âAnd thatâs one in your eye, isnât it, little bookworm? Thatâs one in your eye!â
Lan thought for a moment that he might escape, that heâd provided Tyron with enough amusement for the moment.
âStill, youâve not been here, have you? Youâve not been here to have, oh, any number of tasks set you.â Tyronâs voice took on that cloyingly pleasant tone it always did when he was about to do something appalling. âSo I believe Iâll have to set you something that will make up for your absence. Your father is a cloth merchant, is he not?â
Lan couldnât imagine what his father would have to do with this, but he nodded, rather than trust his tone not to betray him.
âGood. I need a new wardrobe for Midwinter, and my parents are being stubborn about expenses. Bring me a tunic length of scarlet velvet tomorrow. Silk velvet, mind, not wool plush. I have appearances to keep up.â
At that, Lanâs head snapped up as his mouth dropped open. âHow am I supposed to do that? â he squeaked incredulously. Silk velvet was worth a gold piece an ellâand scarlet was worth twice that! He couldnât just waltz up to his father and ask for two ells of the stuff!
âYouâve pocket money, donât you?â Tyron asked, his eyes sparkling maliciously.
âNo! I donât! My parentsââ he choked on the words, blushing as scarlet as the coveted velvet at having to confess in public that he was not given the pocket money that every other student seemed to have.
âWell, then, I suppose youâll just have to find some other way, wonât you?â Tyron lounged back in his chair and waved his hand idly. âIâm sure youâll think of something. Remember, two ells of scarlet silk velvet, by tomorrow. Iâm sure you know what will happenââ the greedy eyes gloated at him, ââif you were to fail to get it for me.â
He stumbled back down the aisle, now as much of a pariah as Froggy; people actually drew back from him, as if afraid his misfortune would contaminate them. He didnât even try to take his seat; he had no more appetite anyway. Instead, he went straight to the classroom, waiting in a dull fog for the rest to return. As he sat there, hands clenched in a knot in front of him, the others filed in, wordlessly, casting odd glances at him. He still felt hot, and that smoldering anger had made such a red-hot coal in his chest he didnât feel able to speak. Not that any of them said a word to him.
Maybe his expression warned them away.
But when the teacher came in, he didnât nook as if Lan appeared any different. The teacher looked over the whole class, then rested his gaze on Lan, and said only, âLavan. Can you recite yesterdayâs lesson for us?â as if Lan hadnât been away at all. âI hope youâve been as diligent for this class as you seem to have been for the others.â
Lan stood up with some difficulty, for there was a sort of roaring in his ears and his knees felt wobbly. He opened his mouth to speakâ
And the next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor, with Owynâs anxious face leaning over him and the teacher saying sharply, âClear back, all of you!â As he tried to sit up, he gasped with pain and fell back again. The headache was back, with a vengeance.
And he could have wept with relief instead of pain. He welcomed the agony, every throb, every lancing blow through the temples, as the teacher assisted him to his feet and helped him out of the classroom. The gods had granted him a reprieve, once again, and redemption. Not even Tyron would dare accuse him of fakery after thisâ
He only got halfway down the hall before he blacked out a second time. When he woke again, it was to find himself lying on a couch in Master Keilethâs office, with an old man in Healer Greens examining him. He looked up into the old