Now he felt his father was just making fun of him. “I know it’s ours, but the Fhrey—”
“No!” Lothian held up a hand to stop him. “Not the Fhrey—ours.” He pointed at himself and then at Mawyndul?. “Our family invented it. Your grandmother was the very first to use it. When she taught others, her lessons were always one on one or in small groups. The learning process was slow, random, inefficient. No one ever thought of formalizing the process until Pyridian came up with the idea. He built the academy using the Art, the same way Fenelyus created Avempartha. He taught a whole generation of Fhrey, trained them to teach, and appointed them as instructors in his school. Gryndal and Arion were both his students.”
Mawyndul? couldn’t care less about The Traitor, but…“He taught Gryndal?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Ah…I don’t recall—have I ever met Pyridian?”
The fane shook his head. “He died before you were born. In fact, you could say your very existence is due to Pyridian’s death, which is why I find it so strange that you don’t know about him.”
Mawyndul? glanced again at Synne, feeling certain his father was purposely humiliating him.
The fane noticed and shook his head. “Trust me, this oversight is more embarrassing for me than for you. I should have mentioned him before.”
“Why? Who was he?” Mawyndul? asked.
“Your brother.”
CHAPTER SIX
Second Best
That winter, seeds were planted. The army learned to fight, smiths learned to forge, people learned what it felt like to live in a house rather than a dirt-floored shack, and I learned to write. Human civilization was born under a blanket of snow, sheltered by walls of stone.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
The little window in the door at the base of the Kype slid aside, exposing just a pair of eyes and part of a nose. As always, the sentinel said, “State your business.” This was repeated in Fhrey; why, Raithe had no idea.
“Back again to see Persephone.”
“State your name and your business with Madam Keenig.”
“You know my name.”
“Refusal to answer will—”
“Raithe, and because I want to speak with her.”
“About what?”
“None of your business.”
The little window snapped shut, but Raithe didn’t leave. He waited.
After living in Alon Rhist for eight months, Raithe felt isolated even though he resided in a city of more people than he ever thought existed. Lately, he’d been blaming it on the snow. Drifts blocked the narrow streets, sealing people inside, discouraging communal gatherings. By spring, he realized it wasn’t the snow.
* * *
—
To make matters worse, he was always cold. For a man who grew up in a dirt house heated only by wafers of dung, the grand marbled halls of the Rhist were surprisingly chilly. Dirt is wholesome, life giving. Stone is just cold. It took only a single winter in the Rhist for Raithe to develop a nostalgia for his youth in Dureya. For the first time in recent memory, the weather had warmed and was downright hot. The snow was in full retreat, lingering only in deep shadows under bridges or tight alleyways. Birds were back, buds popped, flowers sprouted, and Raithe wasn’t pleased with how things had been going in the Rhist. Wasn’t his call; he was still just a chieftain of one—two, if he included Malcolm—which he didn’t. Now that Malcolm was back in the Rhist, Raithe was less confident about the ex-slave’s loyalties. There wasn’t anything Malcolm said or did, but Raithe felt things had changed between them—a feeling in his gut like a cold coming on.
He started to lean against the bronze door that led to the inner sanctum of the fortress, but the sun had made it too hot to touch. He walked back across the bridge and peered over the edge. Long way down. He had no idea how far, but red roofs the size of cranberries spilled at his feet. Out to the east, he could see all the way to the rocky highlands beyond the High Spear Valley where his brothers had been slain. To the south, he could see The Forks where his father’s body lay. While his village was much closer, the great dome blocked the view, and he couldn’t see where his mother and sister had died. His village was right underfoot, but hidden from him. He was surrounded by death in every direction except one.
Returning to the door, he beat on the bronze again.
The window slid back once more. “Yes?” asked the eyes and nose.
“Still waiting.”
“Did you have an appointment?”
“A what? Just tell Persephone I’m here, will you?”
“And why does that matter?”
“Because she’s a friend of mine.”
“And?”
“And what?” Raithe asked.
“That’s what I’m asking. Madam Keenig is a very busy woman. If I can’t inform her of what this meeting is pertaining to, I don’t see how I can report it at all.”