Then she heard it again, as she thought she had several times while traversing these dusty corridors: the sound of light, swift feet, following her.
With a rush, they were upon her and she was sent sprawling. Candle, serpent, and mouse arced away into the darkness. Twizzle yelped as she fell on him. Then a weight crashed down on them both and hot breath roared in her ear. Hands fumbled at her scarf, wrenched it free.
Jame stumbled to her feet. Turning, she faced Narsa. Oh no. Not again.
The Ardeth cadet had drawn back a step. She was a handsome Kendar, dark-haired and fine-featured, but by the flickering light of the dropped candle her visage was ghastly and twitching, her breath ragged.
“You’ve done it again,” she panted, “taken him away from me! This was to be our special day. We were supposed to spend it together.”
In bed, Jame assumed with a flare of exasperation, just as she assumed that the girl meant Timmon.
“That isn’t my fault, or his. He was cut off from his own quarters and chased into mine.”
“You claim that you don’t want him. You could have sent him back.”
Jame thought about that.
“I suppose I could have, with a guard. It didn’t occur to me. I had something else on my chest at the time.”
Where was Addy? Having a poisonous, short-tempered serpent loose somewhere underfoot didn’t seem like a very good idea. For that matter, with Jame’s scarf in one hand and a knife in the other, Narsa didn’t look particularly safe either.
She tried again. “Timmon is stuck there now, twiddling his thumbs, no doubt missing us both. Join him, with my blessings.”
The Kendar gave an angry sob. “Oh, so noble, so condescending. Would you throw me to him like a bone to a dog? What good would that do anyway? He prefers you. He always has. And now that I’m p . . . p . . . p . . .” She couldn’t finish the word, but her hand dropped to cradle her stomach.
“Oh, Narsa, I really am sorry.”
This was serious. Sexual relations at the college were discouraged, as they were in the field, but one recognized that youth will have youth. To become pregnant while at Tentir, however, was automatically to be expelled. Although Kendar could usually control conception among themselves, they had less luck with Highborn lovers.
“Does Timmon know?”
“Would it matter to him if he did? What have I ever been but a pastime to him until he could bed you?”
“If it’s any comfort, he hasn’t, and isn’t likely to. Please, Narsa. Put away that knife and let’s talk sensibly.”
“I don’t need sense. I have this.” She brandished Jame’s scarf in her face. “You have to do what I say.” Abruptly she tossed Jame the blade. “And I say, ‘Kill me.’ ”
Jame nearly fumbled the catch. “What? I can’t!”
“Come on. It’s easy. My honor is already dead. Should I give the world another bastard? The Ardeth are jealous of their oh-so-pure blood, more than any house except yours. Timmon should have thought about that when he spent his precious seed on me. You Highborn take us and you break us.”
“Not on purpose. Not usually.”
“Then let this be different.”
She flung herself at Jame and cried out with sharp pain as they met breast to breast. Then the Kendar collapsed into the Highborn’s arms sobbing. Jame dropped the knife and held her. Ancestors be praised that she had lowered the point in time. Narsa shuddered in her grip, so strong, so alive, so desperate.
We take them and we break them, who are so much better than ourselves. What kind of a god gave us such unjust power?
“No!” Narsa thrust her away, turned, and ran.
Jame didn’t follow her. Instead, she knelt and listened at the iron bars of Bear’s feeding slot, surprised that the ruckus hadn’t drawn his attention. From inside came stentorian snores. Somehow, he had slept through the whole thing.
A hiss near her hand made her look down. There was Addy, coiled, angry. She and Narsa must have nearly trampled the serpent, and the knife had come close to impaling her when Jame had dropped it.
“It’s all right,” she told the snake, carefully drawing her fallen scarf out from under her.
Addy took some soothing before she consented to being picked up again, and Jame felt more hesitant this time about draping those restless coils around her neck. Highborn, especially the Randir, had some immunity, but still a strike—especially to the throat—could be dangerous. Adder’s venom dissolved flesh, among other things. Instead, she slipped the serpent inside her jacket to form a slowly slithering belt against her skin.
Twizzle emerged cautiously from the shadows.
“Woof?” he said.
A trembling morsel of white tucked into a corner proved to be Mick. With the mouse again tucked into her hair, Jame set out after the pook.
Twizzle’s clamor drew her to one of the outer second-story, western-facing classrooms. The chamber was full of cadets all crowded against the window to peer down into the training square. Rue separated herself from them and ran to grab Jame’s arm.
“You’ve got to do something!” she cried, pulling her toward the windows where the others made room for them.
Below, Brier Iron-thorn staggered back and forth, buffeted by a dozen jeering Caineron, her clothes torn, her face streaked with blood.
“What in Perimal’s name is going on?” Jame demanded.
“Higbert called her out as your acting master-ten. I mean, we all know that that’s really your title, but she does most of the work.”
“I know that. We split duties.” She flinched as a Caineron hit Brier in the stomach and she fell. Several more landed kicks before the Southron could struggle stubbornly to her feet.
“Why isn’t she defending herself?”
“She did at first. When Hig called her out, he was only backed by three Caineron. The rest ran out after she’d accepted his challenge. It wasn’t long before they had her scarf. Then they ordered her not to fight back.”
Two Caineron grabbed the Knorth’s arms and held her while a third lashed out at her face. Blood sprayed. Brier spat out a tooth.
“This isn’t right.” Jame saw several randon including the Brandan Captain Hawthorn watching from the arcade rail. “Why don’t they stop it?”
“First off, she told everyone not to interfere. Second, I don’t think the randon can step in, not today.”
This is a test too, Jame thought. They want to see how we behave, left to ourselves. And Gorbel isn’t here to call his hounds to heel.
“Well,” she said, “Brier didn’t order me.”
She clambered out onto the tin roof of the arcade, gave the rathorn battle cry at the top of her lungs, and jumped down onto the back of the nearest Caineron. An answering yell echoed from all sides as Knorth and their allies charged the square.
Among the uproar came the terrible bell of a Molocar. Tarn’s Torvi rushed onto the scene, shouldering cadets aside left and right. He bowled Higbert over and ripped at his throat. The next moment, incredibly, the cadet was up and running with his cohorts on his heels. All plunged into the Caineron barracks and slammed the door after them.
“I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?” said Jame, helping Brier to rise. The Southron glowered, then caught her breath sharply and wrapped arms around her bruised ribs.
Meanwhile, Tarn was prying something black out of Torvi’s jaws—two scarves, one with the Knorth crest embroidered on it, and other with the Caineron. Jame presented both to Brier.
“Do with them as you will.”
“With pleasure,” said the Southron grimly and limped after the fled enemy, tying her own sodden scarf around her neck as she went. Rue and the other Knorth rushed to support her.
“That was well done,” said Hawthorn, coming up to Jame as the assault began on the Caineron barracks.