Brightly Burning

'I've been sick... sir.' It was hard to choke out the last word, but he did, anger smoldering, but not yet burning. He dropped his eyes to the wooden floor, determined not to let Tyron see anything in his face that he could use.

'So I've been told. And do you know, I don't believe it. I think you're lying, Scrub. I think you're a slacker, and a liar.'

Lan gritted his teeth and said nothing.

Tyron raised his voice so that the whole room could hear—easy enough, now that every other voice had been silenced. 'I think you were feigning. You just wanted to slack off, wanted a little holiday for yourself. You might have fooled your mummy, but you can't fool me. Now what have you got to say for yourself?'

'No one fools my mother, least of all me... sir. Especially not when it costs her money for the services of the herbalist.' He managed not to throw Tyron's accusation back in his teeth, and to keep his tone level, though every muscle in his body strained. And—thank the gods!—Tyron laughed at that. 'And when I wasn't drinking the herbalist's wretched medicines, she saw to it I got no holiday from books.'

'Owly!' Tyron called. 'Is that true?'

'He's ahead of the rest of us, sir,' Owly replied sullenly.

Tyron laughed again. 'And that's one in your eye, isn't it, little bookworm? That's one in your eye!'

Lan thought for a moment that he might escape, that he'd provided Tyron with enough amusement for the moment.

'Still, you've not been here, have you? You've not been here to have, oh, any number of tasks set you.' Tyron's voice took on that cloyingly pleasant tone it always did when he was about to do something appalling. 'So I believe I'll have to set you something that will make up for your absence. Your father is a cloth merchant, is he not?'

Lan couldn't imagine what his father would have to do with this, but he nodded, rather than trust his tone not to betray him.

'Good. 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.'

At that, Lan's head snapped up as his mouth dropped open. 'How am I supposed to do that?' he squeaked incredulously. Silk velvet was worth a gold piece an ell—and scarlet was worth twice that! He couldn't just waltz up to his father and ask for two ells of the stuff!

'You've pocket money, don't you?' Tyron asked, his eyes sparkling maliciously.

'No! I don't! My parents—' 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.

'Well, then, I suppose you'll just have to find some other way, won't you?' Tyron lounged back in his chair and waved his hand idly. 'I'm sure you'll think of something. Remember, two ells of scarlet silk velvet, by tomorrow. I'm sure you know what will happen—' the greedy eyes gloated at him, '—if you were to fail to get it for me.'

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 didn't 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 didn't 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 didn't look as if Lan appeared any different. The teacher looked over the whole class, then rested his gaze on Lan, and said only, 'Lavan. Can you recite yesterday's lesson for us?' as if Lan hadn't been away at all. 'I hope you've been as diligent for this class as you seem to have been for the others.'

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 speak—

And the next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor, with Owyn's anxious face leaning over him and the teacher saying sharply, 'Clear back, all of you!' 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 this—

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 Keileth's office, with an old man in Healer Greens examining him. He looked up into the old man's aged face to see warm blue eyes, half-hidden in wrinkles, regarding him with compassion.

The old man was speaking, he realized vaguely, but not to him.

'—not an illness. My guess would be dazzle-headaches, though they don't usually come with fever like this.' The old man was saying. Then he noticed Lan's open eyes, and he passed his hand over his bald head. 'Ah, awake are you? How do you feel?'

'Awful,' Lan croaked. The pain hadn't abated one bit, and the light hurt his eyes.

The old man nodded, helping him sit up enough that he could drink a potion he recognized by its taste. 'Send him home, Master Keileth, until this attack's passed. That's all we can do for such things once they're well started like this one. I'll take him home in my carriage, talk with his parents, and leave another medicine at his house that should help prevent them in the future.'

Master Keileth gave a sigh that was half exasperation and half relief. As the pain potion took hold, the Healer helped Lan to his feet and got him out the door, down the stairs in the chill air, and into the carriage. He was amazingly strong for such a wizened old fellow. Once there, safely outside the walls of the school, Lan's relief was