Free Feast of Souls by C. S. Friedman

whipped his black robes about him like bat wings as he moved. “I do not see that it benefits Danton at this time to claim Auremir,” he said quietly. His voice was devoid of any emotion though his aura blazed with it. “I shall advise him accordingly.” And with those words he strode toward the tower, willing its heavy door to open before he reached it so that his angry stride need not be interrupted.
    For his own part, Colivar bound enough power to make sure that Ramirus couldn’t hear him laughing as he left.

Chapter Six
    Ethanus Remembers:
    It is hard to concentrate on translating ancient runes this evening. Hard to concentrate on anything.
    She is restless.
    Sometimes he imagines he can feel her in his soul. It is a strange and disconcerting sensation. Intimate, on levels where he is not accustomed to intimacy. Is it this way because she is a woman? he wonders. Does the bond between master and student become something more when one half of the equation is feminine? Or is he just seeking excuses to feel close to her, to avoid admitting the truth for one night more: that she is a Mag-ister now and will soon hunger for all the things that come with that rank. It is as inevitable as the summer rains and the winter snow.
    “Master Ethanus?”
    He looks up and sees her in the doorway. There is an odd stillness in her today; not a gentle stillness, but tense, anticipatory. He has seen similar stillness in a cat, while it paused to decide if it would eat a mouse or play with it.
    Is this the day? he wonders.
    She waits upon his pleasure as always, her habits as much that of servant as student. He rolls up the scroll that is before him and stands, stretching briefly. Outside it is twilight, with the moon already risen, and a faint chill that hints at autumn beneath the mask of summer warmth.
    “Come,” he says, “let us walk.”
    She falls in by his side easily, her long legs adapting to his pace. She follows him in silence down the path their feet have worn into the wooded brush on so many other nights, past deer that are just setting to their evening meal. Kamala has fed them often—a strange charity in one who now thrives upon the death of her own species—so they perk up their heads at her passing, as if to ask if today is a day when treats will be dispensed.
    But no, tonight she is preoccupied, and he can feel the questions stirring inside her, as if fighting over which one will be voiced first.
    Beyond the path, up the side of a rocky hill, is a promontory that gives a magnificent view of the sky and the surrounding forest, which he has used as the setting for many lessons. Now he leads her there yet again, and she stands beside him on the shelf of granite, while all around them the creatures of sunlight give way to the denizens of the night in a thousand rustling, chirruping exchanges.
    They stand in silence for a few moments, sharing the beauty of nightfall.
    “Why did you leave Ulran?” she finally asks.
    He sighs heavily.
    “If you do not wish me to ask, I won’t.”
    “No, it isn’t that. You have a right to know.”
    He sighs again, and rubs his forehead between two fingers. “The King of Ulran—Ambulis, his name was, Ambulis the Fourth—asked me for fireworks. You know, the kind that morati can make with black powder. Only he wanted something larger, something…”
    He shakes his head. “He wanted what black powder could not provide. A spectacle that would not only fill the sky with light but awe his people with its sorcery. A spectacle so beyond morati means that all would know that a Magister had created it, a Magister who served his will…” His voice trails off into the darkness.
    “And you refused?” she asks.
    “No.” He says it quietly. “I did not.
    “It is not so easy to deny a king when one is Magister Royal. One grows accustomed to the easy luxury of the life, and to the nearness of power, to the manipulative games that are possible from such a station, but there is a contract