What other kind is there? asked the god. Blood trouble. He smacked the water with his tail and vanished.
Sebo sighed. “I will tell those I think are serious and wary. You concentrate on your studies. And offerings to the gods might be a good idea.”
—
The students insisted that the great storm that broke before the start of school came because the gods were cruel. It lasted all the night before and the final day of vacation, as well as the first two days of school. Like Lindhall’s students, Arram immediately went to help with the animals. They rushed to get the outdoor creatures indoors and calm the nervous ones, as well as check that no rain leaked through to the rooms where the indoor animals were kept. The master himself muttered as he and Arram did their last check of their charges, saying “It’s too early for this, much too early.”
Worried, and perhaps just a little because he wanted to, Arram left Preet indoors during a break on the first day and went to the arena-like circle where he practiced fire magic. Thunder crashed over the university. He knew a circle of protection would do him no good. He simply raised his arms and called to the lightning snakes with his Gift.
He didn’t know how long he stood there as the rain drenched him completely. It was a while, because his arms ached when he lowered them. This first edge of the storm had passed overhead, taking its thunder with it. Puzzled, he climbed up to his room. The animals sleeping there complained when he dripped on them. He apologized quickly and gathered up dry clothing. Dumping his wet clothes in the hall, he tried to remember if he had seen so much as a single bolt of lightning.
He had not.
The next day he asked a number of people, including his masters, if they had seen lightning the day or night before. Some were positive they had not. Others were unsure, but were positive that they must have seen it. And still others demanded to know why he asked such a silly question.
Several waves of the storm, all lightning-less as far as he could tell, passed through before it ended sometime during the third night. Lindhall’s students returned the animals to their normal homes, opening weather shutters to the sun and warmer breezes. For the rest, the university was in session.
Yadeen scowled when a yawning Arram greeted him. “This year we turn to crystals, the tricksters of stone magic,” he informed Arram. “If you give them so much as a moment’s lapse of attention, they will slip your Gift along their surfaces and tangle it into a knot you cannot undo, so wake up!”
Arram covered another yawn. Masters—all masters—did not care for excuses.
Yadeen snorted. “You’d think Lindhall believes you’re his only student. All right, we’ll go slow, but only for today!”
Arram stared at the master.
“You think I was never a student?” Yadeen demanded, his large eyes flashing. “Now.” He opened a small box to reveal an array of bright stones in pink, blue, green, red, violet, and yellow shades. “No magic. Identify these and the magic associated with them, and we’ll work on your juggling. Your cross juggling is still a little awkward.”
—
Three days later Arram was deciding on lunch when he noticed how whispery the dining room was. He looked around. Everyone seemed shocked. Some girls, and a few boys, were weeping.
He hurried to his table. All of his friends were present but Ozorne. Varice was crying into a handkerchief while Gissa hugged her about the shoulders.
“I barely knew the man,” Varice explained. “But he was wonderful.”
“What happened?” Arram asked everyone at the table.
Varice laid her hand on his arm. “It’s Prince Stiloit, and his vessel, and two other ships of the Western Navy,” she said quietly. “That storm caught the fleet out to sea. Three ships sank. His Highness drowned.”
Along with his crew and those other crews, Arram thought. Was this what Enzi meant by his warning? It must be.
He thought of the prince, so alive and charming. “Black God ease his passing,” he murmured. “And that of his people.” The others murmured their affirmation.
“The imperial escort came for Ozorne this morning,” Tristan said. “Twelve days’ mourning at the palace, poor fellow. He asked if we could lend him our notes.” He looked at Arram. “Too bad he can’t borrow your notes for anything but illusions.”
“Tristan, don’t needle him,” Varice said. “He has no control over where the masters put him. You know that by now. And why should you complain? You two share fire magic and war magic, not to mention weapons magic and spy magic. Don’t tell me differently, because I saw your schedule.”
Tristan glared at her. “You hold yourself very high since hobnobbing with the nobility at the games,” he retorted, his face grown hard and far less handsome. “Getting too good for us peasants?”
“Tristan, enough,” Gissa told him. To Varice and Arram she said, “We’re all upset today. We have to go on mourning food and mourning meditations for— How many days is it, Varice?”
“Twelve, just like the imperial family mourns,” the younger girl replied glumly. “Three for Mithros, three for the Goddess, three for the Black God, and three for the Graveyard Hag. An hour of meditation before supper, and flatbread and butter for meals. Unless you know someone inventive. The kitchens will be closed and locked.”
Tristan leaned on his elbow, flashing a bright smile at Varice. “My dearest, dearest friend!” he said teasingly.
Varice propped her chin on her hand. “Of course, toward the end of the twelve days one’s invention and supplies run thin.”
“We have a Saturday in all that. We can get a meal in the city,” Gissa remarked.
Arram was not listening. He picked at his food, thinking about lightning. If there had been no lightning here at the school, what if it had been over the fleet?
He hadn’t seen it over the university during all that thunder, when Faziy said the two always came together.
Faziy.
She had told Chioké about lightning snakes, and Chioké had found her a job in the city that she would be a fool to resist. Such a favor put her in his debt and took her away from her university friends.
Chioké liked power. He had his eye on Cosmas’s place, but surely chief mage to an imperial heir was better, particularly when bad things happened to the other heirs.
There were only two people who would listen if Arram mentioned it to them.
—
Sebo scowled at him when he finished. “You did not tell me—or Yadeen—about the incident when Faziy told Chioké about lightning snakes.”
Arram thought of several excuses, none of them good, and shrugged instead.
“Young people and your shrugs!” she snapped. They were sitting on a log that had washed up on the riverbank. Now she picked up her walking stick and walked to the water’s edge. Arram wondered if he should follow and decided to wait instead.
She returned, but she did not sit. Instead she leaned on her staff and frowned down at him. “You saw no lightning in the storm? Felt none?”
Arram shook his head.