Tamora Pierce - Tempests and Slaughter

Arram drew breath for another protest, never taking his eyes from the menace of the comb. Without warning, the door swung open and knocked him forward to his knees. He virtually tackled Varice; she fell onto her rump with a shriek.

‘What in the Divine Realms is going on here?’ demanded Master Chioké. Although he sounded shocked, he still calmly shook water from his hands and satchel onto the two young people. His long black hair, pinned back in twists of braided gold chain, was perfectly dry, as were his feet. Disgruntled, Arram guessed that the master must have left waterproof boots and a cloak hung in the gallery outside.

‘Student Varice, you are not supposed to be here,’ Chioké informed her sternly. He stepped past her and Arram.

Varice struggled to rise. Arram reached out and helped to pull her arms so she could stand. Carefully he fought his own way upright without falling onto her again.

Varice curtsied. ‘I have permission from the housekeeper, Master Chioké,’ she said demurely, gazing at the floor. Arram knew that tone and downward look: she was furious that the master had knocked them down without helping them to rise. ‘I told her that Prince Ozorne had missed the morning meal, so I brought him juice and food. I was reading to him from one of our lessons when Arram came in. Wasn’t I, Arram?’

Arram nodded. ‘Ozorne was telling us to go away. I’m sure he’ll tell you to go away, too, Master,’ he said, all innocence. Ozorne had told him once that Chioké said he thought Arram was talented, but perhaps a little simple. ‘Ozorne tells everyone to go away,’ he added in the face of Chioké’s suspicious glare.

Ozorne sprang up from his heap of blankets. ‘I do want you to go away, all of you! That’s the thing about this poxy, deep-fouled place – a fellow can’t get any quiet!’ He raised a hand that held his other slipper. ‘And don’t look daggers at me! You don’t know what—’

Chioké stepped around Arram and Varice, removing his satchel from his shoulder. Ozorne abruptly fell silent. ‘I am surprised by you, Prince Ozorne,’ the mage said quietly. ‘Your royal mother would be most distressed to hear you speak to friends in such a manner, particularly when they act only from concern.’

‘I hate clinging,’ Ozorne muttered. He glanced at Varice and Arram. ‘But I’m sorry. I’ve just been … itchy, of late. Itchy and cross and sleepy.’ He glared at Chioké, who took a flask from his satchel and removed the top. It was a small cup. ‘And what’s the use?’ Ozorne continued to rant while Varice clung to Arram’s arm. ‘I’ll get sucked into palace business anyway … I’ll never get to be a mage. They’ll put me in the army … I’ll be cut down, just like Father—’ His voice was rising.

Chioké deftly pulled the cork that plugged the flask and poured a small measure of liquid into the cup. Arram could see the liquid shining brightly in the journey from bottle to cup and in the cup itself. Chioké offered the shimmering vessel to Ozorne. ‘Drink, Your Highness,’ he told Ozorne. ‘All will be well.’

‘You aren’t bespelling him, are you?’ Arram asked, despite his own caution around masters. ‘We aren’t supposed to take any cantrip unless given by the healers.’

‘You dare. ’ There was danger in Chioké’s voice. ‘Just because you have dazzled a handful of soppish mages does not mean I will permit you to question me!’

Varice covered Arram’s mouth with her hand. ‘No, Master, please, he doesn’t understand! Please don’t be angry!’ she pleaded.

‘Then get him away from here and explain, before I teach him the respect he owes a master who will not coddle him!’ Chioké ordered.

Arram protested, but Varice dug both hands into his arm. That was when he discovered that her beautiful fingernails were not only for decoration. Wincing, he let her tow him out into the corridor. ‘But my clothes,’ he protested. ‘Proper clothes … And he isn’t supposed to … mmph!’

She had clapped a hand over his mouth. ‘Will you be silent and let me explain ?’ she demanded. ‘My goodness, Arram, but you do clack on sometimes! Master Chioké is Ozorne’s personal master.’

Arram peeled her hand away from his face. ‘But it’s only the ones that show great promise who get a personal master,’ he reminded her. ‘And that only in their last years at the Upper Academy.’

Varice sighed and leaned against the wall. ‘Ozorne is different. His mother and the emperor weren’t going to let him return here at all after his father …’

Arram nodded. She meant after his father had died.

‘Master Chioké stepped in and said he would be Ozorne’s personal master, even though he’s too young. He’s doing it for Ozorne’s family.’

Arram scratched his head. ‘But he’s a fire mage, not a healer.’

Varice shrugged. ‘I suppose he got the medicine from healers, or Ozorne’s mother. Take my word, those two treat Ozorne like gold.’

Arram looked at his door. ‘So now what do I do?’

‘You take these clean clothes.’ The housekeeper, Irafa, stood in her open doorway. She offered a set of his clothing to him. How long had she been there, listening? Arram thought, horrified.

‘Silly, she has to know about Ozorne, with him in her care,’ Varice said, guessing what Arram thought. She asked Irafa, ‘May he change in your room? I don’t believe Master Chioké wants to be interrupted.’

Irafa waved Arram into her quarters and closed the door behind him. When he returned, he found her talking with Varice. As soon as Arram handed his dreadful clothes to the beckoning Irafa, Varice said, ‘There’s a glassblower down the way who makes all kinds of things you wouldn’t expect. Do you want to go see? He’s under the arcade outside the gates, so we won’t get wet if we wear hats and cloaks.’

They returned from a fine afternoon of shop visiting and talk to take an early supper. Then, carefully, they looked in on Ozorne. Chioké was still present, reading in Ozorne’s chair, when they entered the room.

‘Very good,’ Chioké said, getting to his feet. ‘Irafa told me you were out. I want you both to know that he will sleep another day, maybe two. He has a cup and water beside his bed, as well as fruit and bread should he get hungry.’ He turned back and blew out the candle he’d been using. ‘However, I doubt he will wake. Send a messenger for me if you are here when he does. I am in good hopes that the medicine will do the trick in restoring his normal state of mind.’ He nodded at them, gathered his things, and left without bothering to close the door.

They both looked in at Ozorne, who was once again a lump of blankets and pillows. Varice tiptoed over and rearranged the pile so her friend’s nose poked into the open air. Then she turned to Arram and shrugged. ‘He’s the master,’ she said with resignation. ‘I suppose it’s just you and me for breakfast for a while, then.’ She waved and left Arram, closing the door behind her.

Two days later they were surprised at supper by a cheery Ozorne. ‘It’s still raining,’ he announced as if he hadn’t been dark and gloomy for weeks. ‘Anyone want to race paper boats down the corridors?’

Arram and Varice both sighed in relief. Arram never remembered to ask Varice if she had seen the glow in Chioké’s medicine.

The Lower Academy for Youthful Mages

SCHEDULE OF STUDY, SUMMER TERM, 436 H.E.

Student: Arram Draper

Learning Level: Semi-Independent

Breakfast – Third Morning Bell

Morning Classes

Gems and Stones

Four-Legged Animals: Anatomy