Arram gave her a coin large enough to buy a number of pastries. “You are wonderful, Varice!” he told her gratefully.
“I know,” she replied, twirling before she entered her dormitory.
Arram began the walk to his room, thinking about what a good friend Varice was. It wasn’t long before, to his dismay, his member added its opinion, if not of his pretty friend, then of girls in general. Fortunately, his shopping satchel covered the bulge in his breeches, and the inconvenience shrank by the time he reached his room.
—
Two days later he and Ozorne went star watching with permission from the housekeeper. They lay head to head on the stretch of green behind the menagerie buildings, where most torchlight didn’t reach.
“I saw the strangest thing the other day,” Arram began. “This fellow was at his desk, and his—his…” This was his best friend, and he couldn’t even say the word. “Below his belt. His, um, manhood, got…large. He didn’t even have his hands there.”
Ozorne moaned. “Oh, that,” he said with amusement and despair. “But—just a moment. Didn’t you have the talk, the one they give to the twelve-year-olds…? No, wait, that won’t be until the autumn term.”
He fell silent for a short while until Arram said impatiently, “Ozorne, what talk?”
His friend shook his head. “I suppose…Well. They teach this to the twelve-year-olds when autumn term begins. You’ll love it; everyone makes noise and they won’t sit still….Really, you’d think our clever instructors would know that if you were so far ahead on everything else you might be far ahead on this! Sometimes these mages aren’t practical, have you noticed?”
“Why? I’m not very practical,” Arram reminded his friend.
“Very true. Listen, then. This fellow—the thing with his member happens to most of us eventually. We could be looking at dirt and it will happen, or test questions, or things that have nothing to do with canoodling. Mother had our healer talk to me about”—he made his voice deeper—“Becoming a Man the last time I was home. We start to get wet spots on our sheets or loincloths, too.”
“Wet spots?” Arram asked, horrified. He hadn’t wet the bed since he was a baby!
“Because we have sex dreams,” Ozorne explained. “Our members practice for the real thing. That has to be a gift from the gods, because bedding someone is all adults who aren’t mages talk about. The liquid, that’s what makes babies when it’s put in a woman.”
“Why is life so complicated?” Arram whispered.
“Oh, don’t fuss. We’ll get to try it with a lover eventually—Look! A shooting star!”
Arram watched the stars fall, awed, wondering which god was sending a fiery love letter to another god, or even to a mortal. It happened sometimes: he’d read enough stories about it. A burst of stars passed over, drawing sighs of wonder from both lads.
They were sharing a bottle of grape juice when a group of students Ozorne’s age walked by. One of them looked toward the two boys and said something that made the others laugh, before they wandered on.
Arram glanced up and noticed his friend’s closed look and clenched fists. Hearing the ugly thing the older boy had said, Arram murmured, “The highest mark that one will get is his certificate in tree worm magic.”
Ozorne snorted. “Is that meant to console me?”
Arram assumed his most innocent tone. “Don’t you like tree worms?”
The prince looked at him. “One day they’ll pay for that.” He took a drink from a flask he’d kept tucked away and offered it to Arram. “It’s only elderberry wine. My aunt married in Galla, and she sends casks of the stuff to my mother for ailments.”
Not wanting to seem rude, Arram tried a sip and grimaced. He handed the bottle back. “You know they advise us not to drink or use drugs that affect our thinking. Our Gifts.”
“Elderberry isn’t strong! I just like the taste— Look, are you going to turn into a dull dog?” Ozorne shifted onto his side to glare at Arram, who swiftly denied any possibility that he would get boring. Finally Ozorne waved him silent and asked, “So did you want to ask something?”
Arram took a breath and hoped his friend wouldn’t get angry again. “Why do some people call you the leftover prince? I don’t mean to upset you, but I’d like to know.”
Ozorne sat up, sighing. “Oh, that stupid thing. When I was small, apparently I told strangers I would be emperor someday. First my father heard. He said there were plenty of princes ahead of me. Then the emperor found out.” Ozorne smiled grimly. “He sat me on his lap before all the court and pointed out every prince ahead of me in the line of succession.”
Arram frowned. “That wasn’t very kind.”
Ozorne shrugged. “It was honest. He said with so many heirs available, I was just a leftover.”
Arram remembered something from history class. “But there aren’t seven heirs, are there? One dead of a heart attack, one of the Sweating Sickness, your father…”
Ozorne took another drink of the wine. “My father. Someday I will build a statue to his name and place it in the Square of Heroes, at the palace. You’ll see.”
“I believe you,” Arram told him firmly. He believed Ozorne could do anything. His friend had spirit. His eyes had fire when he spoke.
Ozorne gripped Arram’s shoulder. “We’ll show them all, won’t we? Oh, look! Here comes a whole storm of stars! It’s the gods. They’re telling us we’ll succeed!”
—
After lunch the first day of the summer term, Arram found that he was keeping pace with Ozorne as he hurried to class. Varice, too, was trying to keep up.
“Where are you off to?” he asked his friends. They were close to the end of one of the open-sided galleries, next to a garden full of pungent herbs that practically threw their scent into the students’ faces.
“Here,” Ozorne said, opening the door to the last room. Arram checked the door’s number against his schedule; it was the same.
“Mine too,” Varice told him, and shoved him inside ahead of her.
“Good afternoon, you three,” a cheerful, familiar voice greeted them as Arram blinked away the light spots summoned as they passed from the bright outside to the shady room. “I hope you aren’t too sleepy from your meals to concentrate on your work.”
It was Master Cosmas. Arram grinned. He was going to share the master with his friends.
“Be seated,” he directed, pointing to a long table and various stools placed around it. There were three slates on the table, with three small boxes. As Arram, Ozorne, and Varice took their seats, Cosmas pushed a slate toward each of them, followed by a box. Since he was closest to Varice, he opened the box before her. It revealed sticks of chalk.
“Are you settled?” he asked. All three of them nodded. “Draw the most perfect circle you can manage.”