Brightly Burning

so profound that the medicine worked even faster and Lan let himself fall into induced slumber. His last coherent thought was that Master Keileth was undoubtedly annoyed at the inconvenience of having a pupil pass out in his school, but probably relieved that he couldn't be held responsible.

Nor would he have to refund all that tuition money.

*

HE roused when they arrived at the house, and the servants brought him up to his room with a great deal of unnecessary fuss. Three of them descended on the carriage—the housekeeper and two of the manservants. The housekeeper directed the operation like a shrill-voiced general as the two manservants each draped an arm over their shoulders, and with Lan dangling between them, took him up the stairs and dropped him onto his bed, where he sat, blinking owlishly, too fogged to think of what to do next. The manservants stripped him to his skin and threw a nightshirt over him, then bundled him into bed with brisk and impersonal efficiency.

His mother was home already, for some reason, and followed them up, right behind the old Healer. When Lan was settled into bed, she faced the Healer with a tight-lipped expression, waiting for an explanation. The Healer was not at all cowed by her, which Lan thought was incredibly brave of him.

'Madam, your son is not seriously ill,' he began, 'although I can tell you that what he suffers from is not in the least feigned. And although his pain is in his head, so to speak, it is not in his mind.'

I'd better... try to stay awake for this, Lan thought. Neither the Healer nor his mother paid any attention to him, but that was hardly an unusual occurrence. They conducted their conversation over his head, as he fought the medicine to try and listen.

But struggle as he might, his eyelids closed on their own, and all he managed was to hear a few words of the Healer's explanation.

'... often come on in adolescence... not common, no, but not abnormal... girls more often than boys... stress, upset...'

It was on that last word that the medicine overcame Lan's determination to stay awake, and he lost his hold on consciousness.

He slept, woke in darkness to gulp down more medicine to kill the pain, and slept again. He woke again and repeated the dose, as much to avoid having to talk with anyone as to numb his head. If he was asleep, no one would bother him, and right now, he didn't want to have to explain himself.

But by the next evening, the time for the inevitable interview with his mother arrived.

He woke clearheaded, though apprehensive, for at some point during his slumbers, he had managed to form a decision. Tyron's suggestion—practically a demand—that he steal the velvet had been the final pebble that starts an avalanche. He had to at least try to reveal what the Sixth Formers were doing to the rest of the school, himself included.

After the scullery maid took his supper tray away, he heard his mother's footsteps on the stairs, and braced himself. Nelda entered the room and took her seat on a chair that had been placed beside his bed and folded her hands in her lap, looking at him gravely. The candles arranged around the room gave a soft and wavering light that was very flattering to her, making her seem not much older than her son.

'Well, she said, after a lengthy pause. 'The Healer tells us that this illness of yours is something he calls 'dazzle-headaches.' He has a medicine that will help prevent them, although he tells me it can't be counted on to work all the time.'

'Dazzle-headaches?' Lan replied. It seemed an innocuous name for something that hurt so much. 'But why did I get them in the first place?'

His mother frowned. 'He says that it is probably stress, or emotional strain that brought them on, though what you have to be stressed about, merely going to school, I can't imagine....'

'I could stay home and study!' Lan exclaimed hopefully, taking advantage of her momentary pause. 'The teachers said I did so well that I was ahead of the—'

'Out of the question,' Nelda said sharply, interrupting him with a frown. 'That might work for a few days' absence, but under no circumstances will that do as a permanent solution. You're going to have to decide not to allow your emotions to get away from you, that's all.'

That's all? Is she insane? How does she think I'm supposed to do that? In mounting anxiety and desperation now, unthinking, he shook his head violently and blurted out the story of his ongoing persecution, ending with Tyron's demand for the velvet. It didn't matter that this situation was humiliating; it didn't matter that he looked a fool. All that mattered was that she see that he couldn't go back to that school— not unless he had the open protection of the adults, so overt that even Tyron would not dare harass him anymore.

His mother listened, openly growing more skeptical with every word, right up until the point where Lan related Tyron's demands. At that point, she threw up her hands in disgust.

'Lavan Chitward, I cannot make up my mind if you are a coward, stupid, or a liar!' she said, her tone dripping with contempt.

'I'm telling you the truth!' Lan groaned. 'Why won't you believe me? Why would I make any of this up? Send to ask any of the others, they'll tell you!'

But would they? Would they dare risk the anger of the Sixth Formers if they tattled?

Nelda snorted. 'If you aren't a liar, you've allowed these boys to bully and tease you, and you made no attempt to stand up to them.' Her lip curled. 'That makes you a coward; Sam would never put up with this sort of nonsense.'

'But—' Yes, and Sam was tall and strong and no one would dare shove him around!

Nelda went on as if she hadn't heard his weak protest.

'And as for that last tale of yours, well!' She shook her head. 'Tyron Jelnack's father is the Grand Master of the Silversmiths' Guild, Lavan; why would he do anything like you claim he's done? First of all, I cannot believe that a boy from that fine a family would behave the way you have been describing, and secondly I do not believe he