Somewhere nearby, her father was held captive, but she could not find him. Every time she tried to Read in the direction she was certain he had been taken, her head would fill with pain, and-
— she couldn’t Read!
Julia sat up in bed, sweating and shaking.
She had been carefully taught not to Read in her sleep, and that stricture held her powers inactive just long enough for icy panic to seize her gut as she realized she was awake and not Reading.
Then the cobwebs cleared, her powers returned, and in relief she Read outward from her room to the early-morning streets of Zendi, where a steady rain was falling.
It was cooler than yesterday morning, autumn asserting itself. Julia pulled a long-sleeved dress from her chest. She had grown since the last time she had worn it; it fell well above her ankles when she wrapped a belt around her waist and bloused the top. But then, she had also grown a bosom since it had last been cool in Zendi-well, at least the beginning of a female figure- so it was not unflattering to let the dress hang unbloused, the belt knotted loosely.
Quickly, she braided her hair and wound it neatly at the back of her head, observing without her usual pleasure that the damp air curled the wisps about her face, so that she looked good even when Dilys and Blanche appeared bedraggled.
Julia’s mind was not on vanity this morning, with the single exception of annoyance that the hem of her white dress would get dirty in the wet streets. Once she achieved the rank of Magister, her dress would be edged in black, no longer subject to every hint of grime.
Or if she had Adept power, she could keep her dress spotless, the way Aradia did-but today she could not even maintain that train of thought. She was still feeling sick at the notion of the powers she did have being taken away.
It was earlier than she usually got up, but in Lenardo and Aradia’s household there was always someone in the kitchen, always food ready. Today hot porridge was cooking, and baskets of fruit and wheels of cheese lined the center of the long table.
The household staff had already eaten breakfast. Julia sat down, and Cook served her a bowl of porridge worthy of an Adept. “You didn’t eat much supper last night, lass. That’ll warm you up,” she said, pouring milk over the cereal. “You want some fruit cut up on it?”
“No, thank you, Cook,” Julia replied. “I don’t think I can eat all of this. Could I please have some tea?”
“Of course, lass,” said the motherly woman who had run Lenardos kitchen since he had first come to Zendi. When she set the steaming mug in front of Julia, she paused to feel the girl’s forehead, asking, “Still not feeling up to the mark this morning, young mistress?”
Julia couldn’t help but smile at Cook’s assuming she could discover the state of Julia’s health by touching her brow, when the girl’s environment swarmed with Readers capable of studying her down to her individual cells.
But she understood that the woman was truly concerned, so she reassured her, “I am not ill, Cook. There are just… things on my mind.”
She sipped her tea, knowing Cook was bound to ask what those things were-anything that prevented her charges from appreciating her cooking was something she felt impelled to investigate.
Julia was saved from trying to explain by the appearance of Aradia. “My Lady!” Cook exclaimed. “Why are you up so early? You need rest, for the health of the babe you carry.”
Aradia shook her head. “The baby is fine, and so am I. There are simply things I must do today. Julia, I will need your help.”
Aradia did not ask why Julia was up before her; she obviously knew what was preying on both their minds. “I’ll warrant Master Clement didn’t sleep much either,” Julia commented, drawing a wan smile from Aradia.
Aradia looked pregnant this morning. It was not just that her figure had reached the stage at which even loose, flowing robes could not conceal her condition. Today she was paler than usual, and lack of sleep had put circles under her eyes and given a puffy look to her face.
“Julia,” Aradia began, “I can see that you are also disturbed by what we learned yesterday-what Portia did to Pyrrhus. ‘
“Yes,” Julia replied. “It gave me nightmares,” she admitted.
“I don’t wonder,” Aradia agreed. “I had some, too. But it does Pyrrhus no good for us to suffer bad dreams. And I am certain he would not welcome our pity.”
“That’s why he never told Wicket,” Julia realized.
“Or anyone else, until he decided to use his condition as a weapon to hurt Master Clement.”
Julia nodded. “That was mean. But I can see why Pyrrhus blames Master Clement, too-if he can’t Read, how can he know that Master Clement really didn’t know what Portia was doing?”
Aradia nodded. “We have established that we cannot restore Pyrrhus’ Reading,” she said. “It does no one any good to feel guilty-especially you and I, who had no hand in what happened to him.”
“Guilty?” Julia asked. Then she realized, “Yes. We feel guilty for being able to Read when Pyrrhus can’t- and that doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“No. It just allows us to sit here and do nothing.”
“But what can we do?” Julia asked.
“I need your help to find out. Pyrrhus must have skills-he has survived for the past five years. Wicket said Pyrrhus saved his life, and that they had some plan in mind-something they are doing together. I would like you to find Wicket this morning. I think he will talk to you more readily than to me. Find out their plan- perhaps we can help them achieve it. Find out their skills. Perhaps we can offer them work.”
Julia considered telling Aradia what she had Read from Wicket at the award ceremony. His plan with Pyrrhus might have included picking pockets in the crowded marketplace. But since she had no proof of dishonest intentions, she decided not to reveal her own breach of a Reader’s courtesy, if not the Code itself.
“Pyrrhus should not awaken until late this afternoon,” Aradia continued. “I have the feeling that his first inclination will be to put on his clothes and his sword and leave Zendi as fast as he possibily can.”
Wicket obviously suspected the same, for Julia found him at the hospital, still at Pyrrhus’ bedside. The ex-Reader was the only patient left in the four-bed ward.
“Did you stay here all night?” Julia asked Wicket.
“Didn’t have anyplace else to go, did I?”
It was obvious he had slept even less than she and Aradia, for his eyes were red and ringed with deep circles. He also needed a shave.
“If Pyrrhus wakes and finds you looking like that,” said Julia, “he will leave without you.”
Wicket’s eyes widened. “You’re not supposed to-”
“I didn’t Read you,” she assured him. “It’s obvious Pyrrhus doesn’t want pity, but the minute he sees you he’ll know you cried for him all night.”
“Couldn’t help it,” said Wicket. “I mean, I knew he’d been hurt-you don’t get a spiky shell like his unless life’s been pretty bad to you. But I never guessed-” He blinked back new tears, then looked over at Pyrrhus. “Can he hear us? I mean-can you tell when he’s going to wake up?”
“Aradia says not until late this afternoon. It’s safe for you to leave him, Wicket. He’s not going to run away. “
The man stood. “Yeah. Need a bath and a shave. Besides, he can’t leave without me.”
“Why not?” Julia asked.
“Got all our money, haven’t I?” Wicket replied with a hint of his earlier cheerfulness. It increased, as if he were donning armor piece by piece, until he was as she had seen him yesterday: charming, friendly, forgettable. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I can’t let Pyrrhus see how I really feel.”
“Let’s go out into the courtyard,” said Julia. “The rain’s stopped. If you’ll tell me something about Pyrrhus and yourself, maybe we can help you.”
“Dunno how,” Wicket said skeptically, but he followed her out to the hospital courtyard, where they sat on a stone bench that had already dried in the morning sun.