“What did you hear exactly?” he asked carefully.
“I don’t know. After they said Charles was expelled, I stopped listening. Too confusing.” She shook her head, then winced and rubbed the back of her skull. “It still hurts.”
“Serves you right, listening in on people’s conversations. You’d think you would have learned by now, after that Wendigo almost killed you,” he growled.
“Oh, poo. Sacha was there to protect me, weren’t you, beautiful!” She stroked Sacharissa’s neck fur.
“Stop that!”
She snatched her hand away and crossed her arms, giving Arcturus a grumpy look.
“If we’re going to be friends, you can’t talk to me that way,” she said haughtily, turning her nose up at him. “You have to say please.”
“Okay. Please don’t do that. It’s not polite.”
“Good,” she said, instantly forgiving him. “I’m a good friend, you know, I promise. We can talk whenever you like. You’re not alone anymore.”
Arcturus shuffled over to make room as she sat beside him. He smiled as she surreptitiously flicked the end of Sacharissa’s tail.
Arcturus then thought of the risk his teachers were taking to keep him safe. The feeling of being protected was new to him. His mind turned to the brothers and sisters he might have out there. Then the other common adepts, illegitimates and randomly gifted alike.
“You’re right, Elaine. I’m not alone. Not anymore.”
CHAPTER
17
ARCTURUS SPENT TWO WEEKS in the infirmary, claiming dizziness from his concussion—though in truth only Sacharissa needed healing. It was a relief to be away from the noble students—he was sure they had all heard about what had happened in the summoning room, and he had no desire to face them until he was ready.
His only visitors were Elizabeth and Elaine—the former to bring him food and tutor him while he was unwell, the latter to pester both him and Sacharissa, and gossip about what was happening in the academy.
As the days passed by, Arcturus was pleased to discover that as far as anyone knew—Ophelia Faversham included—Charles and Rook had been expelled for dueling each other, and that he had been injured in the crossfire. A few students harbored suspicions, but the boys had not been particularly popular, and after a few days of gossip things had died down.
According to Elaine, only Zacharias seemed bothered by the loss of Charles and Rook, so Arcturus endeavored to stay away from the provost’s son as much as possible. He suspected that somehow, Zacharias would blame him for the pair’s expulsion—especially if his father had chosen to trust the boy with the truth about that night.
By the end of the fortnight, Arcturus was pleased to see that Sacharissa was almost fully healed, her recovery sped up by her successful infusion a few nights before. Elizabeth had spent many hours teaching him the technique, and had even given him an old summoning leather of hers to practice with while she was busy downstairs.
Still, he had to rejoin the world eventually, and Sacharissa was becoming boisterous now that she was recovered. So, almost two weeks after that fateful night, he decided to go down for breakfast, though he infused Sacharissa first—standing her on the summoning leather and absorbing her into his body. He didn’t want to get in trouble for having his demon out before lesson time.
As he did so, Arcturus remembered the first time he had infused Sacharissa, guided by Elizabeth in the infirmary, the euphoria of her being merged with him, and the strange knowledge that she could now see through his eyes.
It felt strange to leave the infirmary. Of course, he had left the room before, to use the facilities and wash, but he had purposefully chosen to go when lessons were in progress, and he was yet to see any of the students.
For that reason, Arcturus was somewhat surprised when he found the dining hall mostly deserted when he entered—even if, to his dismay, one of the few people there was Zacharias. Edmund, the boy who had shown him some kindness on that first day, was also there, as well as the Queensouth twins and Prince Harold. When they noticed his presence, the group fell silent, following him with their eyes as he crossed the room.
Arcturus took a tray from a waiting dwarf servant, and sat himself down beside them. He focused on eating, ignoring their stares.
“So … are you going to tell us what happened?” Josephine Queensouth asked after a moment’s pause, giving him a nudge.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Arcturus mumbled through a mouthful of eggs.
“Leave him be, Josephine,” Alice, her twin sister, said. “It’s not our business, and we already know what happened anyway.”
“But not the juicy details,” Josephine moaned, rolling her eyes.
Alice ignored her. She leaned forward and gave Arcturus an encouraging smile.
“Are you feeling better, Arcturus?” Alice asked.
Arcturus looked up and gave her a quick nod, forcing a smile of his own.
“Jolly good,” Edmund said loudly, putting his arm around Alice’s shoulders. “Glad to have you back. Now, where were we? The weekend, right?”
“That’s right,” Zacharias said, his eyes fixed on Arcturus. “We were saying we should probably avoid Corcillum, after the protests last week.”
Protests?
“Riots, more like,” Prince Harold muttered, half under his breath.
“It can’t be helped,” Josephine sniffed. “The plebs just don’t understand the pressures of ruling.”
But Harold shook his head.
“They’re right to be angry,” he said, stabbing a sausage with his fork. “My father was a fool to spend so much of their taxes on building his palace. There are people starving across the kingdom, and he plants roses and builds fountains.”
There was an awkward pause, and understanding dawned on Arcturus then. Obadiah had said something about this—how there was growing unrest because of Harold’s father, King Alfric, bankrupting the country.
“I say we go to my place.” Edmund broke the silence, leaning back in his chair. “My parents are on a trade mission with the elves, so we have the run of the estate. We can go hunting for buffalo.”
The room rang with agreement, and Edmund turned to Arcturus.
“What do you reckon, Arcturus?”
Arcturus stared at him blankly, yolk dripping down his chin.
“That sounds … like fun,” Arcturus said after a moment’s consideration. Was that an invitation?
“So it’s agreed,” Edmund said, clapping his hands together. “Carriages arrive tomorrow morning at the ninth bell. Don’t be late.”
Arcturus sat speechless as the benches were scraped back and the group began to head out. Only Zacharias remained, glowering at him, his square jaw set with anger.
Arcturus met his gaze head-on, keeping his apprehension hidden with a steady stare. Finally, Zacharias broke the stare and stood too, knocking Arcturus’s shoulder as he strode past.
Alone, Arcturus quickly finished his breakfast, wolfing down the last of his eggs and toast, but not before making sure to pocket some sausages for Sacharissa to eat later.
His belly gurgled at the sudden influx of food. In just one meal he had eaten as much as he would have in a week when he had been a stable boy. He had forgotten how it felt to feel full.
Since he had arrived at Vocans, he had more energy, more strength, and even the cold didn’t bother him half so much. But he couldn’t allow himself to become complacent.
And what had Elizabeth told him? Trust no one. Yet … he felt he could trust Edmund, not to mention both Elizabeth and Elaine. Although, now that he thought about it, he wondered why his new friends had not told him about the riots.
More to the point … where were they? Elaine and her brothers should have been at breakfast, and Elizabeth had not come to see him the night before, for their usual summoning lesson. In fact, she was supposed to have been there that morning too, to help Arcturus with his demonology studies.
Arcturus knew th
at Elizabeth was housed above the servants’ quarters, so he set out across the atrium and up the east staircase. As he made his way up the winding steps, he felt the temperature drop. Clearly, this side of the building did not benefit from the roaring fireplaces that warmed the west wing, where the noble students and wealthier teachers slept.
Still, even if the servants’ quarters were colder, they were decorated as ostentatiously, and Arcturus could see passages lined with paintings, tapestries, even suits of armor and racks of gleaming weaponry, as the winding stairway took him higher and higher.
When he reached the top floor, Arcturus paused, wondering which way to go. A long, darkened passageway stretched in front of him, while the balcony overlooking the atrium lay to his left and right, with doors studding its walls.
An idea came to Arcturus, and he smiled. He knelt and unraveled the summoning leather that Elizabeth had given him, leaving the square of pentacle-embossed leather on the ground in front of him.
Moments later, Sacharissa materialized into existence, her tail wagging like a metronome. She whined and nuzzled against Arcturus’s palm, then nipped him lightly for keeping her confined for so long.
“I’m sorry, Sacha, but you’d better get used to it.” Arcturus smiled, ruffling her ears. “Now keep quiet. You’re not supposed to be out.”
The dog demon rolled on her back, whining hopefully as she waited for a belly rub. Arcturus obliged, shaking his head ruefully as she wriggled with pleasure. She was still a puppy at heart.
“Can you smell Elizabeth for me, girl?” Arcturus murmured. “I need you to find her.”
Instantly, the demon was on her feet, her ears upright and alert, nose close to the ground. He could sense her excitement, pulsing through him like a rush of adrenaline. A hunt. It was what she was born to do.
Already she was snuffling the ground, prowling forward with the low gait of a lion stalking a gazelle, the soft padding of her feline feet barely making a sound in the echoey hollow of the murky passageway ahead.
“Attagirl,” Arcturus said, rolling up his summoning leather and following her into the ill-lit aisle.
He could almost smell the scent that Sacharissa was pursuing, just as he had smelled Elaine in the summoning room. It wasn’t as powerful as when he looked directly into Sacharissa’s eyes, but it seemed as if the demon’s senses were bleeding into his own.
Elizabeth’s scent was like a symphony of notes in Sacharissa’s mind, and Arcturus found it hard to concentrate as the new sensation wafted through him.
And yet, there was another, stronger smell breaking through, made up of leather, musk and soot. Even as it became stronger, Arcturus thought he could make out a short, stocky figure in the gloom ahead, a flickering light hanging in the air beside it.
It was Ulfr, squinting at them beneath his bushy eyebrows as the pair approached. Arcturus stepped into the light of Ulfr’s lantern, and was suddenly suffused with guilt. He had not thought to thank the dwarf—he owed Ulfr his life after all. If the dwarf had not gone for help when Arcturus was under attack, the young summoner would likely be Wendigo droppings by now.
“I … I wanted to thank you, for fetching the teachers,” Arcturus stammered, suddenly shy under the dwarf’s glower. “I should have come sooner. I’m sorry.”
“No thanks or apologies needed,” Ulfr muttered, turning aside. “’Twas not for the love of you, but to get back at those noble brats. Many’s the time they’ve taunted me. Now who’s laughing.”
The dwarf broke into a grim smile.
“You have my thanks all the same,” Arcturus replied, his heart sinking at Ulfr’s words. “We are not all like them.”
“Aren’t you?” Ulfr growled, his brows beetling as his face darkened with anger.
He grabbed Arcturus’s arm and pulled him a few steps up the corridor, ignoring the warning growl from Sacharissa. The dwarf spun Arcturus around and stabbed a stubby finger at a painting hanging on the wall.
“This is what humans do.”
It took a moment for Arcturus to register the scene before his eyes, for the image was cracked and faded. Then his eyes widened in horror.
A column of dwarves were depicted midmarch down the center of a parade, complete with a pennant-waving crowd on either side. They were naked and soil stained, with metal collars around their necks, and heavy chains kept taut between them. Behind, men on horses were frozen in the act of flailing whips at their bare backs, and if Arcturus looked closely, he could see red-furrowed wounds on the dwarven skin, and the red rivulets of blood that streamed beneath them.
“They hang these in the servants’ quarters, especially the dwarven floors. ‘Lest we forget,’ so we’re told,” Ulfr spat. “Well, I won’t forget, they can be sure of that.”
“Who are they?” Arcturus asked.
“The captives from the last dwarven rebellion, many years ago,” Ulfr said through gritted teeth. “They want us to remember that we lost the last one. And the one before that.”
“It’s cruel,” Arcturus said, horrified.
“Aye. Like all your kind,” Ulfr said.
Before Arcturus could think of an answer, someone cleared their throat behind him. He spun to see a thin, yellow-toothed man standing behind him. The newcomer wore the robes of a servant, and his expression turned to one of surprise as he took in Arcturus’s uniform.
“Are you lost, my lord?” the man said with a bow, his voice nasal and obsequious.
“No need to bow, Crawley, he’s no lord,” Ulfr said derisively. “He’s that commoner.”
“Indeed?” Crawley’s eyes lit up with sudden interest, and he leaned in to examine Arcturus closely. “Fascinating.”
He furrowed his brows, cocking his head to one side, and his eyes flashed hungrily to Sacharissa.
“I had not thought … perhaps … yes.…”
He trailed off, but continued to stare at Arcturus, his eyes roving back and forth. Arcturus coughed awkwardly, eager to get away from the strange man.
Remembering himself, Crawley smiled and nodded at Arcturus before turning to Ulfr.
“Ulfr, I was looking for you—”
“We’ve nought to talk about,” Ulfr interrupted, shuffling uncomfortably. “You’ve heard my answer and that’s the end of it.”
The dwarf caught Arcturus staring at him and his face darkened.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Ulfr snapped.
Sacharissa growled at the dwarf’s tone, and Arcturus was forced to grip the mane along the ridge of her back.
“You had better hurry along,” Crawley said, still giving Arcturus that strange, inquisitive look.
“Come on, Sacha,” Arcturus said, calming his demon with a thought. She had become extremely protective of late.
They continued down the corridor, following Elizabeth’s elusive scent. Behind them, a whispered argument echoed eerily, though Arcturus was unable to hear what was being said.
He glanced over his shoulder as they turned the corner, catching the silhouettes of the two servants.
“I wonder what that was all about?” Arcturus pondered aloud, scratching Sacharissa under her chin. It was strange, but she had grown almost a half foot taller than she had been when they had first met, and was now almost as large as a miniature pony.
As she looked up at him, her eyes half-closed with pleasure, their gazes met. Arcturus felt himself slipping into the gray-tinted world that Sacharissa inhabited, complete with intensified sounds and smells.
He did not break the connection—it was an experience like no other. Scents were so intense it was as if he were tasting the air itself, and he could even sense its ebbs and flows, and determine its direction. Still, it was not all good.
A stale aroma of body odor leaked beneath the door they stood beside. It made Arcturus gag with every fresh waft, while Sacharissa snuffled at the door with an inquisitive nose, fascinated.
He looked away from Sacharissa’s eyes, and was relieved to find that with a bit of concent
ration, he was able to continue the ability independently.
Intrigued, he took a few steps away. Along with the marginally fresher air, sounds of a whispered argument around the corner reached his newly sensitive ears.
“… I say again, the dwarves will not join you in this folly.” It was Ulfr, his words rapid and angry. “Nor will I have any part in it.”
“You’re making a mistake. Grant me an audience with your elders; I know I can make them see reason,” Crawley growled. “This is happening with or without you.”
“I cannot help you,” Ulfr replied.
“If the dwarves will not aid us, I cannot guarantee their position when the sun rises three days hence,” Crawley said, his voice taut and threatening.
“So be it,” Ulfr snapped.
Arcturus heard footsteps as Ulfr strode away.
“Wait!” Crawley called. “There’s something else.”
The footsteps ceased.
“The boy. You know him, yes?” Crawley asked.
“What of it?” Ulfr replied warily.
“He could be useful. Perhaps you could turn him to our cause. If you did, our leaders would look more kindly on the dwarves.”
Silence.
“You leave him out of this,” Ulfr said.
The footsteps continued, until they had faded from earshot.
CHAPTER
18
ARCTURUS HURRIED DOWN THE corridor, Crawley’s footsteps following behind him. The man was cursing under his breath, but Arcturus did not wish to listen any further. Nor did he wish to run into him, especially after what he had just heard.
His mind was in turmoil. Their conversation had made little sense to him. Crawley needed the dwarves’ help to do something secret … something that would take place in three days’ time. And somehow Arcturus was involved. But why? Why him?
Arcturus’s thighs thudded into Sacharissa’s side, nearly tripping him onto the floor. The demon was sitting beside a wooden door, one of many embedded in the walls of the maze of corridors.
He realized that they had arrived at Elizabeth’s room. As Crawley’s footsteps neared, Arcturus banged on the door with his fist, looking furtively down the gloomy passageway.