. City people, one of Arram’s patients had told him, learned to spot house insignia on horse gear and carriage doors, and to get out of the way.
The market was crowded by the time they reached it, though their guards created an uncomfortably large space around them. The young people poked through carts and shops unhampered, but the vendors did not have their usual cheerful smiles for Ozorne and his friends. Other customers made themselves scarce at the sight of soldiers clearly on watch, which meant the stall owners were losing money. Ozorne was steaming and about to explode. Arram suspected he had wanted to sneak off to see a tavern girl he had been visiting when away from the music student he courted at the university. Arram thought the soldiers might understand, but judging by the look on Ozorne’s face, the prince was in no mood to hear such advice.
They were crossing one of the broad fountain squares when Arram saw a ragged peddler burdened with a heavy load of wood. A wealthy-looking merchant turned abruptly, banging into the peddler. Furious, the man lashed the peddler’s arm with his walking stick. The poor man stumbled forward, through Sergeant Okot’s ring of guards.
The guard beside Arram drew his sword and used the hilt to shove the unfortunate man away. His voice friendly, he said, “Here, you, be about your—”
Off balance, the man fell into Ozorne.
The honey pastry Ozorne had been trying to eat went onto his silk shirt. He shoved the peddler just as the nearest guard seized the bundle of wood and yanked it off. Wailing, the peddler fell. He raised his feet to hold off any attackers, only to plant his muddy sandals on Ozorne’s new linen breeches.
Ozorne began kicking the peddler. He screamed insults that started with “Sirajit” until Arram threw a shield of his Gift between the prince and the man on the ground. The guard who had grabbed the bundle of wood dropped it and dragged the peddler away from Ozorne. Another of the guards helped Varice to her feet—someone had knocked her down. Okot shouted orders: instantly the remaining soldiers encircled Ozorne, facing outward. Okot bellowed for the gawking crowd to go about their business.
Ozorne rounded on Arram. His face, so often dreamy-eyed or amused, was red with fury. He clenched his hands into fists. “You dare!” he shouted at Arram. “You dare to use magic to thwart me!”
Arram let his shield vanish, though he feared Ozorne might strike him. “I was the only one who would,” he said mildly, his tone belying his shock at his friend’s behavior. “Okot told us he knows poisons best, and I don’t think Varice can manage that kind of shield spell.”
“Not that I can call up in a moment’s thought,” Varice said tartly, brushing her skirts with both hands. They came away streaked in mud. “Ozorne, what were you thinking? Now everything is ruined.”
Okot planted himself in front of their friend. His face was stone. “In truth, Your Highness, this proves what I tried to tell you. We cannot guard you properly in the market. It is too crowded. That could as easily have been an assassin. While we rid ourselves of him, watched your friends, and held off bystanders, a confederate could have killed you.” The man paused, then bowed and said, “With all respect due to you.”
Ozorne ground his teeth. Finally he said, “I can protect myself, you know.”
“Obviously,” the sergeant replied. His tone was very dry.
“I am a mage,” the prince insisted.
Okot bowed.
At last Ozorne said, “Well, I must return and change. Arram, Varice, there’s no reason to ruin your day.”
“I have to change, too,” Varice said tartly. “There’s no point in coming back by the time that’s done. Arram, if you’ll buy some things for me, I’ll cook us supper in Ozorne’s new hearth.”
Ozorne’s face brightened. He contributed money as Varice told Arram what she needed. Off they went, enclosed in a tight square of guards. Arram looked around and spotted the peddler. The man had only gone as far as the nearest water fountain, where he sat on the rim and wept. He’d lost most of his wood, and the urchins who awaited opportunity in the square had stolen it.
Arram crouched beside the peddler. “I’m sorry.” The man stared at him, frightened. His face was marred with bruises, his clothes ripped. “He’s not usually like that,” Arram told him. “But his cousin is dead, and the emperor has made him take guards wherever he goes. He’s not used to the change.” The peddler leaned away, obviously afraid Arram brought more bad news. “Here,” Arram said, offering a handful of his own silver coins. Nervously, the peddler held out his palm. Arram gave him the money. “That should cover the wood, and a healer, and a few days to rest. We’re really sorry.” The peddler said nothing, only stared at the coins in his hand. “Well, gods go with you.” Arram stood, dusting his hands off on his tunic. Seeing the peddler’s eyes widen in fear, he walked back so the man wouldn’t feel so intimidated by his height before he turned and headed off to do his errands.
One of them did not involve supper. He searched through the market until he found the grand main shop of Inlands Trading House. The guard outside moved to stop him, but Arram took a tip from Varice’s book. He knew he looked somewhat bedraggled, but the idea, she had once told him, was to act as if he were royalty, even in rags. He drew himself up, fingered the black opal necklace around his neck, and let his right sleeve slide back. At the beginning of the autumn term, Cosmas had presented him with a thin bracelet made of gold, threaded with sapphire, jet, and jade stones, just as Sebo had given him a bracelet of copper linking moonstone, celestite, and azurite. These were twined with the bracelet Arram had made with Yadeen and the Hag’s die, and supported magic of all kinds. Between the black opal necklace and the twined bracelet, the guard would recognize a mage of talent and let him pass—as this one did. “Never judge a mage by his clothes,” Hulak had told him once.
Arram looked around the shop until he saw a counter girl who reminded him of Faziy in her friendly, cheerful air. They talked a little over a shelf of opals before he asked her if she knew his friend and former teacher.
“I do, or I did,” the girl said, her eyes going dark with sadness. “We started at the training class on the same day—learning where all the company’s buildings are, and the docks, and who’s in charge. We even rented rooms together.” She sniffed. Arram provided her with a handkerchief and walked her to a display of jeweled figurines so the senior staff would stop looking at them.
“I was seeing a servant from one of the big houses over in the Moon District,” she whispered. “He bought us three nights in a nice inn, just the two of us. It was wonderful! I did tell her what we were going to do, just not where….” She sniffed again and wiped her nose. “When I got home, our rooms were all torn up, and she was gone. She hasn’t been back! I went to as many infirmaries as I could, and to the Imperial Guard….” She hung her head. “And then they told me that if I lost any more time from my work, they would have to find someone else.” Tears ran freely down her cheeks. “They said it must be robbers, or maybe they took her to sell her, and she’ll never be found.”
Arram bought a trinket—he forgot what it was—and told his new friend how to find him if she ever got word of Faziy. He was halfway back to the university before he remembered why his friends believed he had remained behind. He was only just able to race back and buy what they wanted before the markets closed.
That night he went to bed early, but not before he wrote up what the shopgirl had told him. He gave the paper to Cosmas and stood cold-faced as the master spoke impatiently about involving himself in something he was supposed to avoid. Finally Cosmas gave up and ordered Arram to leave early for the infirmary.
After talking the brawl over with Varice on Monday afternoon, Arram visited Sergeant Okot. The university had moved a batch of students to give Ozorne’s guards a headquarters across the hall from their charge. The area smelled of oil and leather. The common room was equipped with cushions, a few shelves of books, stands of sharpstones, leather, jars of oil, wooden practice swords, a slate with the guards’ schedules, and the sergeant’s desk and chair.
Arram tried not to be intimidated by the military atmosphere. Fidgeting, running his fingers through Preet’s feathers, he explained to Okot why it was wise to keep Ozorne away from those who looked even a little Sirajit.
The man looked up from papers he was reviewing. “Young sir, you think because you attend this overthought sprawl that you know more than a leatherfoot like me?” he asked, setting aside his feather pen. “You believe I don’t understand my work?”
Arram’s voice squeaked when he first tried it. Preet scolded the sergeant for frightening her friend.
“They told us no pets,” the sergeant said, holding up a finger. Preet fluttered over to it and continued to scold.
Arram tried to speak again and coughed.
“Oh, Hag’s droppings, drink this.” The man poured a cup full of water from his pitcher. “Stop carrying on. I don’t even have the right to flog you. And His Highness would have my sword if I laid a hand on you or the young lady.” He stroked Preet’s chest feathers with a thick finger. “Wouldn’t he, birdie? Yes, he would!”
Arram gulped the water and cleared his throat. “She isn’t a pet,” he explained, feeling calmer. “It’s like the dogs upstairs; they’re animals that were trusted to Lindhall for care, or animals he’s studying. That’s Preet. I report on her behavior for Lindhall.”
“Talkative little thing,” the sergeant said.
Reassured by the man’s gentleness with Preet, Arram explained, “I’m not telling you about your work, sir. Varice felt, after the market, that you should know Ozorne’s not normally that way. But if you could watch for anyone who looks to be…to save unpleasantness, just in case…”
The sergeant smiled up at him. “That pretty little girl makes all you fellows dance, doesn’t she? Don’t worry, lad. My men are used to palace details. But the market isn’t safe. You saw that. I made arrangements to get his favorite vendors to come here. All the royals do it.”
Arram stared at the man, shocked. “But they’ll have to haul their goods from the city in the weather, and lose business in the market!”
The sergeant shook his head. “You don’t know much about merchants, do you? They’re glad to do it. Put the little plaque that says ‘Favored by Prince Ozorne’ over their doors? Get the chance to let drop to their friends at the temples—just casual, mind!—how they can’t linger because they’re taking a batch of books up for the prince to look at? Be able to say, ‘You know, His Highness may want just that sort of thing. I’ll mention you to him’? They’re happy to sell goods later than usual in the city if they can brag of His Highness’s custom.”
Arram blinked. “Oh. Human nature.”
The sergeant nodded. “Human nature, lad. It’s a wonderful thing.” Handing Preet back to Arram, he added, “So’s the anger of a boy for the people that killed his father, particularly when he sees he might get to strike back at them.”
“But the ones who killed his father are dead,” Arram protested weakly.
“Not all,” the soldier replied. “Not their sons, or their nephews. My kin wiped out the last nest, and the emperor made peace. He knew they were ready to make peace. But that doesn’t mean we got them all, and it did naught for the men who came home missing a limb or loose in their wits. There’s plenty left if a prince wants his revenge.”
“Please don’t tell him that,” Arram said. “Those people have endured enough.”
“Not your worry, youngster. Leave it to the folk that sit on thrones and the ones that do their fighting for them.” Okot made a shooing motion with his hand. Arram was dismissed.
A month later Cosmas halted the fire magic class early and invited Arram and Varice to take a seat. He assumed his own desk chair and waited for Preet to settle herself in his lap. “How is Ozorne managing with his guard detail? Not too intrusive, I hope?”
Arram and Varice traded looks. Arram shrugged.
“It’s funny how such conspicuous men disappear in plain sight, Master,” Varice said for both of them. “Pranksters try to distract them and get them to talk, but most leave them be.” She dimpled. “Some of my friends were talking girl business before they realized Sergeant Okot was standing right behind them.”
Cosmas chuckled. “We did ask that Ozorne’s guards be discreet.”
“Have there been imperial heirs at the university before?” Arram inquired.
“Oh, yes, many times. Not recently, but Mesaraz was a student in the School of Law when his father was the heir. Sadly, Mesaraz was called to rule before he obtained his certificate, but his education is evident in the laws he has made, and the old ones he has rendered void. We are proud of him.” Cosmas looked into the distance, then shook off his thoughtful mood. “Now, you are invited to supper with Her Highness and Prince Ozorne. It takes place at the palace Water Pavilion on Saturday evening. Yadeen understands that you will not be in class on Sunday morning, Arram, just as I am excusing you both from mine.” He tapped a pair of parchments on his desk. Each was ornately addressed in gold ink, one to Arram and one to Varice. “I regret to say that Preet is not invited.”
The bird made a sound very much like a whine.
“Forgive me, lovely,” Cosmas told her, “but the princess was firm on the subject about ‘pets at a royal occasion.’ You may take dinner with some of my fellow masters and me. If you are very good, we will allow you to have some of the mead you like.”
“Mead!” Arram cried, shocked. “You’ve been giving her mead?!”
“It does her no harm,” Cosmas replied with dignity. “Lindhall approved, and it stops her from crying for you when you work at night in the infirmary. None of us would do anything to harm our Preet, would we, my dear?”
Preet ran her beak under Cosmas’s beard and chirred in content.
“Now, the instructions for how you are to travel are in your invitations,” Cosmas told them. “I know you will do us credit. Don’t forget the fifth chapter in your texts for tomorrow.”
As if the university clocks were set inside his head, the bells for the change of class began to ring. Once Preet had flown back to Arram’s shoulder, Cosmas linked his hands over his round belly and closed his eyes for his morning nap.
Arram waited until they were outside before he cried, “A party with the princess!”
Varice slung her arm around his waist. “Please don’t panic yet,” she begged. “I’ll let you know when to panic.”
When they arrived at the Water Pavilion, the princess greeted them with far more enthusiasm than they had ever seen her demonstrate. She even rose from her chair and walked over to them, smiling. “No formalities!” she said as she raised Arram from his bow and Varice from her curtsy. “My beloved son’s guard told me how you rescued him from that Sirajit dog’s insult!” She gripped Arram by the shoulders. “You in particular, dear boy.” She kissed him on both cheeks. “I know his household will be stronger with both of you there.” She took Varice’s hand in one of hers as she kept one on Arram’s shoulder. To Varice she said, “Those restoring soups and perfumes you make have done wonders for my health, my dear. Where would he be without both of you?”
“Where would I be, indeed?” Ozorne murmured in Arram’s ear as he came up beside him.
“But Your Highness, truly the man wasn’t—” Arram began.
Varice stepped lightly on his foot. Ozorne gripped his wrist, saying “Don’t” in his ear. In any event, the princess had not heard Arram’s attempt to say the peddler had not meant any insult. She was asking Varice if she knew any perfumes to protect the wearer from poisons.
“Anything that gets her to believe we shouldn’t be parted is a good thing,” Ozorne murmured when he was certain his mother wasn’t listening. “Otherwise she’ll try to bind me to a pair of fashionable stiff-necks who will always report to her. And we’re not sure that lout wasn’t going for me. Now, you and Varice sit here, on my left, until we go to supper. You both look very fine.”
“Varice looks very fine,” Arram said. “I look presentable.”
Their friend was lovely in a Northern-style pink silk gown embroidered down the front in silver Carthaki designs. A sheer pink silk veil was fixed to her hair with pins capped with tiny silver rosebuds, and she wore silver slippers. Compared to her, Arram was more somber in a dark gray tunic, and a dark blue coat and hose. Only when he turned under the lamps did onlookers see glints of silver woven into the garments, reminding him, at least, of a late-night sky.
Ozorne outshone them both, of course, in a bronze tunic and silver hose. The beads in his dark hair were silver and gold; his nails were gold; his bracelets were jeweled gold and silver; and his toe rings were gold and silver. Since he had become the second heir, his allowance had increased, which meant his wardrobe had grown more outrageous. Only his eye makeup was not gold or silver: instead he had put blacking on both sets of lids, so the orbs shone out of darkness.
“You look…nice,” Arram ventured. He couldn’t think of any better remark.
“Oh, it’s fun to play,” Ozorne said, regarding the other guests. “They’ve come to see if I’ll make trouble for Mikrom, you know. None of these people understand how a fellow would rather be a mage than lounge on a throne and scheme.”
“Just tell them,” Arram suggested.
Ozorne chuckled. “It doesn’t work that way. Chioké taught me—if you say something, they’re certain it’s the opposite. They can take the most innocent event and turn it into conspiracy.” He glanced at his mother, who was introducing Varice to a young nobleman. “She is in her element—Mother, not Varice,” he added hurriedly. “Ah! There’s Chioké. Excuse me for a moment?”
Arram watched Ozorne go to his mentor, nodding and smiling to guests who bowed or curtsied as he passed. Complain about court society as he might, Arram suspected that Ozorne had a wonderful time at events like these. He might be an outsider at the university, a peculiar student who took too many classes with masters, but here he was a master of sorts.
Arram was talking to Varice shortly afterward when she glanced over his shoulder and said, “Ah.” She gave her skirts a quick shake.
Arram looked to see what had attracted her interest. One of the household, a man in the long tunic of an imperial official, stood at the doorway. He took a deep breath and announced, “His Imperial Majesty, Mesaraz Avevin Tasikhe, Bright Sun of the Carthaki Empire, God-King of Amar and Apal…”
Frantic, Arram looked for a place to fade away. Chioké, who had appeared suddenly, gripped his arm. “Do not hide from the emperor, boy. Stay where you are and smile, understand?”
Arram nodded. His heart was pounding uncomfortably in his chest. Why did Ozorne and Varice have to like this sort of thing? Why couldn’t they enjoy quiet evenings in the libraries or tending the animals?
Chioké talked to him about this and that, but Arram barely heard what the older man said. He watched the emperor walk through the room, stopping to talk to this noble or that mage, but always setting a course for the platform where the tall chairs waited for him, the princess, and Ozorne. Behind him came his mage, a tall white man with the coloring of a Scanran. He was said to be fearsome when it came to protective magics, with the ability to turn an attacker to ash with a flick of the hand. His pale gray eyes were expressionless as they took in the faces around the room. There were also several guards in imperial colors, and a handful of slaves.
Now the emperor was talking to Ozorne, who drew Varice forward. Mesaraz smiled at her as she curtsied. When she straightened, he put his fingers under her chin and raised her face as he asked her something. She gave him her sparkliest smile and replied.
“There are advantages to being a pretty girl,” Chioké murmured.
“Disadvantages, too,” Arram replied softly. “People think she’s stupid because she’s pretty.”
“And she is not stupid.” Something about the way Chioké said it made Arram bristle.
“No one stupid could have made those potions for the princess,” he pointed out.
“It could be Her Highness’s ills are of her own imagining, and her imagining has now told her that the girl’s kitchen witchery has mended them,” Chioké replied coolly.
“Then why does she study on the same level as Ozorne and me?” Arram was definitely starting to dislike this man.
“There you have a point. Stand straight. He is coming.”
The emperor was indeed coming toward them, Ozorne on his left, his mage on his right. Arram and Chioké bowed low.
“Master Chioké, it is good to see you.” Mesaraz’s voice was deep and smooth in this kind of gathering, his eyes steady and kind. “Our nephew tells me that you keep him busy at his studies. We hope you make sure he pursues law and diplomacy as well as magic!”
“Be certain that I do, Your Imperial Majesty,” Chioké replied with a smile. “His Highness is up to the additional work.” He winked at Ozorne, whose own smile was wry.
“And, young Arram, you have not brought your bird to us,” Mesaraz remarked. “I had hoped to see her again.”
“Um, Your Royal Majesty, it seems she has developed a—a taste for mead,” Arram said hurriedly. “I don’t—don’t dare bring her to parties.” He bowed a second time, in case the first one hadn’t taken.
Those close enough to hear chuckled, including the emperor. He said, “Chioké tells us that you can throw fire three hundred yards, young man.”
“B-by mistake, Your Imperial Highness,” Arram explained. He was confused when the older men laughed again.
“By Mithros, we should like to see how far you can throw it on purpose,” the emperor joked.
“Let us find a place large enough, first,” the court mage said drily. “The arena, perhaps.”
Arram shuddered.
“Once his control improves,” Chioké said. “I should hate for anything to happen to the arena.”
“Indeed?” The emperor looked Arram over, his eyes sharp. “We understand you are also able to walk on the bottom of the river.”
Arram gulped. “My teacher, M-master Sebo, taught me how, Your Imperial Majesty. It’s part of water magic training. She also t-taught me to be careful of the hippos and crocodiles.”
The older mages chuckled again. Arram felt his cheeks getting warm. He hadn’t come here as entertainment, after all.
The emperor had not laughed. “We believe there are many interesting things to be found on the river bottom.”
Was this a test? Did the emperor know about Faziy?
Whatever these people thought about his cursed stammer and his age, he was not a fool. He would not play jester for them, and he would not fall into any traps.
He shrugged and caught a glare from Chioké. Apparently it was forbidden to shrug in front of the emperor. “I found a metal figure of a man with wings and claws for feet the first time I walked on the river bottom. It was a Stormwing, from the time before the banishment of the immortals.” He smiled. “I prefer to study the living animals and fish I see there. The crocodiles and hippos don’t seem to mind me anymore.”
The emperor returned his smile. “We hear you defended our nephew in the market.” He rested a hand on Ozorne’s shoulder.
Arram decided another shrug might get him an actual beating instead of a scolding when he got home. “It wasn’t necessary, Your Imperial Majesty. Ozorne is very good at defending himself.”
“This is a good thing to know,” the emperor said. He glanced at the princess, who was still standing, still waiting to greet him. “We must join our hostess. We look forward to seeing you again, Arram Draper. You are an interesting lad.”
The emperor and his attendants moved on, while Chioké turned on Arram. “You do not talk to the emperor as if he were an instructor at the Lower Academy, and you do not shrug like a country lout!”
Ozorne put his hand on Chioké’s arm. “Master, it’s fine. Uncle was amused as much as anything. Come, let’s find your seat. The entertainment’s about to begin.”
Chioké smiled at Ozorne. “Don’t worry, Your Highness—your mother wishes me to stay near her. I think you wish to sit with your friends, do you not?” He walked over to the seat that awaited him just behind the princess’s elbow.
Ozorne and Arram wound through the crowd until they reached their own seats near the princess. Varice was already there. The moment she saw them she began to pour dark purple liquid into crystal glasses.
“Don’t worry,” she told Arram when he regarded the glasses with alarm. “I told the slave that wine made you a little odd. She brought us grape juice.”
“You’re so strict,” he grumbled as he took his seat.
The crowd moved back from the center of the floor, where a large ebony square was laid into the rich mahogany. The entertainment was a series of tumblers, dancers, and finally three pairs of gladiators who battled with padded weapons. Arram took an interest in the combats only when he saw the weapons were relatively harmless. Varice and Ozorne, of course, took more than an interest, wagering with their neighbors.
They did not do as well as they had hoped on the third match, when Musenda came out with a fellow gladiator who was nearly as big as he was. By now Musenda was becoming a favorite. Even Arram had noticed his image on posters in the city. No one would bet against him—no one near the imperial seats, at least.
The struggle was a harsh one, padded weapons or no. It soon became plain that Musenda’s opponent—Arram hadn’t caught his name—was determined to win. He had the bigger man bent backward, his arm around Musenda’s neck, and his free fingers going for Musenda’s eyes. That was when Musenda grabbed the arm around his neck with both hands and snapped forward with a roar of fury. Arram heard the distinctive crack of bone as his friend’s opponent soared over his head, flipping, to land on his back. Since Musenda had not let go, the next sound Arram identified was the soft crunch of a shoulder dislocating. He had heard both noises when Ramasu assigned him to the butchers for a week, to help them dismember beeves and sheep.
Arram rose, about to help block the pain, but Ozorne pulled him back. Slaves came forward to carry the wounded man away, while Musenda stood and accepted the cheers—as well as the thrown purses and flowers—of the crowd. Arram cringed. He had almost forgotten where he was and worked magic in the imperial presence.
“Sorry,” he mumbled to his friends.
“Why?” Ozorne asked. “I did it once—just a little bird illusion, but Mother spanked me till I ate my meals standing up for a week. You stopped yourself!”
A large rose tumbled to the table. Arram looked up, startled, and saw Musenda was grinning wickedly at him. He grinned back and offered the rose to Varice. “Pretend it’s for you, or people will think there’s something between me and him,” he whispered.
She picked up the rose and sniffed it. “Well, it would explain why you can’t hold on to a girl more than a month or two,” she teased. She blew Musenda a kiss, and the crowd roared its approval. He bowed to her and left the arena, waving to those who applauded him.
And they’d cheer just as loud if his opponent had won, Arram thought bitterly.