Free Northlight by Deborah Wheeler

University had been placed under a bell jar. They sat together in a pair of oversoft armchairs wedged in a corner. Terricel refused the usual honeyed tisane, but his mentor drank cup after cup.
    â€œThis comes as no surprise, given recent events and your mother’s position,” Wittnower said. The oblique light gleamed on his pale scalp, giving it a sheen like marble. “Don’t worry about the tutoring schedule. I’ll shift that around and cancel the proposal presentation as well.”
    â€œNo!” Terricel’s voice rose above the hush of the room. “No,” he repeated more quietly, “I intend to keep that.” On his way to the University, he’d figured it all out. Once he’d gotten the approval, he didn’t have to start on the project right away. He could put it aside until things settled down. Like the Starhall itself, it would still be there to come back to.
    Wittnower’s eyes, bright beneath shaggy brows, fixed on Terricel’s. “I said before and I’ll say again, you’re asking for trouble. If you take my advice, you’ll use this break to reconsider, find something else you’re interested in, something that has a decent chance of approval. There are plenty of other worthwhile topics you can choose from. Your term paper on the norther raids during Worrell’s time, for instance.”
    â€œWe went through all that last year,” Terricel said. “I don’t want to rehash what’s already been studied half to death. I want to do something new, something important. And you didn’t say it couldn’t be done. You said that with a tight enough argument, the committee couldn’t find a reason to say no. You said you’d support my decision.”
    â€œThat I did, and I’ll stand by it. But it’s a fool’s chase, and we both know it.” Wittnower leaned forward, gesturing with one hand. “If it were anything else, the committee would make allowances. After all, these are hardly normal times. But this — why does it have to be this topic?”
    â€œBecause it’s what I need to — want to do. Because I want my dissertation to make a difference.”
    Terricel had trusted his mentor enough to tell him that he intended to dig beneath the Starhall and solve the old debate, put the legends to rest. But he didn’t trust Wittnower enough to tell him why.
    Now, for a fleeting moment, he remembered that night, so many years ago, when he’d sneaked into the Starhall alone. He was eleven, Aviyya had been gone two years, and his mother had started bringing him to meetings of the Inner Council, amid greetings of, “So you’re Esmelda’s son, are you? We expect great things of you, lad!”
    At the time, he couldn’t understand why he felt so dizzy inside the hall and yet well again as soon as he left, but it hadn’t taken him long to see that no one else had the same reaction.
    The Councillors teased him about being sick enough to throw up whenever he passed the great bronzewood doors. “He’s such a sensitive, impressionable youngster,” they said, laughing. “The excitement is too much for him.” They did not add, although he could feel them thinking it, Not to mention having to live up to being Esmelda’s son.
    â€œThere’s no need to be ashamed of a little human weakness, lad,” they said. “You’ll get used to it in time, ha ha!”
    Pateros had taken Terricel aside and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes these things aren’t meant personally. You have to use a different perspective, take the whole picture into consideration. They may be trying to use you to get at your mother, but you’re stronger than that.”
    Terricel had lifted his chin and blinked the unshed, furious tears from his eyes. “They think I’m a crybaby.”
    â€œThe same sort of thing happened to me when I was your