Aeron started to speak, trying to think of something he could say to convince her that she didn't understand, but his rational mind asserted itself through the fire in his heart. In the space of a heartbeat, the world dropped out from beneath him, leaving him with a great hollow hurt in the center of his chest and a face burning with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he managed.
"I know. Let's just forget about it." Melisanda tried to smile, but Aeron could see the wariness in her eyes. Regardless of what she said, neither of them would simply forget what had happened.
The coach clattered to a halt. With a sigh, the driver hopped down and offered his hand to Melisanda. She stepped away quickly, distancing herself as she wrapped her arms around her chest and shivered. The driver offered Aeron a blank shrug. "That's twenty talents, m'lord."
Although it emptied his purse, Aeron didn't even notice the lordly cost of the ride. Melisanda waited for him but did not speak as she turned and headed toward the college gate. He bowed his head and followed.
Head pounding from an excess of strong ale, Aeron dragged himself out of bed the following morning and dressed himself. It took him a moment to get his bearings, and when he sat up and swung his feet to the cold stone floor, his head still seemed to swim a little. He buried his head in his hands and groaned as the details of his encounter with Melisanda returned to his mind. There was a hot ache in his heart that had nothing to do with the drinking he'd done the night before. I should have known I wasn't good enough for her, he thought angrily. A high-born noblewoman! What was I thinking about? Melisanda had told him once that the college made no distinctions based on race or rank, but she'd remembered her station quickly enough.
Aeron might have fumed in his room for hours, but a sharp knock sounded at the door. One of the college servants appeared, a gold-hued bundle in his arms. "Excuse me, Student Aeron. Your new garments, sir." He hung a tabard of rich yellow brocade with a matching cap in Aeron's armoire. Despite his ferocious hangover, Aeron smiled in satisfaction. The servant bowed and added, "The respects of High Master Sarim. He awaits your pleasure, sir."
Aeron groaned. Sarim had wanted to see him first thing! One glance at the window told him that half the morning was gone already. As the servant withdrew, Aeron rose, scrubbed his face in the basin of cold water he kept by the door, and dressed. He belted the tabard over his tunic and donned the cap, enjoying the moment despite his tardiness, and then hurried out of the room.
He found the Calishite master in one of the laboratories of the academic halls, engaged in an esoteric conversation with a young student of abjuration. Sarim was a tail, well-built man with a broad chest and a handsome coffee-hued face. "Good morning, Aeron. I see you've finally decided to accept my invitation."
Aeron bowed awkwardly. "I beg your pardon, Master, but-"
The Calishite laughed and waved his hand. "Do not concern yourself, Aeron. I understand perfectly. The passage from novice to student is worthy of celebration, and from what I hear, you do not indulge yourself in such activities often. Come, let us walk for a while." Aeron followed as Sarim excused himself. They stepped out into the soft, still morning, admiring the first green buds of ivy appearing on the college buildings. Sarim headed toward the open ramparts facing the sea, hands clasped behind his back. "So tell me, Aeron, why did you choose invocation?"
"I felt it was my strongest school, my lord."
"When we are alone, you may call me Sarim. I do not stand on formality." He flashed an easy grin at Aeron and continued. "I have seen that you are very skilled, Aeron. But I want to know why you think that invocations are your strong point. You could have done well in any school."
"Invocation is. . direct," Aeron said slowly. "The spells of this school are tangible, forces you can touch with your hands and shape with your will. Fire, wind, ice, and energy are all weapons. You can measure yourself by the control and discipline you achieve in wielding them."
Sarim glanced at Aeron. "I will not measure you by those standards, Aeron."
"No, but I will."
"That is your right." The Master Invoker paused by the stair that led down to the harbor landing, looking out over the city. "As a student, Aeron, you are free to pursue any endeavor that catches your interest. Read any text you wish, seek any knowledge that appeals to you. Set your own hours. The only limits placed on your learning are those that you choose for yourself. Once a quarter, you will stand before a board of masters to explain the studies you intend and to demonstrate that you continue to progress. I consider it advisable for you to meet with me or the other masters of invocation, Lady Silna or Master Derrin, two or three times a week, but if you offer me good enough reason, I will set aside even this minimal requirement."
"What should I study?" Aeron asked.
"Whatever you like, as long as it is within your skill." Sarim turned a serious look on Aeron.
"When do I start?" Aeron asked.
"Today is as good a day as any," Sarim replied. "I will meet you in the academic hall two hours after noon to show you the basics of a few advanced wind spells I don't think you've seen yet. Between now and then, I think you should visit the library and spend some time reading up on your history. And you might also call on some of the other masters and arrange for lessons in the fields you feel you need to work on."
Aeron grimaced. That was a full week's work right there! And he understood that Sarim had offered him this schedule to help him get his feet under him. Within a month, he'd be expected to keep himself this busy. But even as the specter of long nights and days upon days in the library intimidated him, he also felt some deep part of his heart igniting to the challenge. No waiting for his slower classmates to catch up to him; no time wasted in lectures that reviewed what he already knew; the freedom to attack any topic that caught his interest. His grimace spread to a smile. "I'll be ready," he promised Sarim.
As the final weeks of winter passed, Aeron immersed himself in his new studies. He had few other alternatives. As a student, he was strongly discouraged from associating with those who had been his friends when he was a novice. Since he'd advanced so quickly, there weren't any students he had known as a hallmate, other than Melisanda. Given the cold rift between them, Aeron couldn't stand to be in the same room with her.
Spring came fully to Cimbar as the month of Ches passed. The city was scoured by winds even more fierce than those that had whipped over the barren rock in the depths of winter, but these winds were warm and heavy with rain, not sharp and dry. Wet snow and freezing rain gave way to endless showers, leaving the college grounds a black mire that could pull off a boot if one stepped from the cobbled paths. Aeron began to grow restless, anxious to feel the warm sun on his face again. He'd been immured within the college's dark stone halls for almost five months now.
On the first day of Mirtul, Aeron found himself studying into the late hours of the evening. He finished struggling through a recent copy of an old Mulhorandi text on the wizards of ancient Raumanthar and wandered over to the library to replace it. The musty smell of old books, the endless aisles of gleaming wooden shelves, and the unearthly silence of the chamber always soothed him. He'd come to know the place well in his months at the college, and these days he probably spent more time here than he did in his room. Absently he made his way to the shelf from which he'd taken the treatise and put it back.
Aeron had run across some interesting references in the book. Although the modern copy was only about a century old, the original manuscript had been penned a few years before the wars that destroyed Raumanthar more than fourteen centuries ago. He searched the nearby shelves for some of the texts mentioned by the ancient Mulhorandi writer, with little luck. He turned his attention to the extensive scroll racks along one wall of the library. Aeron flinched at the imposing wall full of scroll cases, but he patiently set to work.