Since Arram was taking mostly solo courses, he was amused by the titles his teachers had created for them. “Gems in Combination with Other Substances” was Yadeen’s contribution. Sebo’s was less helpful: “Manipulation of Water.” Arram supposed it was easier than explaining they had spent the winter shifting currents in the Zekoi to scour out silt that had built up in the main channel. Dagani’s description of their lessons was one word: “Creation.” Whatever his masters said they had taught him, they gave him top marks in all seven subjects.
He heard someone scoff, “He’ll end up in the libraries all his days, writing books no one will read!”
Except for one or two other complaints about “the pet boy,” the other students left Arram alone. By giving his classes odd names and keeping him out of the view of most students, his masters had made him too odd to torment. Arram, relieved, walked away from the boards of marks to join Varice and Ozorne for an afternoon’s laze.
—
They were given a splendid treat in their free week. Princess Mahira obtained an imperial barge and invited Ozorne and his friends on a four-day journey up the Zekoi and back. They feasted on very good food, lounged in the sun or in shade cast by silk canopies, played chess or knowledge games, and visited temples and ruins on the river’s banks.
At night there was music and dancing. Preet sang so beautifully that even Mahira was impressed. She gave the bird a thin gold ring that just fit over her claws to dangle around one thin leg. Preet was so thrilled with the gift that she soared in elegant loops around the masts, as if to prove it couldn’t weigh her down. Then she perched on the arm of Mahira’s chair and sang just for her.
“Strong little thing,” Ozorne murmured in Arram’s ear.
Arram nodded.
The company also invited Arram to juggle. For this more jaded audience, and also because he hadn’t brought his juggling equipment, Arram worked as he had in the typhoid infirmary and used anything at hand. Even Ozorne’s imperious mother laughed and applauded.
On their way home, Arram leaned against the rail and studied the part of the river and its banks upstream from the imperial palace and the university. He saw the slip where the imperial barges docked. And on the university side he saw the dock used by the emperor when he wanted to attend the games. If Arram looked down the road that led from the dock, he could see the tall white mass of the arena itself. It filled him with dread.
Before his holiday began, Ramasu had taken him aside. “A week after the start of the term, you will accompany me for two weeks at the gladiators’ camp,” he told Arram. “I spend time there with an assistant during every gladiatorial season. We treat people for injuries and ailments, and for wounds taken in the arena after the games. Make sure the kit you put together once classes begin is ready—I’ll inspect it before we leave. The people in infirmary supplies know you’ll be coming.”
Looking down that road, watching the sun bathe the area, Arram shuddered. He had done his best to avoid most of the games. Now he would be up to his elbows in it. Worse, he knew he could get out of it. All he had to do was tell Ramasu he couldn’t bear to do it. Ramasu would understand.
But healing mages must learn wounds and surgery. What if he was confronted with someone who needed help one day, and he lacked the knowledge to save that person? He had to go. If he fainted, he was sure Ramasu would give him another try. He doubted the master would give him a second try if he said no now. Ramasu was a very yes-or-no sort of person.
He turned his back on the arena. He would see more than enough of it soon.
By the time the barge touched the university dock, Arram wanted to run to his room. He was weary of people. Soon classes would begin, and all of his masters had promised to work him like a field laborer. He believed them. He meant to sleep until then, in peaceful solitude—or as much solitude and peace as residence in Lindhall’s quarters supplied.
He thanked Princess Mahira as elegantly as he could, told Ozorne he’d had a wonderful time, and hastened up the path, well ahead of the others. His bed called.
For the next three days Ozorne dragged him to meals. Lindhall requested his usual help with the animals who shared their quarters. Beyond that Arram kept to himself. He cleaned cages and boxes, restored stocks of seed, bandages, dishes, perches, and splints, and mended leashes, gloves, and hoods. The other students who had the duty over the holiday were happy to leave him to it.
Ozorne did insist that Arram join him on the flat rooftop of the building the night before the start of the term. Sergeant Okot himself took the guard position on the stairwell that led to the roof. He placed one of his most trusted soldiers on the stair, assuring Ozorne that neither of them was within sight or hearing of the two youths. Once he had taken his position, and Ozorne had checked both men himself in his scrying mirror, Ozorne produced cups and a bottle of his mother’s wine. Arram spread the thick blanket he’d brought for protection from the gravelly roof. A loaf of bread and a bowl of buttermilk cheese followed. Ozorne set his prizes on the blanket, together with a knife for the cheese and a pair of napkins. Forewarned, Arram had filched grapes from supper.
“A feast!” Ozorne proclaimed it, and poured out the wine. “The only thing missing is Varice, but the girls are having their own gathering.”
“Careful with that wine,” Arram warned. “Don’t start summer with a hangover.”
“Worrier,” Ozorne retorted.
They ate and drank, and at last Ozorne remarked idly, “Mother wanted to talk future brides with me while the rest of you were visiting the temple of the Crocodile God upriver.”
Arram listened to a bat as it fluttered overhead before he asked, “And?”
Ozorne sipped his wine. “I convinced her that Uncle might take it ill if she was trying to find me a brood mare. Cousin Mesaraz is still very much alive and well and, I assume, capable of siring his own heirs. And Uncle himself isn’t in need of his heir just yet.”
“Did that work?” Arram asked. He was trying to ignore the goosebumps that prickled over his arms and back at such casual, almost contemptuous talk of “brood mares” and “siring.”
“With a little persuasion.” Ozorne’s voice was calm in the summer twilight. “She doesn’t think sometimes. She doesn’t see how it might look to someone as jumpy as Uncle. I’ve heard gossip that Stiloit perhaps didn’t drown—or if he did, it was before the ship actually sank. If Mother pushed for me to marry, Uncle might wonder if she was trying to advance me in the ranks of heirs. That Stiloit didn’t die accidentally.”
“Do you believe that?” Arram asked, goosebumps of a different kind racing all over his body.
Ozorne chuckled. “Are you joking? I was given a copy of what the men who survived told Uncle’s examiners. The storm came up fast and hard, so hard they lost sight of the other ships. When it passed off, the mages identified what remained of the lost ships. The rain gods were irritable last winter, that’s all.”