Brightly Burning

gray-brown. But he hadn't been brought up in a cloth-merchant's household without recognizing that these bedclothes were made of the very finest of materials. The comforter was stuffed with pure goosedown and protected with a soft cover of wool plush. The blankets were woven of chirra wool, patterned in wide stripes and checks.

He wondered what had prompted such generosity—not that he was going to object! With a bed placed right underneath a window, the more warm coverings he had, the better. Still, he doubted that his parents indulged even themselves in such luxury; such things were for the highborn and the astronomically wealthy. Granted, there was a great deal of profit figured into the prices of such luxuries, but that didn't make them cheap, even for a cloth merchant.

'Maybe they're trying to make up for not listening to me,' he muttered to himself.

:A guilt offering? That's certainly possible,: Kalira agreed. :In fact, I think that's probably the answer. They were not very apt at apologizing the other day; this may be their apology. At least it came in a useful form!:

He removed the bedcoverings in heavy armloads and laid them on his plain, rough-woven linen coverlet, then tackled the next layer. Cushions, this time, three of them that fluffed up fat and soft, and as luxurious as the blankets. Then a lighter bedspread of ramie and linen, also new, probably for summer. Then, at last, the books and personal keepsakes he had asked for.

After distributing these objects on desk, window ledge, and wardrobe top, he turned back to the box again. The one final layer proved to be rugs and small tapestries—geometric designs rather than pictures, something he recognized as weavings from the southwestern Border. At first he laughed at the idea of putting things up on the walls; wasn't that just like his mother to want to priss things up for him?

:Wait now, look around a bit: Kalira cautioned. :It looks like the inside of the room at Healer's—are you sure you want all that white wall around you when it's nothing but snow outside?:

He considered that for a moment, and reluctantly agreed that she was right. With the help of a hammer and a few nails, the tapestries did a lot to soften the hard whiteness of the walls, and the two rugs fit nicely by the side of the bed and in front of the hearth.

When he was finally done, he broke into a surprised smile and a quiet laugh. Now this was more like it! Somehow, despite almost all of this being a guilt gift and brand new, it was closer to his real room in Alderscroft than he'd ever expected. His old room had been much like this, without any sign of his mother's meddling hand. The real difference was that there the bedcoverings and things had been old and worn; commonplace, or scavenged from the attic, and the walls hadn't needed anything, since they were already hung with the old tapestries that had been there for generations.

:Makes me wish that I was human so I could curl up by your fire!: Kalira chuckled. :That's quite a cozy little nest you've built for yourself!:

Just then, the bell for luncheon sounded, and he started a little at the sound. This wasn't a small handbell, it came from a bell tower on the roof and could be heard all over the Collegia and Palace and their grounds.

:And on that most opportune note, I'm going to go have a gallop and a bite. Shall I see you at the Field after lunch?: Kalira's casual tone did a great deal to offset the nervous lurch of his gut at the idea of lunch in a room full of strangers. After all, he didn't have very good memories of his last similar experience.

Hesitantly, he left his room, and stepped out into the hall. A steady stream of people, ranging in age from around ten to at least eighteen and about equally divided between males and females, were all heading in the direction of the dining room that Pol had shown him. They chattered away at the tops of their lungs quite cheerfully, a welcome contrast to the nervous demeanor of the students of his school.

'Heyla, are you Lavan?' someone called from behind him. He turned to see a boy his own age emerging from the room next to his. There could not be anyone more unlike his friend Owyn; he was covered in freckles, with bright green eyes, hair of a carrot red, and a huge, gap-toothed grin. His sturdy frame marked him as country-bred, and Lan felt an instant kinship with him.

Lan nodded, and the boy clapped him on the back. 'Good to have you! I'm Tuck. I'm from a little village up north, you won't have heard of it.'

Lan felt an unaccustomed urge to smile as they joined the rest of the Grays streaming towards their meal. 'Try me,' he suggested archly.

'Briarley Crossing—' Tuck began.

'Between Lower Devin and Endercott, just off the Nodding Hill Road,' he interrupted, and had the pleasure of seeing Tuck's jaw drop.

'I won't ask how you know that, it'd spoil the fun. Want to sit with me and m'mates?' the boy asked, full of admiration. 'And would you mind sussing out where they come from if I ask?'

'I can try,' he said modestly, secretly pleased not only by Tuck's reaction, but by his invitation.

They entered a room which was physically nearly identical to the Merchants' School dining hall—but, oh, what a difference in the contents of the room! The first thing that struck Lan was the noise—the babble of dozens and dozens of people freely chattering, well mixed with laughter. The second was the monochromatic austerity—a sea of gray, interrupted here and there with small groups of white. Tuck led him over to a table with benches lining both sides, already crowded with other students. 'Shove over, then,' he laughed good-naturedly, tapping two of his friends on their shoulders. 'This's Lavan; he's going to be eating with us. He's just arrived.'

With giggling and a little elbowing, the others made room for both of them, and one of them passed down plates, mugs, and eating utensils to the rest from stacks on the end of the table. A basket of bread followed by a dish of butter went up and down the table; a student came by and left pitchers of water and cider, a second followed with a huge bowl of stew. Both got shared out in an egalitarian, if somewhat random fashion, while eating and talking went on simultaneously. A student came 'round at intervals with more bread and stew, offering more helpings to those who were still hungry.

During a gap in the chatter, Tuck called out to a girl on the other side of the table, 'Hey Fyllia, tell Lavan your village!'

'He won't have heard of it,' the thin, dark-haired girl protested.

Tuck grinned. 'Just tell him.'