Come arrives clad in alabaster armor or satin robes or whatever it is she's to arrive in.
'While this is all well and good, it no doubt comes as little comfort to Bir, who currently lies delirious in the infirmary. Or perhaps it comes as all sorts of comfort. I must admit that I find it difficult to comprehend a god so overflowing with love who yet stands idly by while one of his adherents is getting his face smashed in.
'Please say hello to Father for me, if you ever see him, and to lana as well. You are, I assume, still taking orders from the laundry maid, so be sure to treat her with due respect when you pass along my salutations.
'I remain your devoted son.'
He signs the letter and stuffs it quickly into an envelope, not reading it over. He gathers his books, walks straight to the school office, and drops the letter in the post box.
And immediately regrets it.
For the next week he goes through his classes filled with dread, imagining his mother receiving the letter, opening it, reading it. What will she do? Will she take her own life out of grief and disappointment? Will she come to the school and scold him in front of his friends? Will she simply refuse to speak to him again?
She does none of these things. When her letter arrives, Perrin takes it back to the garden and opens it with trembling hands. It reads,
'Dear Perrin,
'You may fear that I am upset with you for the tone of your recent correspondence, but I am not. I have placed a heavy burden on you, and for that I apologize.
'Perhaps I should have done as so many other parents have and simply raised you to fit in, passed along to you values typical to your class without comment and let you grow to become whatever society would have you be. If I had done so, however, it would have been a grave disservice to you. So perhaps I withdraw my apology.
'You expressed in your letter some confusion as to why Aba stood by and allowed that foolhardy young Arcadian to be hurt. Here is my response: Aba created a beautiful, kind boy named Perrin and gave him strength and the understanding to do what is right, and then He placed that boy exactly where he needed to be in order to help your young Arcadian. I am not sure what more you would have Him do.
'Who, then, stood by and did nothing?'
Perrin's face is hot and his eyes burn. With great effort he produces a flicker of witchlight-his first and only mastery of Elements to date-and burns the letter.
The next day Perrin learns that Bir has been dismissed from the academy. He is called into the headmaster's office and is asked to sign a statement to the effect that Bir is a deeply troubled boy and that he attacked Tremoin without provocation. It will be best for everyone involved, the headmaster tells him, if Perrin would agree with this interpretation of the story. Perrin signs the statement gladly; the knowledge that Bir is gone fills him with relief.
Silverdun awoke in his shambles of a bed, still dressed in his damp clothes, though his boots had been removed. His head throbbed; the worst hangover he'd ever had, with none of the concomitant fun.
Last night was a blur. Something had happened, something bad. What was it?
Darkness. Torches. Steps. Bones. Ilian's boot.
Ilian!
How much damage had Than managed to do while Silverdun had slept? He'd murdered the unknown man at the stone clearing. Was that the other recruit? Had he been drugged just as Silverdun had? Had Than murdered Jedron as well? Jedron had drunk from the same bottle Silverdun had.
Silverdun bounded to his feet and instantly regretted it. His gorge rose, but thankfully Silverdun the Professional Drunkard had more control over his gag reflex than most. He dunked his head into the washbasin on the table and felt more awake, at least.
He headed toward the closed door, moving silently as Jedron had taught him. The small bodkin came out of his boot without a sound. Silverdun had been no mean threat before coming to Whitemount; after six weeks studying with Jedron, he was now a true menace.
The corridor outside was empty, the witchlight sconces dimmed. The only real light came from the small windows set into the wall, and the wall was so thick that very little light actually found its way in.
The sound of steps clattered on the stair. Whoever was coming was making no attempt to mask his approach. Silverdun gripped the knife firmly but easily and faded back against the wall, unmoving, just as Jedron had taught him.
