Prisca sent Arram a couple of notes asking if he wished to accompany her into the city. Once she stopped by. He was always too busy to go with her. He offered to show her around when she visited, but one look into the room where they had a group of snakes and lizards sent her on her way. Arram would have gone after her, but he had a number of tasks to do. He’d also discovered that Preet didn’t care for her.
Before the friends knew it, the free week was over. Their spring term schedules arrived the day before classes began. Reviewing his, Arram saw only one change. He was now taking advanced charms with a specific teacher, someone named Faziy aHadi. It was an old name from western Carthak—female, he was pretty sure.
Together with the schedule came marks, always a matter of slight discord between him and Ozorne. Arram was unhappy to find more sixes and sevens for the last term, but not surprised. Diop had worn on him, and the arrival of Preet had distracted him in December. He would just have to buckle down this term.
Over breakfast Ozorne noticed that he had a mark lower than Arram’s, though he ranked higher—as usual—in illusions. His marks for war magic were also high. He joked about it being good that he knew Arram was cleverer than he was, but his eyes sent a different message. Arram shrugged. Ozorne would feel better in a week or so.
He left his friends early so he could perform his day’s chores for Lindhall and get a good night’s sleep. Unlike them, he still had Yadeen’s class and the one with Cosmas before the school day began. He wished Ozorne studied with Cosmas as well, but Ozorne now took fire magic later in the day, with Chioké.
With the new term they had some new workrooms in which to meet with instructors. These were separate buildings on the western side of the School for Mages, beside the service road used by tradesmen to bring goods to the mages and kitchens. All three of the friends had been excited about this the day before: they had to be moving ahead if they were to be admitted to the rooms where the mages did their deepest spell-work.
Arram’s first experience in one naturally was with Yadeen. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but the long, bright place with windows set near the ceiling was not it. The tables and counters were polished light-colored wood, as were the tall stools. Stones were arrayed in tidy square boxes on shelves six and seven layers high on both sides of the room. Cabinets supported the counters. Braziers stood in each corner, supplying warmth—the morning was cold. One also supported a teapot.
Arram produced Preet for Yadeen to look at, but if Preet intrigued him, he showed no sign of it. He simply ordered Arram to place her near a working brazier so he could juggle unencumbered.
Arram was all thumbs when Yadeen tossed him a piece of amethyst in place of a fourth ball, but it seemed that at least one irregular object in the circle was the rule for the first half hour. For the second half, Yadeen introduced him to the art of magically breaking a crystal the size of his fist into many tinier crystals—or at least, attempting to do so. Arram reached the end of the hour sweaty, without removing so much as a speck of crystal with his Gift. Even worse, he could have sworn he heard Preet make a rude noise when he stopped. He was wistfully dreaming of life as a peddler or beekeeper. His wrists were so tired that they ached.
“I don’t understand,” he complained to Yadeen when they ended. “It seemed easy enough when we split the chunks of marble into straight-sided pieces.”
Yadeen raised a heavy brow. “I believe I was the mage in charge,” he reminded Arram gently.
Blushing, Arram gathered up his belongings and Preet, then thanked Yadeen and left the workroom. At least Cosmas’s workroom was next door.
The breakfast that waited there helped. While Varice and Arram used pancakes with pistachios to scoop up eggs, Cosmas fed Preet whatever she expressed a wish for in between sips of tea. When the two young people sighed with content, the master told Preet, “Try the seeming of a blackbird fledgling from here on. It will match your size better.” To Arram he said, “Even the young creatures of the Divine Realms are more intelligent than our adult animals. How did you come by her?”
Arram didn’t want to lie to this man who had been so good to him. Miserably he replied, “I really can’t say, Master Cosmas.”
The master looked him over, and then patted his shoulder. “Never mind. I hope you’ll be able to tell me eventually.”
Preet voiced a soft musical note that spiraled into the air. Her blend of light and dark gray feathers shifted to speckled brown on her belly.
Arram and Varice gawped at her.
“I thought she might possess her own magic. Now she is palm-sized and matches her feathers.” Cosmas rubbed his hands. “Where did we stop? Drawing heat from the air itself. Varice, let me see you try.” Cosmas lit a candle. “Give it a go.”
Arram’s next class was with Lindhall himself. Other students were also present, including Varice and Ozorne. The prince waved to Arram and yawned; morning was not his best time. Arram settled at a corner desk—this room was a regular classroom—and propped the bird’s pouch on his lap.
Lindhall turned away and began to write on the immense slate board on one side of the room. “We shall spend this term in the examination of how reptiles give birth and raise their young. Also, of how parts of reptiles—skins taken when they are shed, eggshells left behind, bones once they are deceased—may be put in magic. We will have no capture or killing of wild reptiles under my auspices, understand?”
Arram grinned with excitement. This was exciting! Varice opened her notebook and readied her quill, while Ozorne sat up. Preet perched on Arram’s shoulder, tucked against his neck. Once there, she fluffed her feathers and did not move again for the length of the class. Since Arram was in a corner, no one noticed her until it came time to go.
“Arram minds her for me,” Lindhall called over the student’s exclamations. “She is not a pet. Do you really wish to be late to your next classes?”
Ozorne and Arram trotted toward their class on tribal magic. “You should have something more exciting for her than that dull old bag,” he told Arram. “Something with more padding if you’re going to bump her around like that. Varice would sew something if you asked nicely. Or Prisca.”
Arram made a face. “I don’t know about Prisca. She was having supper with some fellow from the School of Law last night, didn’t you see?”
“Perhaps she’s trying to make you jealous,” Ozorne suggested. “You pretty well ignored her over the break.”
“I told her I was working for Master Lindhall. She has to understand how things are. And I don’t like it when people play games like making other people jealous.” Arram kicked at one of the rocks lining the path and hurt his toe. Preet ran her beak over his ear—was she consoling him?
Ozorne held up a hand, panting. “Stop. I have to catch my breath—I can’t walk in all sweaty and gasping. I still think Prisca is trying to give you a hint.”
Arram looked down. “I think so, too. Just not the ‘I’m making you jealous so you’ll pay more attention to me’ sort of hint.”