three
“THAT SEEMED A BIT RUSHED,” said Kalem as they trudged on.
“I had forgotten about the time, and remembered all at once,” Ebon said. It was a lie, and likely Kalem could hear it in his voice. But just now, he did not care overmuch.
They said little else before they reached the Academy. Its iron doors stood closed against the chill, but they opened easily. Without thinking, they made for one of the side halls—but a shrill cry stopped them all in their tracks.
“Snow!” cried Mellie. The little old doorguard thrust a spindly finger at their boots, and held it there quivering. Her eyes glowed with madness, almost like magelight.
“Yes, Mellie,” the three muttered in unison. They went to the side of the front door, where an iron grate lay over a pit, and tramped the snow off of their feet. Mellie paced behind them like a sellsword general before her troops. When they were done they stepped away—but Mellie snatched Ebon’s arm and held him still, then lifted his boot up to inspect it, as though he were a horse and she about to shoe him.
“Fine, fine,” she muttered. “Snow! It gets everywhere, it does. Everything wet. Ugh!”
They slipped away as quick as they could, making for the stairs to the dormitories. But once again they were brought up short—this time by Jia. The instructor stepped suddenly in front of them, sandy hair pulled into its usual tight bun.
“Ebon, Kalem,” she said briskly. “I must see you in the dining hall this evening. Nine o’clock. Do not be late.”
That made them pause. Ebon looked to Kalem, and Kalem back at him, but each was as confused as the other. “Of course, Instructor,” said Ebon. “But may I ask …”
But she had moved on as soon as he had agreed, and the question died on his lips.
“What could she want?” said Kalem.
“You do not think …” Theren let the words hang.
“She cannot know about … about our friend,” said Ebon firmly, meaning Dasko. “If she did—if anyone did—we would be greeted by an assembly intent on capturing us. We would not be summoned to a late-night meeting. But come, we are almost late. Our ‘friend’ needs tending to.”
“I know that,” said Theren, scowling. “See to your own affairs.”
“Until the morrow, then.” Kalem set off towards the grounds.
But Theren did not follow him at once. “Go. I will be there in a moment.” Once Kalem obeyed, she turned to Ebon. “You should not think so harshly of him.”
Ebon blinked. “Harshly? What do you mean?”
“He is young, and likely cannot help the way he feels about your sister.”
A moment passed before he understood. He shook his head and scowled. “You think I am upset with Kalem? You misunderstand me. It is my sister who behaves foolishly.”
Theren cocked her head. “But she is scarcely older than he is. It is the same thing.”
He shook his head quickly. “I might once have thought so, but no longer. She is growing up a bit too fast, and while she has a good heart, I see too much of my family in her. She plays with him, and with his affection. I am only trying to keep him from pain.”
She gave him a sad smile. “That will never work forever. But do as you will. I only wanted to mention it.” Then she turned and left him.
Ebon glowered as he made his way up the stairs to Astrea’s dormitory. It was all well and good for Theren to dismiss the matter brewing between Kalem and Albi. If the two of them were to have a falling out, Theren would not be the one caught between a sibling and a best friend who would not speak to each other. Then again, the thought of the two of them avoiding each other had much more appeal than the present situation. Perhaps he would let things play out after all.
He had reached the door he sought, so he pushed his thoughts aside and stepped in. Among the many chairs in the common room beyond, he spied little Astrea where she sat by the fireplace. It burned low, and Ebon threw a new log upon the flames before he turned and sat in the chair beside hers. She did not so much as lift her gaze.
“Good eve,” Ebon said quietly. “How do you fare?”
“The same as always,” she murmured.
He swallowed. “I do not have as much time as I wish,” he said. “Jia needs me for something this evening, though I know not what.”
Her brow creased, and she folded her arms across her chest. “Very well. I have said often enough you do not need to come and see me, if you are busy.”
“I would not leave you alone. Not after …”
Her eyes flashed as she looked at him. He fell silent. She did not like talk of Isra, who had been like a sister to her. Ebon supposed he could not blame her. He decided to change tack.
“Why do we not take a walk upon the grounds?” he said, sitting up in his armchair. “It is cold, but in a bracing sort of way. The air might do you good. You hardly ever leave the citadel.”
“That is the way I want it,” said Astrea.
“It is not good to stay cooped up. Now more than ever. Come with me. It will be only a little walk.”
She rolled her eyes, and for a moment reminded him strikingly of Albi, though the two of them could not have looked more different. “Very well.” She rose and followed him from the room, but he could not miss the morose stoop in her shoulders.
Outside, the air was bracing indeed. It made him gasp as it first splashed across his face, and Astrea huddled closer under her cloak. But after a few minutes of walking, the blood began to flow, and his breath did not come quite so shaky. Astrea, despite the deep scowl she kept upon her face, began to move more easily as well. After a time she even threw back her hood. The night was dark now, but the Academy’s grounds were lit by many lanterns hanging from the walls.
“How have you been feeling?” said Ebon after a while.
“I am fine,” she grated. “Only I am sick of you and others asking me that, or some other version of it, as though you think some lever will be pulled within me, and one day I will answer you with a wide smile.”
“My apologies,” said Ebon. “It is only … we worry for you.”
“Why should you? You see me every day in class, after all.”
“Is …” Ebon tried to remember how Halab had spoken to him before, so kind and gentle. “Is there any way I can help? Do you need anything?”
She looked away to hide her eyes. “Other than for Isra to return, and for all of this to be a terrible dream?”
After a moment he saw her shoulders quivering. He put out an awkward arm to drape across them. “I know she was like a sister,” he said quietly. “I cannot imagine what I would feel if my own sister were taken from me this way.”
“Of course you cannot imagine it,” said Astrea sharply. But immediately she ducked her head. “I am sorry. I did not mean that.”
“It is all right.”
When she looked at him again, her eyes were wet. “She always looked after me. In our orphanage, sometimes food would be scarce. She would share hers with me so I would not get so hungry. Some other children liked to bully me, but Isra never let them get away with it. She could tumble anyone, even children larger than her. I have often become lonely here at the Academy. I have often wished I had parents to write home to, or who would come and visit me here. But during the day I could always go … go and see Isra and she would … she would …”
She began to cry in earnest, burying her face in the front of Ebon’s robes. He held her tightly, awkwardly. With one hand he gently patted her hair.
Her words echoed in his mind, giving him a feeling of vague unease. The Isra Astrea praised so highly was nothing like the Isra he had known. He still had dreams, sometimes waking, sometimes in his sleep, of Isra’s mad eyes as she tried to kill him. He still saw Vali, his neck snapped on the stone wall, and Oren, pierced by dozens of knives in the dining hall.
How could the monster who did those deeds have been so loved by this innocent, sweet girl? It seemed even the worst sort of people had some good in them. If that was so, the reverse must also be true. And so he said, not as a comfort, but as a lesson, “Even the best people have some evil in them.”
Astrea pulled away from him and kept walking. “Yet the same deeds may be called evil in some, but not in others. If Isra were rich like Lilith, she might get more help. Everyone might not be so eager to call her a villain.”
“Lilith received no special privilege because of her wealth,” said Ebon. “I saw her while she was under the knives of the Mystics. It was horrible. She was like a broken creature.”
The girl shook her head. Not a rejection, but a refusal to hear. Ebon almost pressed the point, but then the Academy’s bell began to ring. Nine times it called out.
“Blast,” said Ebon. “I am late. Jia requested me. I will come and see you again tomorrow. I swear it.”
Astrea only shrugged. “Every day,” she muttered. “Every day the same.”
He put an arm around her shoulders and ushered her back inside, through one of the white cedar doors.
four
ONCE ASTREA WAS ON HER way up the stairs, Ebon ran for the dining hall. When he reached its wide oak doors, he nearly ran full-on into Kalem, who had come from the other direction.
“At least I will not be the only one who is late,” said Ebon.
“I lost track of the hour,” said Kalem, wheezing hard. He had never been athletic. “After she visited our ‘friend,’ Theren required some consolation.”
Ebon frowned. “Is everything all right?”
Kalem’s brows shot for the ceiling. “Of course not, Ebon. How can you even ask that?”
He grimaced. “Later.”
They pushed open the doors and entered the dining hall. But both of them froze in the doorway, for they found they were not the only ones present. Many other students had been called, and all of them were sitting at a few tables near the entrance. Some looked up curiously to see them standing there, but most kept their eyes on Jia.
The instructor stood at the head of the little group, watching them all with a keen eye. She seemed ready to give a speech, but it did not appear she had started yet. As soon as she saw Ebon and Kalem, she waved them to the benches at once.
“Come, come. Sit, sit,” she said. “There we are. Excellent. Now, I believe we may begin.”
The other students began to quiet down. But Kalem whispered quickly in Ebon’s ear, “Why are we here, but not Theren? What is this?” Ebon shrugged.
Jia lifted her chin. “This,” she began, “is a dangerous time. Not only for the Academy, nor for the Seat, but for all of Underrealm. The High King is beset on all sides, and she requires the help of every one of us to preserve the nine kingdoms.”
She paused for a moment. The dining hall settled to silence. Ebon and Kalem stared at each other. Ebon was even more mystified than before.
Suddenly Jia shook her head, as if she had remembered something. “Yes, she requires our help,” she went on. “But some may help more than others. Some have greater strength of arms—or spells, in our case. Some have larger armies, and some have deeper pockets. These must aid her according to her means—but it begins at the very roots, with each one of us, and not with the grand schemes of the kingdoms. Who better to defend Underrealm against its enemies, than the noble families of which you are a part? A short time ago, Lilith had the wise idea to form a group of you for just such a purpose. The Goldbag Society, I believe she called it, though it is an uncouth name.”
Ebon’s blood ran cold. He looked at Kalem. The boy’s face had gone Elf-white. A quick glance around the room confirmed it: Ebon saw no one there but the children of merchants and royalty. These were the same children Lilith had called together when she was under Isra’s mindwyrd.
Jia spoke on, but Ebon could scarcely hear the words. He leaned over to whisper in Kalem’s ear. “She is here.”
“She cannot be,” said Kalem. “How could …?”
“No time for wondering now,” said Ebon. “Go and fetch Theren, as quickly as ever you can. And tell her to bring Kekhit’s amulet.”
Kalem nodded, but then gave Jia a wary look. Slowly he stood from his bench. Jia seemed to take no notice, but only continued her speech. Step by step Kalem backed away, edging towards the door of the dining hall. Some students caught the motion and stared, but Jia droned on regardless. It was as though she did not even see him. Ebon’s stomach did a flip-flop. Kalem turned and ran, vanishing into the Academy’s hallways.
Ebon looked about him carefully. Other than the few tables near the front, the Academy hall was nearly empty. But there, at the back of the hall, he spied the doorways leading into the kitchens, which were now dark and looked abandoned.
One of the doors was ajar.
He stood from his bench and walked towards it. Jia took no more notice of him than she had of Kalem, though some of the students watched him go. He hesitated on the threshold of the kitchens for a long moment, trying to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. But when at last he could see inside, no one was in sight.
Heart thundering in his ears, he stepped into the darkness.
The dish room was empty. An oak door in the corner opened into the kitchens proper—and Ebon saw that it, too, was ajar. He crept carefully forwards, muffling each footstep as best he could.
It was darker still inside. No lanterns were lit here, and no windows let in the moonslight. He longed to reach for his power so that his eyes might help light the way, but then he might be seen. So he crept forwards, avoiding the tables around him, which might send dishes clattering to the floor if he bumped them. The air smelled of meat left out too long.
He thought he could hear a murmuring drawing near. And then, from the next room, he caught a faint glow. But something was … wrong about it. In its light he could see shapes, but not their color or distance. It was like an awareness, rather than true sight. His mind hurt, and his eyes kept shuddering away from it.
He stepped into the doorway.
It was a storeroom, and here at last there was moonslight from a window high in the wall. There were barrels and sacks in great piles all around the place, and crates stacked in its center.
In one corner sat a girl in the robes of an Academy student—only they were filthy and threadbare, and Ebon thought he could smell them from where he stood. Her hair was just as dirty, and hung lank around her shoulders.