I said, “I suppose so. Yes; but I hoped …”
Decius gestured that I continue. I squinted into the light, shrugged, and said honestly, “I did not think too far ahead, master. I hoped we might both remain in Durbrecht … or find ourselves assigned residents to the same keep … or …” I shook my head and shrugged again.
He said, “Your Rwyan is gone to the Sentinels, where none but sorcerers are permitted residence. Even did you somehow find your way there, you would not be allowed to remain. Ergo, your affair could not have succeeded.”
It seemed, almost, he read my mind; I was taken aback that he knew so much. I should not have been, of course: there was little enough went unnoticed by the College, and this matter had been investigated. I ducked my head and muttered a reluctant negative.
Then he startled me again by asking, “Would you throw away these years? Do you wish to leave us?”
We had a saying in Whitefish village concerning the fish caught betwixt net and hook. I understood it fully in that instant. I knew that if I said yes, I might walk away, free to go seeking Rwyan. And if I did? I had no way of knowing to which of the Sentinels she had gone. Even did I somehow succeed in landing on the right island, I must still find my love. I did not doubt but that Decius spoke the truth when he warned me I should not be allowed to remain. And would Rwyan forsake her duty, quit her calling to come away with me?
I hesitated, my head spinning. I fidgeted, indecisive, easing my weight from throbbing leg to good and back again. The sun was warm on my face, hiding the expressions of the men who watched me, awaiting my answer. I thought then of that message Rwyan had left me. My talent, my trained memory, brought it back precise: Tell Daviot that I love him. Tell him that I shall always love him, but I cannot refuse my duty. I must go where I am bid, as must he in time. Tell him I pray he recovers. Tell him I shall never forget.
Rwyan had accepted her duty. Could I do less and remain the man she loved?
To Decius I said, “No. I’d not leave.”
As I spoke, I was unsure whether I chose the net or the hook. I knew I felt a dreadful pain.
I heard the master say, “Then we must consider your future. Do you return to your lessons, and we shall inform you.”
I nodded wearily. I had not thought to find my fate still undecided. I turned and limped from the room.
I had been engaged with Telek in the herbarium, and I returned there. The herbalist-chirurgeon greeted me with a sympathetic smile and waved me back to my classification of the dried plants. Cleton contrived to place himself at my side and inquired in a whisper how I had fared.
I told him my fate was as yet unfixed, and he scowled, and tapped the plaster still encasing his arm, and said, “In the God’s name, what more do they want? Rwyan’s gone and you choose to remain. What’s to decide?”
“Whether I’m fit to stay, I suppose,” I whispered back. “Or not.”
My friend cursed roundly and very soundly and said, “Do we visit the Horseman tonight? A few tankards of Lyam’s ale might wash that cloud from your face.”
I had not known my expression was so black. Nor did I feel much appetite for ale, or even company. Neither did I much wish to be alone: solitude would afford too much space for doubt. But I was still banned the city. I said, “I cannot. I am commanded to remain here.” At that moment, the College seemed to me a prison.
Cleton grinned and said, “Even with your leg, the walls should not be hard to climb.”
I was tempted. I was also very confused, torn between the desire to be alone and that for his stout company. I almost agreed, but then I thought of the cost-surely expulsion, was such disobedience discovered.
I shook my head, saying, “No, I think not.”
“By the God,” he returned, “you’ve been long enough confined. A visit to the Horseman would surely ease your miseries. Better, a visit to Allya’s. Thais asks after you, you know.”
I had not thought of Thais, nor wished to now, and what appeared to me his casual dismissal of Rwyan roused me to anger. I glowered and said primly, “I’ve no wish to visit Thais. Nor would I risk my future here. Do you not think I’ve lost enough already?”
Poor Cleton’s smile melted in the heat of my response, and he raised a placatory hand. “Forgive me,” he asked. “I was not thinking.”
I grunted a reply. I knew he sought only to cheer me and so felt guilty at my anger-which served to fuel it more. We spent the remainder of the afternoon in prickly silence, both working with a fervor that surely must have impressed our tutor.
“I told them nothing,” I said, “save what they knew. Of you and Lyr I said nothing at all.”
Urt set the chimney of a lamp in place and pinched out the taper before turning to face me. His coarse gray hair was reddened by the flame; his whiteless eyes were placid. His smile was not: it was very confident.
“I did not think you would,” he said.
Cleton was rummaging through our wardrobe, seeking a suitable shirt for his planned excursion. Over his shoulder he said, “But they likely guess. By the God! Ardyon asked me enough questions.”
“The warden spoke at length with me.” Urt nodded gravely. “But you know that. And that I said no more than I must, I hope.”
“Of course.” I set a hand on his shoulder, which was sinewy and muscular, and smiled. “I could find no better friend,” I said.
Urt seemed embarrassed, his eyes flickering to Cleton. I saw my Trueman comrade frown at such open expression of friendship with one of the Changed, and removed my hand. Thinking to mend our differences, I amended my statement: “I could hope for no better friends than the both of you.”
Cleton was visibly taken somewhat aback to find himself ranked alongside a Changed servant in my estimation, but he took it gracefully and hid his frown behind his chosen shirt.
Urt’s expression grew solemn then, and he fixed me with his dark stare. “Still, Master Cleton is right,” he said. “Save I think they know, rather than guess.”
Cleton struggled with his shirt. We take our bodies for granted, never thinking how the loss of a limb’s use hampers us until we must perforce do without. Urt went to help him, and as Cleton’s head emerged from the collar he frowned anew, but for a different cause now. “Then surely,” he said, “they’d have had me before that tribunal.”
“Perhaps not.” Urt shook his head, and in his eyes I thought I found some emotion I could not define. “You are son of the aeldor pf Madbry, Master Cleton, and that carries some weight. More, you’re a good student.”
Cleton laughed carelessly. The sound struck me like a cold wave: it failed entirely to register what I heard in Urt’s voice, saw in his eyes.
Still chuckling, he stood as Urt tied the laces of his shirt. “Daviot’s a better student than I,” he declared. “And my birth means nothing here.”
“Think you not?” asked Urt.
His husky voice was carefully modulated, but still I thought he spoke with unaccustomed openness in Cleton’s presence. I thought he seemed almost reckless, as if he felt some dice were cast, determining a future I failed to comprehend. I waited, suddenly nervous.
“Son of an aeldor, son of a fisherman.” Cleton extended his arms that Urt might fasten his cuffs; flourished the linen. “Son of a koryphon, even. All are the same in this College, all equal.”
Something flashed an instant in Urt’s eyes, gone almost before I saw it. “Some are more equal,” he said in a soft voice, “some less.”
“Nonsense,” Cleton said.
I said, “Do you explain, my friend?”
Cleton opened his mouth to elaborate, then recognized I spoke to Urt and fell silent, his frown returned. Whether because I looked to the Changed for answer or because I again openly named him friend, I neither knew nor cared.
Urt paused an instant. I thought him unwilling to speak for Cleton’s presence and smiled encouragement, motioning him to continue. He hesitated still, and I said, “Shall we conspirators hold secrets from one another? Go on, friend.”
He smiled briefly. A flash of sharp white teeth. “Some command a greater influence than others,” he said, “no matter the society. Do you not learn that from your studies of politics?”
I saw Cleton’s frown dissolve into an expression of curiosity. He settled on his bed and allowed Urt to tug on his boots. They shone bright with fresh polish-the Changed’s work. I waited, foreboding mounting.
Urt said, “How is this College financed?”
Cleton answered him, “The Lord Protector and the koryphon fund us, of course. And merchants, nobles, donate.”