Preet was talking softly to Varice when a stocky young man asked, “May we sit here?”
He and a slightly taller young woman had approached them, trays in their hands. He was a Northerner with the remains of a gold tan, hazel eyes, and golden-brown hair. Under his white Upper Academy first-year robe he wore a green tunic and brown breeches. Varice dimpled when he smiled warmly at her. Arram and Ozorne, who had just begun eating, exchanged frowns. They were always a bit mistrustful of anyone who set out to charm Varice right away.
His companion was a dark-brown-skinned woman from one of the middle districts of the empire. She had black eyes, slightly pockmarked cheeks, and coarse black hair. She wore it braided and fixed in coils with enameled pins. Under her own first-year robe she wore a maroon tunic and thin yellow leggings, both made of wool. She looked them over. “He is Tristan Denane,” she said. “I am Gissa Rachne.”
“Have pity,” Tristan said, still smiling at Varice. “I think yours is the only table where everyone isn’t complaining of how miserable they are to return to class. Those who aren’t complaining? They still look decidedly unpleasant. Except your group. You seem pleasant.”
“They’ll still look unpleasant if you sit with us,” Ozorne told Gissa. “We’re not the most popular students here.”
“We’ll take our chances,” she said with a wry smile. “These trays are heavy.”
Sensing that his friends meant to agree, Arram moved closer to Varice so Gissa could fit between him and Ozorne. Varice made room for Tristan as Preet hopped back to Arram.
“Does anyone else have a pet?” Tristan asked. “I haven’t seen any.”
“She’s not a pet,” Arram said, holding Preet against his chest and running a finger down her back.
“Arram minds her for one of our masters. He isn’t exactly an everyday student, so don’t take him for an example,” Ozorne cautioned. “He’s got single teachers for nearly all of his courses.”
Tristan raised his eyebrows. “My congratulations.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you could see his schedule,” Varice said, spooning up mouthfuls of chickpea soup. Pausing, she asked, “Tristan, you’re from the North, yes?”
“Maren,” Tristan replied. “Gissa is from the Amar District here. I’ve been one of her father’s students for the last two years, until he said we’d both do better here.”
“Welcome,” Ozorne said. “We’ve introduced Arram, and his blackbird fledgling is Preet. He’s from Tyra originally—Arram, that is.” He offered Preet a piece of bean, which she ate. He went on. “I’m Ozorne. I’m Carthaki. She’s Varice, from Tusaine originally.”
Gissa nodded at Varice. “What classes do you take?” she asked. “Have you got that scary fellow Chioké for the introductions to the university and the city?”
“Oh, goodness, no,” Varice replied. “We’ve been here for years. We know the university and the capital. Ozorne even knows the palace pretty well.”
“If you like, we can take you around,” Ozorne offered. “Chioké isn’t bad, but he doesn’t know the useful places. We can show you ones that don’t charge too much. The introductory tours are well enough, but they tend to rush things a bit.”
“Thank you—we appreciate that!” Tristan said.
“Ozorne, I don’t know if I can help,” Arram reminded him quietly. “I have all that extra work.”
“Why extra? Are they punishing you for something?” Gissa inquired. She smiled crookedly at Arram.
“Actually, they are—he’s clever,” Ozorne said.
“That is an affliction,” Tristan remarked with a smile for Arram. “But I think we’ll take our chances with you, eh, Gissa?”
“Of course. You aren’t as loud as those others.” Gissa nodded toward the main dining hall. “I came from a small village.”
Arram understood that, with his love of libraries. “There are quiet areas,” he said as his friends nodded.
“And it gets better as the term goes on,” Varice added. “People will have work to do. They won’t be lively enough to carry on like this.”
Preet chose that moment to give voice to a soft, enchanting trill of song that made even Gissa melt and Tristan grin. When the bell to prepare for class chimed, they all sighed and reluctantly gathered their things.
As Arram and Ozorne waited for the young women and Tristan to emerge from the washrooms after lunch, Ozorne nudged his friend. “Tristan and Gissa seem all right, don’t they?”
Arram looked at him. Ozorne missed having more than two friends, that was clear. “They’re all right for now. We’ll have to see.”
“Our luck has to turn sometime,” Ozorne said. To the returning girls and Tristan he said, “I have truth-reading now. So does Varice.”
“I have it,” Gissa said, reviewing the schedule on a parchment in her bag.
“As do I,” Tristan announced.
Arram shrugged. “Charms. Faziy aHadi—I don’t recognize her name.”
“Poor Arram.” Ozorne looked at Tristan’s schedule. “The rest of us are all in the same room! Well, there’s luck!”
“So it is,” Tristan said. He offered an arm to each young woman. “Let us go immerse ourselves in the truth.”
Ozorne followed them, smiling. Arram looked down into the pouch. Preet had tucked her head under her wing and was snoozing.
“I suppose it’s just us, then,” he murmured, and set off for class.
Faziy aHadi had a workroom near those used by Yadeen, Cosmas, and Ramasu. He had to run to get there. He was late even so, and drenched by the rain that had begun to fall while he used outdoor shortcuts.
The woman who greeted him at the door was just his height at five feet ten inches, strong-bodied, with bronze-brown skin. Her wide white smile over a full lower lip dazzled him. She had a short, broad nose, dimples, and sparkling black eyes with long lashes. Her splendid black hair was wrapped in coils and secured with braids and gold hairpins in the shapes of tiny monkeys. She wore a blue wool dress under a yellow adept’s robe, which startled him—he expected her to be a red-robed master.
“You are surely Arram,” she said, urging him inside. “Isn’t the weather vile? I had lunch with Lindhall Reed—his description of you was very good. But I was told you have a bird in your care.”
“Oh, Preet!” Arram had kept her under his arm and robe, out of the weather. He fished the little bird out of the pouch as she grumbled. Carefully he showed Faziy his new friend.
“But how adorable!” she exclaimed, holding out a hand for Preet to examine. “A blackbird fledgling?”
“We believe so, um—Master?” Arram wasn’t sure what to call her.