Varice finished picking out her own meal. “We are summoned,” she said, smiling up at Arram. “Oh, it’s so good to have you back!”
Arram could feel his cheeks going warm. “So what did everyone else do while I was grinding weeds?” he asked as he settled at the table. Preet hopped to his shoulder.
“Varice and Ozorne were at the hospitals, too,” Tristan said, his voice sharp. “Only in no grand a capacity as a weed chopper.”
“Tristan,” Gissa murmured, resting her head on her hands. “He hasn’t been bragging.”
“That will be enough.” Varice slapped the back of Tristan’s head lightly. “I stewed plants for medicines, and Ozorne helped pack the medicine wagons and oversee their unloading. It was all boring and I want to forget it.”
“Not me, dearest,” Ozorne quipped. “I want to do it every day.”
After chattering in Arram’s ear, Preet hopped to the table to inspect his plate.
“We have to warn you, she’s gotten incredibly spoiled,” Gissa said, obviously trying to change the subject. “Everyone feeds her when they get the chance.”
“Except Master Chioké,” Tristan reminded her.
“But you only have one class with him,” Arram said, scratching Preet’s head. She made a soft growling noise, her angry sound. Since she loved head scratches, Arram suspected it was the mention of Chioké that roused the little bird’s wrath. “It doesn’t matter if she misses a class’s worth of meals.”
“I have two classes with him, O Student Behind the Times,” Ozorne informed him smugly. “Chioké convinced Master Cosmas that it would be suitable for me to study detection of poisons.”
Arram blinked at his friend. At the Tasikhe court a person’s exposure to poisons—whether studying them or their cures—was always watched very carefully. Any student of that area had to be approved by the emperor’s personal mage as well as by Master Cosmas.
“Your uncle must trust you,” he said at last, wondering why this was the first he’d heard of it.
Ozorne shrugged. “He trusts my mother and Master Chioké,” he said. “He thinks I’ll be useful to Mikrom when he ascends to the throne. And I believe his eye is on Chioké as well. The present court mage is starting to dodder a bit.” He laughed. So did the others at the table, except Arram. He couldn’t see anything funny about the aging of a great man who had served the emperor for decades.
“Come, soursop.” Ozorne poked Arram’s shoulder. “You’ve been among the dirty and downtrodden too long. Chin up! You’re home!”
Slowly Arram smiled. Ozorne’s sense of humor could take a cruel turn, it was true, but he meant no harm. And it was good to be back, among pretty girls, eating warm meals, and bathing in hot water. Best of all, he had four days before he had to haul himself out of bed at dawn, ready for school. Who knew? He might even be able to produce some magic by then.
The day Arram returned to classes, he requested permission from Master Cosmas to go back to the typhoid workrooms. Cosmas firmly refused to let him do so much as chop wood for the fires. Preet agreed loudly.
“Hush,” the master told the bird. She quieted slowly. “There will be other plagues, as I told Varice and Ozorne,” he informed Arram.
Arram grimaced. “If that is the way to improve my education, I’d as soon not have any more plagues.”
Cosmas chuckled. “Our care effort at such times is large, and it was time to try the three of you out in the field,” he explained. “Everyone is impressed with all of you. Cheer up. We will not allow you to burn yourselves out. You are to rest and study. Let your Gift rebuild.”
—
The next day Ozorne found Arram by the river. He was knee-deep in the water, feeding fishes near the landing for the palace. The hippos who had also come to visit scrambled into the water when they saw the prince and his escort or, more likely, smelled them.
Arram had been wondering about the imperial barge that waited at the land’s end. He climbed from the water and approached his friend. “Where are you off to?”
“Mother is unwell,” Ozorne replied with a frown. “Keep notes for the classes I’m in, will you?”
Arram would have agreed, but the imperial soldier in charge of Ozorne’s entourage ushered the prince along to the waiting craft. Slaves hurried to send it speeding eastward as soon as Ozorne was seated.
Preet uttered a questioning trill.
“I agree,” Arram replied absently. “If she keeps calling him away, he’ll begin to fall behind.”
—
Ozorne rejoined his friends at the dining hall after a three-day absence. Preet was the first to see him. She screeched and flew to him at the food tables, where she perched on his shoulder.
When they reached the table, Preet was grooming his hair and dislodging his beaded braids. “Preet, three whole days is not an eternity!” Ozorne cried, laughing. “Yes, I missed you, too!” He glanced at Arram. “Arram, save me from your bird—she’s ruining my hair. You’d think I’d vanished from the earth!”
Tristan sighed impatiently. “So is anything exciting going on at the palace, Your Highness?”
Ozorne sat while Varice poured tea for him.
“Next week the emperor holds games to honor my cousin Stiloit when he takes the fleet out to sea. Mother was to make the arrangements, but she hasn’t been well. She asked me to help—and she had conditions. Arram and Varice—and Preet, His Imperial Majesty wants to meet her—are to be the family’s guests on the imperial stand. I couldn’t get seats there for more of my friends,” he said apologetically to Tristan and Gissa, “or the great nobles who already fill up the seats will have fits. I did secure tickets for the two of you in the section for the second-ranking nobles.” With an artistic wave of his arm, he produced two gilded papers for Tristan and Gissa, setting them down before Tristan. For a moment the older student looked chagrined, but the expression vanished.
“He’s learned it isn’t wise to let royalty know you’re disappointed,” Varice murmured into Arram’s ear.
Ozorne swallowed a mouthful of greens. “Mother is sending a carriage to bring the four of you to the games. I have to go to her at the palace again after Friday classes, but at least I know my friends will be looked after.” He glanced at each of them. “Now have I earned your company? And the rest of my dinner? I’m starving.”
Tristan, Gissa, and Varice had arrived just before Ozorne. They rose to give him their most joking bows, then went to get their meals.
“Stop frowning,” Ozorne told Arram as they dove into their beef tajine.
“Not games,” Arram whispered. “I hate them.”
Ozorne sighed. “You can’t insult Mother, remember? Varice and I will distract you. You’ll hardly know what’s going on. And I left proper clothing in your room. You must dress well since we’re on the imperial stand.” Arram gulped. Ozorne gripped his shoulder. “It’s a compliment, featherhead!”
“You should have told me weeks ago,” Arram grumbled.
“Don’t worry,” Ozorne said. “We found a spot where you won’t see too much blood.”