She nodded, though he wasn’t sure she was convinced. They both looked up as the midbreak gong rang out. Rothen pushed himself away from the wall.
“Come and eat with me. We haven’t had midbreak meal together in weeks.”
She smiled grimly. “I don’t think I’ll be welcome in the Foodhall for a while.”
14
Bad News
One by one the novices filed past Lord Elben’s table, each picking up a glass jar. Knowing that she would receive hostile stares if she joined them, Sonea waited. To her dismay, Regin was the last to approach the table. Looking at her, he hesitated, then stepped forward and picked up the last two jars. Lord Elben frowned as Regin examined both, but as the teacher’s mouth opened, Regin thrust one of the jars at Sonea.
“Here.”
She reached out to take it, but just before her fingers touched the jar it dropped from his hand, struck the floor and shattered.
“Oh, sorry about that,” Regin exclaimed. He backed away from the glass fragments. “So clumsy of me.”
Lord Elben looked down his long nose at Regin, then Sonea. “Regin, find a servant to clean this up. Sonea, you’ll have to observe this lesson.”
Sonea returned to her seat, unsurprised. The “theft” of Narron’s pen had changed more than just the novices’ opinion of her. Before the “theft,” Elben would have told Regin to give her the last jar, or sent him off to get a new one.
The “theft” had only confirmed what the novices and teachers already suspected. Her official punishment had been to spend an hour shelving books in the Novices’ Library every evening, which had proven to be quite enjoyable—when Regin wasn’t hanging about making the task difficult. The punishment had ended last Fourday, but both novices and teachers still treated her with suspicion and contempt.
Most of the time, she was ignored in class. But when she came too close to another novice, or dared to speak to one, she received cold stares. She hadn’t tried to rejoin them in the Foodhall. Instead she returned to her old habit of skipping the midbreak meal or eating with Rothen.
Not everything had changed for the worse, however. Now that she knew her powers were so much stronger than the other novices’, she had discovered a new confidence. She didn’t need to conserve her strength for the class activities, as the novices had been advised to do, so she kept a strong shield up to protect herself from missiles, shoves or other pranks. This meant she could easily push past Regin and his followers if they surrounded her in the corridors.
Her room door was protected by a shield of its own, as was her window and her box. She was using magic all day and night, yet she never felt tired or drained. Not even after a particularly strenuous Warrior Skills class.
But she was alone. Looking at the empty seat in front of her, she sighed. Poril had injured himself a week before, having burned his hands while studying. She missed him, particularly since he hadn’t seemed to care that she had apparently been proven to be a thief.
“Lord Elben?”
Sonea looked up. In the doorway stood a woman in green robes. She stepped aside and propelled a short novice into the room with a gentle push. Sonea felt her heart lighten.
“I have decided that Poril is well enough now to attend classes. He still won’t be able to do anything with his hands, but he can watch.”
Poril’s gaze went straight to Regin. Looking away quickly, he bowed to Lord Elben, then hurried to his seat. The Healer nodded to the teacher, then retreated from the room.
As Elben began to instruct the class, Sonea’s attention slipped to her friend’s back from time to time. Poril didn’t seem to be paying attention to the lesson. He sat stiffly, occasionally looking down at his hands, which were reddened with fresh scars. When the midbreak gong rang out hours later, he waited until the rest of the novices had left, then rose quickly and hurried toward the door.
“Poril,” she called after him. Bowing hastily toward Elben, she caught up with the boy in a few paces.
“Welcome back, Poril.” As he looked at her she smiled. “Need some help catching up?”
“No.” He frowned and lengthened his stride.
“Poril?” Sonea reached out to grab his arm. “What’s wrong?”
Poril looked at her, then glanced at the rest of the class walking farther down the corridor. Regin was hovering at the back of the group, glancing at them over his shoulder and smiling in a way that sent a chill over Sonea’s skin.
Poril shivered. “I can’t talk to you. I can’t.” He shook her hand off.
“But—”
“No, leave me alone.” He turned away, but she caught his arm again and held it firmly.
“I’m not going to leave you alone until you tell me what’s going on,” she said between gritted teeth.
He hesitated before answering. “It’s Regin.”
Looking at Poril’s pale face, she felt her stomach turn over. He kept looking at the other novices, and she knew he didn’t want to tell her any more. He just wanted to get away from her. “What did he say?” she pressed.
Poril swallowed. “He says I can’t talk to you anymore. I’m sorry...”
“And you’re just going to do what he says?” It was unfair, she knew, but she was burning with anger now. “Why didn’t you tell him to go and drown himself in the Tarali River?”
He lifted his scarred hands. “I did.”
Sonea’s anger turned to ice. She stared at Poril. “He did that?”
Poril’s nod was so slight she almost missed it. She looked down the corridor, but the class had reached the stairs and descended out of view.
“That’s... Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I can’t prove it.”
A truth-read would prove it. Did Poril have a secret to hide, like she did? Or was he simply so frightened by the thought of a magician reading his mind he would do anything to avoid it?
“He can’t get away with burning your hands just because you’re my friend,” she growled. “If he threatens you again, tell me. I’ll... I’ll...”
“What? You can’t do anything, Sonea.” His face was flushed now. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I just can’t.” He turned away and ran down the corridor.
Shaking her head, Sonea followed at a distance. Reaching the stairs, she descended slowly. As she reached the ground floor she heard a low rumbling sound. Looking down the corridor toward the Great Hall, she blinked in surprise.
The hall was full of magicians. They stood in pairs or larger groups, talking. Sonea paused, wondering what had brought so many together. It was not a Meet day, so there must be another reason.
“I wouldn’t draw attention to myself, if I were you,” a voice said at her ear.
Recoiling, she turned to stare at Regin.
“They might decide they missed one,” he said, his eyes bright with glee.
She stepped away from him, puzzled but sure she didn’t want to know what he was talking about. His eyes flashed with delight as he saw her incomprehension, and he drew closer.
“Oh, you don’t get it, do you?” His grin was ugly. “Had you forgotten? Today is that most festive day of the year for slum trash like you. The day of the Purge.”
Realization struck her like a blow. The Purge. Every year, since the first Purge over thirty years before, the King sent the Guard and the Guild out to clear the city streets of “vagrants and miscreants.” The purpose, or so the King claimed, was to make the streets safer by removing petty thieves. In truth, the Thieves were barely inconvenienced by the event; they had their own ways in and out of the city. Only the poor, homeless people were herded into the slums. And, in the case of her own family a year ago, those people who rented rooms in “overcrowded and unsafe” stayhouses. She had been so angry that day, she had joined a gang of youths throwing stones at the magicians, and had loosed her power for the first time.