Arram reached up and silently called, imagining the long, jagged strokes against the sky, splitting into forks and lesser branches. His Gift flew out from his fingers, shaping the same kind of strokes in the air as it reached for the purple-black thunderheads. Light flashed behind the heaped clouds as they rolled forward; noise made the ground beneath his feet shiver. The wind whipped his hair, the long grasses around the edges of the field, and the trees on the far side. Arram grinned in exultation. For a moment he forgot about the grim day before, enjoying the sound and sight of the storm.
He saw bolts of lightning strike out of the clouds and vanish, except for a few. These walked forward through the air as if they felt their way. He called again. Thunder crashed. Solid whips of lightning joined the first, stretching and splitting as they reached out. When the first delicate fingertips touched Arram, his hair stood up. Then the hands surrounded him, the spirits that came with them giggling and asking him to admire their shapes, their thunder, and their clouds.
He assured them that he did. Then, taking a chance, he asked, “Are there ways you can be trapped to do someone’s bidding?”
They vanished, and the clouds opened up. Arram reached out, catching one laggardly streak. “Please! I didn’t mean I would do it, ever!” he explained as it flickered in the hold of his Gift. It stung fiercely; had it been larger it would have hurt him badly. “Tell the others that. I need to know if someone did do it recently. I swear by the Hag I would never take advantage of you that way!” His mouth trembled. It was Faziy who had told him that the snakes answered to the local trickster god.
The whip of lightning hesitated, shimmering. Then it reached down and curled around his wrist. Silently it replied, It was done. The moon was half full.
Arram released it and looked for Yadeen.
When they were back inside, Arram repeated the lightning snake’s words. Then he said, “What if Faziy called lightning snakes three weeks ago?” He was about to ask, “What if she turned the storm and the snakes on the fleet?” but Yadeen gestured. Arram closed his mouth.
“I know what you were about to say,” Yadeen murmured. He made a far deeper impression than if he’d shouted. “Never speak of it, do you understand? If it is true, there is no way to prove such a thing. They still made certain Faziy would never speak. Stiloit had enemies, powerful ones. The kind of men and women who could pay a cabal of mages to drown any number of ships to kill one man. Do you think they would stop at one student?”
Arram gulped. “No, sir.”
“I will see to this. But do not investigate further, understand?”
Arram nodded, though he couldn’t help but think, What if these people go after Ozorne? What if Mikrom thinks Ozorne is trying to get rid of everyone between him and the throne? Or that his mother is the plotter?
It wouldn’t be the first time a Carthaki heir chose to rid himself of those who were next in line. Emperor Mesaraz’s grandfather had done just that, the truth coming out only after he was on the throne.
Had Stiloit faked his death by drowning, planning to hide until he had rid himself of Ozorne and Mikrom? That had happened at least twice in Carthaki imperial history. In fact, the entire history of the Carthaki throne tended to be a bloody one.
What if Ozorne was killed because he didn’t know his danger?
Somehow Arram struggled through his afternoon classes and retreated to the baths for another soak. When he finally reached his room, hoping for a brief nap, he found Lindhall’s area in an uproar.
Servants were carrying boxes out of the rooms across the hall. Three men in the uniform of the Imperial Guard, the elite soldiers who guarded the emperor and his heir, stood on either side of the door, eyeing the servants. Here in the university, where weapons were viewed as a source of trouble and, worse, an inspiration for mistakes, these forbidding individuals were armed. They carried short swords and at least three daggers, one in the belt and one in each black leather boot. Shimmering on their belts revealed magic: Arram sharpened his gaze and discovered protective spells keyed to spoken words, not the men’s Gift, for they had none. These spells were the kind that would spread to cover people closest to the men who wore them.
He was so engrossed that he didn’t pay attention to the third guard until the man crossed the hall and grabbed his arm. “Here, you,” the soldier growled. “What’s your name and business here?”
Preet began to scream in alarm. A large dog who slept with one of Ozorne’s roommates leaped through the door and began to bark. The three-legged hound and the tiny blind dog who also shared the suite followed and added their barks to his. The guards unsheathed their swords.
Arram, terrified they would kill the animals, snapped the first spell he could think of around them. It thrust the guards down the hall. When they began to run back toward Arram, he used the same spell to keep them where they were.
“Mithros rising, what is going on?” shouted Ozorne, walking out of his room. “Sit, sit and be silent!” The dogs instantly obeyed. Ozorne rubbed his head. His hair was disheveled and his tunic smudged. “Arram, release my guards.”
“Your guards? Ozorne, what’s this?” Arram asked, still angry. He kept his spell’s grip on his captives. “Those men drew steel on the dogs and Preet! Who are they, and what is this? Who’s moving?”
“That would be me,” Ozorne said. “The emperor insists. If I’m to stay, I need a ground-floor room with more exits, and I must have guards. I’m not happy, but I wasn’t permitted to argue. Now, release the men, before they tell Uncle that you’re a danger. He might not remember that he likes you.”
Arram released the men, who ran to their charge. Ozorne snapped, “Sheathe those blades! Did you forget your orders? Only under real attack do they come out of their sheaths! And memorize this man’s face.” He pointed at Arram. “He is Arram Draper, my best friend, possibly the cleverest student at this university—except for me, of course.” He and Arram smiled at each other. The guards only bowed to Ozorne and turned their eyes on Arram. “The bird is Preet. Harm one feather on her head and I will ask my uncle for yours.”
“Ozorne!” Arram protested. These men could not know Ozorne’s sense of humor. They might believe he meant it.
Ozorne grimaced. “Arram as well as Varice Kingsford and Master Chioké may be permitted to my presence at any hour, understand? No questions. I don’t care if I’m sleeping.”
“Ozorne, does Lindhall know?” Arram asked as the soldiers bowed and separated to let the servants go by with their crates.
“Yes—he was there when the commander and Master Cosmas came with the happy news.” Ozorne slumped against the wall. “Look at it this way—now I have room for all of us to gather when we’re bored with the libraries.” He grabbed Arram’s arm and dragged him into Lindhall’s suite, shutting the door behind them. “I have to find the good in this, understand?” Ozorne slumped against the frame of Arram’s door. “I didn’t know it, but Chioké and Master Cosmas have been arguing with my uncle and my mother since we came out of isolated mourning for my cousin. They finally persuaded my family of how useful it would be to have an imperial heir who is also a mage. I had to swear all manner of oaths to let guards follow me everywhere.”