“This — ” he complained, but with a suspicious twinkle in his eye, “ — is putting the henhouse in the fox's charge.”
“Rrrrr!” Skif growled, showing his teeth. “Promise. Won't have too much chicken.”
“And I suppose you will insist on going into Whites, now that a hero you are,” Alberich continued, looking pained.
“Hah! You are outa your head; th' Healer was right,” Skif countered. “What, me run afore I can walk? Not likely! 'Sides,” he continued, contemplating all the potential fun he could have over the next four years in the Collegium, “I ain't fleeced a quarter of them highborn Blues yet, nor got all I can outa them Artificer Blues!”
Alberich regarded him with a jaundiced eye. “I foresee — and Foresight is my Gift — a great deal of trouble, with you at its center. And that no Trainee in the history of Valdemar will have more demerits against his name, before you go into Whites.”
“Suits me,” Skif replied saucily. “So long as I have fun doing it.”
“Fun for you — yes,” Alberich sighed. “Fun for the rest of us, however, extracting you from the tangles you make — ”
“It'll be worth it!” Skif insisted, once again feeling that giddy elation bubbling up inside him, as he felt the warmth of acceptance encircle him and hold him at its heart.
And in spite of present pain and future concerns, Herald Alberich gave him a real, unalloyed smile. “Oh, there is no doubt it will be worth it,” he said, and Skif had the sense that he meant more than just the subject of Skif's future mischief. He meant Skif's very existence as one of the Trainees now and Heralds to come, no matter who objected, or how strenuously, to the presence of a thief among them. He confirmed that with his next breath.
“Welcome, very welcome, to the Collegium, Skif. It seems we were always right to take a thief.”