She hesitated. “I should clear away the books and papers in there.”
Master Cosmas nodded. “Very good. Nangla, if you will go to the kitchens? Tell them I will need lunch to be served at the hour past noon.” He smiled at Arram. “That should give us sufficient time to have a good talk.”
The boy left; Master Cosmas led Arram into his personal dining room, where Lyssy had already gone to work. Arram looked around as Lyssy removed piles of books from the long table. There were a number of different chairs: the room was built for large gatherings. Now only seven places were filled, one by Master Sebo. Master Cosmas pointed Arram to the place next to her, then took a big cushioned chair across from them. He did not introduce the other masters seated there, but left it to them to introduce themselves. Yadeen, Chioké, Lindhall—even Arram lost track of them after a short time, because each mage had plenty of questions to throw at him in addition to a name.
Arram thought he had been tested when he first came to the university, but it was nothing compared to what these eight masters subjected him to over the next three hours. They threw questions at his head like his fellows threw balls at him during play hours. Many of them covered material he had studied in the past three years, but others did not. There was plenty he had never encountered, even in his secret explorations. They knew about those, somehow—had Sebo told them? They wanted the tiniest of details about what he had studied—magical and ordinary—at home, and even about things that weren’t studies at all. They asked if he had tried drawing on his own, or building things, or handling animals. They asked if he sang, danced, or did gymnastics.
And then, with Sebo’s eye on him, Arram finally confessed to reading what he could of Bladwyn’s Book.
“Bladwyn’s Book?” That was the master who frightened him the most, a tall, muscular black man whose heavy lower lids made his dark eyes seem huge. He leaned forward, scowling. Like the other masters, he wore a scarlet outer robe. Under it he wore a simple white cotton shirt and breeches, and plain leather sandals. If he did well as a mage, his clothes didn’t show it, though Arram had been at the university long enough to learn that the best mages weren’t always finely dressed. “Bladwyn’s Book?” the big man repeated when Arram didn’t reply immediately. “You were actually able to work spells from it?”
“One spell,” Arram admitted. “A hiding spell.”
The big mage flipped a large hand at him. “Show.”
Arram looked at the floor. “Do I have to?” he asked Master Cosmas.
“If you please,” the head of the school replied. “Then we’ll feed you, I promise.”
Arram sighed. In truth, he didn’t see how doing it would get him into any worse trouble. He drew in his breath and let it out, then shaped the signs in his head. It wasn’t the kind of spell that could be worked with smelly oils or signs written on the floor, not if a fellow wanted to go unnoticed, anyway.
At first nothing happened. He was too nervous. Had he used everything up with the water spells? He glanced at Cosmas, who nodded at him in a comforting way.
He drew in a breath, bringing his Gift up from his belly, and released the air. He imagined himself drawing the signs on a great chalkboard inside his head. His hand quivered, or his imagination did. When he looked down, half of him was invisible, and half of him was not.
“Relax, lad,” Master Sebo told him. “That’s good enough for now. Release it.”
Arram looked at her. “I can do it right,” he protested. “I work it all the time.”
“We know you can,” she said, glaring at the big mage in the chair across from them. “And if Master Yadeen weren’t so busy glaring at you, I imagine you would have done it properly.”
“I wasn’t glaring,” retorted the big man. “My face is always like this!”
Arram saw what Yadeen meant. He had the kind of eyes that looked as if they were set in an intimidating stare. “It’s just hard to concentrate,” the boy explained. “Not because of Master Yadeen, though. I’m tired from the mess I made in class.” A couple of them smiled at that.
“By his account, he doesn’t use the spells we teach the older students,” said a very beautiful master with glossy black hair and big brown eyes. She had introduced herself as Dagani. Arram was fascinated to see that she wore brown paint around her eyelids and crimson paint on her mouth. If he hadn’t met Varice, he would have thought this woman, in a stomach-baring gold silk top and skirt under her robe, was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. The woman continued, “Indeed, I have seen no masters use such a spell.”
Chioké sniffed. “The structure is archaic.”
This time Yadeen did scowl. “What is archaic is new to those who have never seen it, Chioké. Most defenses against such spells would not be able to counter it.”
Master Cosmas stood and rubbed his hands together. “I think it’s time we had lunch. Arram, you may drop the spell and join us.” He opened the door. Kitchen servants trooped in with all manner of plates and pitchers, setting everything that was needed on a long side table.
Watching the adults, Arram saw he was to take an empty plate and choose whatever appealed to him, then carry it to the main table.
Sebo and the beautiful mage, Dagani, added their own selections to Arram’s plate. He also found himself sitting between the two women at the table. They made certain he ate the greens and the fish they had given him, as well as hummus dip with bread. During the meal, Dagani got him to talk about his family and his normal day. She and Sebo exchanged looks when he admitted that mostly he read or walked in the gardens by himself.
He finally got the courage to ask, “What is this about? Will I be dismissed?”
“Cosmas!” Dagani called, rapping her spoon on her plate. “My dear sir! This poor lad thinks you mean to send him away!”
Arram sank into his chair.
Dagani tugged on his arm. “Up,” she ordered, smiling. “You look like a turtle.”
“Young man, I am sorry,” Cosmas said when Arram stuck his head over the table. “I thought you knew what we were about. I will not send you home—that’s the last place a lad of your talents should be. When you came to us, your Gift was sufficient for the basics, but—for the most part—dormant. Sleeping. Now, however, your body has begun to change. With it, your Gift will unfold. You should have been reexamined before, frankly. We questioned you so thoroughly to see where to place you next.”
Arram groaned. They were going to shift him again? “Sir, that’s the third time in three terms!”
“Speak to the master with respect,” Chioké told him severely.
“Don’t be hard on the boy,” Dagani chided, her eyes flashing. “He has not been taught to expect the extraordinary, as has Ozorne. He doesn’t understand.” She turned to Arram. “Did they tell you, when they moved you ahead these last two terms, that no two young mages grow at the same rate? Just as no two young bodies grow at the same rate—”
Arram nodded. He had noticed it among the older students.
“It is the same with their Gifts. And Gifts continue to change for years.”
“As will your mind,” commented a heavyset, broad-shouldered man with gray-brown eyes and short, tight-curled light brown hair. Unlike the other masters, he had said nothing during the meal, but scribbled in a notebook as he ate. He’d been introduced as Ramasu the healer. “Surely you knew you were exceeding the reach of your fellows when you crept into libraries to read books that were not for you.”