The Alchemist's Touch (23 page)

“I hope you will tell me all about it.” She slipped his arm in hers and led him down the street. For nearly two hours they made their way through the roads of the Seat, apparently without any aim or destination. He told her of the library’s many wonders, of Kalem and Theren, and even Credell, though he left out details of the instructor’s craven nature. Of course he said nothing of his adventures beyond the citadel’s walls, and especially nothing concerning Adara. He doubted Halab would disapprove, but knew his father would, and some whispered word might make it home.
 

Best I keep that to myself
.

By the time Ebon finished his tales, his throat was raw from talking. Halab had nodded, with twitters of appreciation at just the right moments. When at last he dwindled to silence, she chuckled and shook her head. “Had I known you would take so well to the Academy, I might have spoken to your father years ago. And yet, in another sense, I think you arrived at the perfect time.”

Ebon was about to ask her just what she meant, but she jerked his arm to the left as they nearly passed a street. “Quickly. This way. We do not want to miss the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?”
 

But before Halab could answer, the thunder of trumpets and bells tore the air asunder. The sound made Ebon nearly jump out of his skin, but Halab stood steady, as though she had expected it. Looking around, Ebon realized they stood scarcely a street away from the High King’s palace. They were at the mouth of a main thoroughfare where it met the Seat’s greatest road—running straight west and east from the palace to the wide gates at either end. A crowd had gathered around them. As Ebon looked up at the palace now, resplendent in white and silver, shining in the morning sun, its great gates swung open.

Once enough space appeared between the gates, troops began to march forth. First Ebon saw many soldiers on horseback, hooves dancing gaily as they bounced. Behind these came many more on foot, marching in full plate, their steps strong and sure, careless of the metal bearing them down. All wore tabards like Ebon had found in the Shining Door: white with gold edges, and the four-pointed star in the center. The sigil of the High King.
 

After a time, the High King’s army had passed, and still more troops marched. These were tall and stern, their finely-crafted armor polished until to a shine, throwing sunlight in Ebon’s eyes until they burned. Their cloaks were red, hoods thrown back and down their shoulders.

“They are Mystics,” Ebon whispered in wonder.

“Indeed,” said Halab. “This is the greater part of all the Mystics here upon the Seat. They march by command of the Lord Chancellor himself, and he at the High King’s order.”

“But where are they going?”

“To join the war in Wellmont, in the southwest of Selvan. Or, it is more correctly put, they go to end it. The High King has at last decided that this border squabble is unseemly, and aims to halt it by strength of arms.”

“Can she not simply command them to cease their fighting?”

“Oh, dear Nephew. The minds of kings are stern and stubborn and difficult to sway. She might issue such a command, of course, but Dorsea might not listen. And even if they did, resentment would burn like a bonfire in their hearts, only to erupt again into war, and mayhap a worse one. At times, soft words may serve for diplomacy. But a wise king knows when to use an ironclad fist. Come.”

Though the march was not yet over, she turned and led Ebon away. He cast one last look over his shoulder at the red-cloaked soldiers, but they soon marched by and were lost in the crowd.

She led him unerringly through the streets, and soon he recognized the neighborhood surrounding the Drayden family manor, standing two stories above the adjacent buildings, its stones painted gold like their homes in Idris. His steps faltered, and he felt as though a cloud had shrouded his heart.

“Come along now,” said Halab, tugging at him playfully. “Your father does not wait within. Today, it is only you and I.”

He smiled, as if to disavow the thought, but she waved him to silence. They found the gates open and waiting; they climbed to the fourth-floor dining hall to find that a feast had been spread before them. From the steam, Ebon guessed it had been uncovered a moment before their arrival.
 

After two months, Ebon had nearly forgotten how well his family ate. He feasted on lamb and figs, fine spiced soup, and salad dressed with oils that teased his tongue delightfully. Though he never went hungry at the Academy, he ate like a man famished. When at last he could not stomach another bite, Ebon sighed with contentment and sank back into his plush cushions. Halab had finished eating some time ago, and was now watching him over steepled fingers, a small smile playing across her lips.

“Should I investigate the Academy for starving you?”

“Not at all. It is only that they have so many to feed, and do not have cooks so fine as ours. I am ever grateful, and will remember this meal for months to come.”

She reached for her wine goblet and took a delicate sip. That reminded Ebon of his own cup, and he took a deeper pull. “Remember it indeed, and in good health. Now, my nephew, tell me. You have spoken much of your time at the Academy. Have you enjoyed your time here, and your new friends? Truly?”

Ebon frowned. “Of course. Does it seem otherwise? I am happier here than ever at home.”

Halab’s gaze was fixed on his, and her eyes had grown sharp. “Yet it seems to me I hear something behind your words, some source of discontent that troubles you. Do my senses deceive me?”

Ebon balked. She was right, of course. But how to tell her? He owed his father little in the way of loyalty, but still did not wish to trouble her with such matters. For he was her brother, and it was not well to speak ill of kin to kin.

Halab sighed and put down her goblet. “I see you do not deny it, and now I see your reluctance to speak. Let me, then, hazard a guess, for recently I have spoken with Mako.”

The blood must have drained from his face, fear tingled in his fingers. If Halab knew what Ebon had been up to, mayhap she meant to withdraw him from the Academy. Was that her true purpose on this visit to the Seat?

But Halab pressed on before he could answer. “He has told me that your father sent instructions, through Mako, to deliver a parcel. I know little more than this, for neither did Mako. Is this true?”

“Yes, Aunt.” Ebon’s voice betrayed him.

She leaned forwards and patted his hand. “There, nephew. Do not worry yourself about such things. Though we may never know the truth behind your errand, do you truly believe your father would use you for some evil end? Surely you cannot think
that
badly of him.”

“Of course not, Halab.” Ebon’s words sounded hollow even in his own ears, and from the look in her eyes, she heard it.

“Shay has always enjoyed his little schemes, even when we were children. They may be cloaked in secrecy, but they are always harmless. And if he should send Mako again, you should not hesitate to obey him. After all, it is by my brother’s grace that you are able to attend the Academy at all. I spoke on your behalf, of course, for he did not welcome the idea. But if Shay insists, he could withdraw you from the Academy and have you brought home. I do not believe either one of us wishes for that.”

“No, certainly not,” said Ebon, shaking his head.

“Good. Then serve your father as he wishes. It is a small price to pay. Now, I have had the attendants tending carefully to the roses. I shall show you the garden.”
 

Ebon rose to follow Halab down and into the garden, smiling through the day, as the sun surrendered first to dusk and then to moonslight, but Ebon thought hard upon her words, and wondered when Mako might come for him next.

The next day, as soon as Ebon could find Kalem and Theren in the dining hall, he told them what had happened. At first they were both keenly interested in the High King’s army marching forth, but their moods dampened as he shared Halab’s words. Kalem looked bemused, but Theren troubled.

“I take this for good news,” said Kalem. “If you have done nothing wrong, then you have nothing to fear.”

“A foolish notion,” Theren argued. “Many heads have rolled free from bodies that committed no evil. Something dark has indeed transpired, and your aunt seeks to distract you.”

Kalem looked confused. “I thought you said your aunt was one of the kind ones in your family.”

“She is,” said Ebon. “No worse than I, certainly. Therefore I think you are half-right, Theren. I think my father works some dark plot, but keeps it concealed from her. I only wish to know what it is.”

“You do not suppose anyone in your family knows what we have been up to?” Kalem asked, his voice quivering. “If that truth becomes known, I do not think any of us will remain students for long.”

“You worry overmuch about nothing,” said Theren. “If they knew what we did, and meant to expel us, it would have happened already.”

“Unless they cannot prove it,” said Kalem.

Theren shook him by the shoulder. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Since when have the rich needed proof or just cause to punish those who displeased them? Certainly they would not hesitate to cast me from this place, though I do not doubt Ebon would remain.”

“What?” Ebon frowned. “Why me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Come now, goldbag. You are a Drayden, as is the Dean. Now he even begins to take secret meals with you. Surely you cannot still think to deny that you have his favor?”

“He has not ‘taken meals’ with me,” said Ebon angrily. “He ate with me once, and only to obtain information. I tell you, my family cares nothing for me. Why do you still take me for a favored son?”

Theren shrugged. “All sons are favored whose cribs are lined with gold.”

Ebon slammed his bowl on the table. Students around them grew silent. “I think I have had quite enough of your small-minded scorn.”
 

He stood and swept away, leaving his dishes behind.
 

Let her clean up after me, for once.

twenty-five

THE NEXT TWO DAYS WERE terrible, as Ebon was forced to avoid Theren in the dining hall and in the Academy passageways. Whenever he saw her heading towards him, he would cast his eyes to the floor, turn if he could, or hurry by without speaking. Theren, for her part, seemed content to ignore Ebon as well.
 

He still spent his days in the library with Kalem, for he had no gripe with the boy, and Kalem seemed equally miserable. Again and again he tried to convince Ebon that he should reconcile with Theren. But only to himself would Ebon admit that he was sorely tempted; Theren and Kalem were his only friends here. But no matter what they went through together, it seemed she would never see him as anything more than some rich and pampered child, worthy only of her scorn.

Where once he had visited Theren and Kalem in the common room outside of Kalem’s dormitory, now Ebon spent most of his evenings wandering the training grounds. They were extensive enough that he could go for hours without seeing another soul, if he was careful to avoid them. There were hedges and bushes, planted to separate the training grounds, into which Ebon could easily lose himself.

As moonslight lit the grounds on the second day since his quarrel with Theren, Ebon sat on a bench near the Academy’s outer wall. It was nowhere near the sheds Theren used to sneak out at night—he had made certain of that. He rested upon a bench, leaning back against the granite wall and picking at his fingernails. But he saw nothing, for his thoughts were far away: on his sister Albi back home, on the smoldering anger in Theren’s eye when he saw her now, and especially on Halab and Mako and his father.

A sound pulled his mind to the present: the snap of a twig in a nearby bush. His gaze drifted to the sound, and he sat forwards. “Who is there?”

No answer came, but Ebon thought he heard rustling leaves. His pulse quickened, and he pushed himself up from the bench. Hands clenched to fists, but he hesitated. Perhaps he had heard nothing, and was merely being ridiculous.

An unseen force gathered him up from the ground, hurled him through the air, and slammed him into the outer wall. His breath left him as he crashed to the grass. Before he could find his feet, the unseen force struck again—this time as a hammer blow to his face. He felt his lip split on his teeth, and blood spattered the stone.

“What—” he managed to stammer, before another invisible blow struck him in the gut. He cried out, tears spilling unbidden from his eyes. At last he recognized it for mind magic.
Theren?
It seemed impossible. She was angry with him, but surely not this angry.
 

The force lifted Ebon, pressed him against the wall, and held him. Through glazed eyes he looked down. But it was not Theren he saw.

“You saw her,” rasped the Dean. Though his eyes glowed, Ebon could see the hatred twisting his brow. “You saw Halab. You spent the better part of a day with her, and yet you did not tell me.”

“I…what?” Ebon had utterly forgotten the Dean’s request to inform him of his dealings with the Draydens.