In the meantime, of course she had been right: he had been a fool to accept, without question, what he thought he had seen at Tentir. Did he want that badly for his sister to be a monster, the way his father had seen her? Black, white, gray—blood red. Had it all been a desperate excuse not to deal with her at all—and if so, what good had that done him? None whatsoever, it seemed.
Turn your back on the truth, and it bites you in the butt every time.
He was also a fool not to learn what he could about the land and people that he supposedly governed. Back in his quarters was a stack of reports fully a foot high, going back to last autumn. Sighing deeply, he went to make a start on them.
Snow drifted over Jame’s boots except for the toes, on which Jorin crouched, shivering. Her feet and hands ached with the cold, and her eyes watered. This was ridiculous. Only she, Timmon, and Gorbel stood in the drifting square, surrounded by quiet cadets under shelter on the boardwalk. At the end of assembly, they had withdrawn, leaving the three lordan frozen, as if mounting guard on each other. The sun had at least risen to spread some spurious warmth, but they had been at their posts already most of the first class session, without breakfast no less. What was everyone waiting for?
Vant bent down to speak in Damson’s ear. The latter’s heavy-set shoulders hunched as if to deflect his words. Jame wished he would leave his former cadet alone: he always seemed to upset her.
Falling snow dusted her eyelashes. Winter was only a quarter over, yet she felt as if she had been cold forever.
Today they were to choose ally houses for the Winter War. Why couldn’t they get on with that?
Think about warmth. Think about the dream. She was standing in her fire-lit quarters before a mirror. She knew she was alone, yet in the silvered surface she saw Timmon standing behind her, smiling over her shoulder. His hands slid over hers as she undressed. Her skin was painted with the red sigils of seduction. His smirk changed. He too was naked, but his marks bled. He picked at them with growing horror as his skin stripped off at his touch. She turned on him.
“Stop that!”
In the square, Timmon staggered and fell as if actually pushed. The cadets cheered. What in Perimal’s name . . .
Vant whispered again to Damson.
He wants her to do something, Jame thought, but what?
She wobbled, suddenly dizzy as the ground seemed to tilt. What was this, mental arm wrestling? If so, was there an extra player in the game?
Gorbel gave an impatient grunt. “Enough. I’m freezing. Down!”
His glare was like a hard shove. Already tottering, Jame fell over. The cadets cheered again and streamed back into their barracks for a belated breakfast.
Rue helped Jame up and brushed her off. “Ninety minutes. Not bad, Ten. That Gorbel is a tough one, for all his fat.”
“What in Perimal’s name was all that about?”
“You didn’t know? It’s the traditional way we decide who gets first pick of allies for the war. You’re second.”
“No. I mean all that shoving.”
Rue looked confused. “You ordered Timmon to stop and Gorbel ordered you down. Why you were off-balance in the first place, I don’t know.”
Neither did Jame, but she had seen Vant pat Damson on the shoulder and smile.
Still bereft of breakfast, she stumbled after the other eight master-tens into the great hall.
“Why didn’t you warn me it was a test?” she demanded of Timmon under her breath.
He grinned. “What, and give up the chance to surprise you? At that, I still came in last.”
“Will you at least stop badgering me with that dream? It never comes out right, and I hate it when you drag in Tori.”
“Ah, that’s your doing, not mine. It would be so much better if you would just let me guide you through it.”
“And give up control? I don’t think so.”
Although she still liked Timmon, she didn’t trust him in this mood. What might once have been mutual pleasure had given way to a feverish need to dominate in imitation, presumably, of his father. Neither of them had been lucky in that paternal regard, but only Jame seemed to realize it. If ever she started acting like Ganth or, worse, like his brother Greshan, she profoundly hoped that someone would break her neck.
The master-tens had gathered around the hall fire and were warming their hands.
“So,” said the Edirr cheerfully. “It’s to be Gorbel, Jameth, and Timmon, in that order. Who will you choose first, Gorby?”
“Randir,” said Gorbel without hesitation, and the Randir master-ten came to stand by his side.
“Knorth?”
“Brandan.” She had discussed this long and hard with her ten-commanders. One chose for the size of one’s ally, also for their compatibility with one’s own cadets. Maybe she could still pick up the Jaran, her own favorite.
“Ardeth?”
“Jaran.”
Damn. That left the three smallest houses.
“Caineron?”
“Coman.” No surprise there. Although the Coman lord was still wavering, his primary alliance lay with the Lord Caldane.
“Knorth?”
“Danior.” The smallest house of all, with only twenty-five cadets at the college, but bone-kin.
“Ardeth?”
“Edirr.”
Three groups of three, ranging from the Caineron’s three hundred thirty-nine cadets to the Knorth’s two hundred thirty-one, with the Ardeth’s three hundred falling in the middle.
The Edirr had been doing some quick calculations. “That means two hundred ten united flag points for the Caineron, one hundred eighty for the Ardeth, and one hundred fifty for the Knorth.”
Flag points started at one hundred for the largest house (the Caineron) and descended by tens to the smallest, twenty for tiny Danior. One gained or lost them along with the flag in question. Individual scarves counted as well, as in Gen, from commanders down to individual cadets.
“That’s it, then.” Gorbel clapped his stubby, chapped hands. “Now for breakfast.”
Winter had definitely come to Tentir.
Inside, some fires burned continuously while others were only lit at night. The internal, interconnecting hall was mostly kept shut to prevent the wind from whistling from one end of New Tentir to the other through it. Windows were shuttered, sleeping furs brought out, and curtains hung to stop the draft. If things got really bad, all stock would be moved inside to the subterranean stable or to the great hall while the cadets would retreat either to the fire timber hall or to those rooms in Old Tentir that were heated by it.
There was talk of restoring the charred Knorth guest quarters in Old Tentir, but to Jame’s relief nothing came of it.
Most outside activities ended except for tending the livestock, adding to the woodpile, and hunting. Certain lessons still were conducted across the snowy fields, but then at least one was moving. For pleasure, there were snowball fights and skating on the frozen Silver with no threat now of falling through the ice.
Inside of an evening, Gen games sprang up everywhere and were played with increasing fervor as Mid-Winter Day approached. Jame added considerably to her pack of hazard cards. Discussions on how they might be implemented within Tentir ranged widely and often concluded with the participants throwing up their hands in praise of their lordan’s imagination, if not of her practicality. How, after all, did one cope with a weirdingstrom or an incursion of shadow assassins or a yackcarn stampede? Jame was dismayed to note that most of her ideas had to do with the hunters or, as they were now called, the scouts, not with commanders. The thought of leading three houses into even mock battle continued to appall her.
As for classes, the three groups now trained with each other exclusively to learn each other’s strengths and weaknesses.
Timmon’s set was perhaps the best matched of the three: The Edirr appealed to his own innate frivolity while the Jaran helped good-humoredly to temper both.