“What is it, Lord Forsyth?” Ulfr asked, scurrying in behind him. He kept his eyes low and gave a half bow as Forsyth turned on him.
“Why is this peasant in Charles Faversham’s room?” Forsyth’s voice was deep and threatening.
“Is he … but he…,” Ulfr stuttered, his eyes flicking nervously from Arcturus to Forsyth.
“But nothing!” Forsyth growled, grasping the dwarf by his beard and lifting him so he had to stand on tiptoes.
“Hang on a minute,” Arcturus interjected, standing up. “I didn’t tell him who I was—”
“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” Forsyth snarled, his gray eyes flashing with anger. Arcturus fell silent, lost for words. The venom in the man’s voice had turned his insides cold.
“My lord, it was an accident. You told me Charles would be arriving tonight, so I assumed…” Ulfr trailed off.
“You assumed this filthy urchin was the son and heir to Lord and Lady Faversham, did you?” Lord Forsyth said, lifting the dwarf still higher.
Suddenly, he hit the dwarf across the head, grunting with effort. There was a sickening crack of knuckles against skull and Ulfr sprawled across the carpet.
“Hey!” Arcturus yelled, rushing to Ulfr’s side. The blow would have knocked the senses from any human, but the dwarf was only stunned for a moment before cradling his head in pain.
“A half-wit and a half man. Though the two often go hand in hand.” Forsyth laughed, rubbing his hand. Arcturus recognized the racist term “half man” and felt disgusted. Sacharissa gave a low growl as she felt his anger and padded toward Forsyth, but Arcturus calmed her with a thought. He did not want to make the situation any worse.
“When you’ve recovered your wits—if you had any to begin with—take the peasant to the empty room at the top of the northeastern tower,” Forsyth commanded. He swept out of the room without a backward glance.
“Are you okay?” Arcturus asked, trying to lift Ulfr to his feet.
“Get off me, human,” the dwarf barked. Arcturus released him as if he had been stung.
“And you wonder why the dwarves rebel against you so often,” Ulfr muttered bitterly, rubbing his temple. Already, a large lump was forming on the side of his head.
Arcturus understood the hatred that dwarves felt toward humans, for even he knew of how the humans had overthrown the dwarves millennia ago, reducing them to second-class citizens in their own homeland.
“I’m not like him,” Arcturus whispered.
“There’s nobody like Obadiah Forsyth,” Ulfr replied, hauling himself to his feet. “But he is the black to your gray. In the end, you are all stained with the evil that is the human condition.”
Arcturus bit back a retort and started gathering his things together. Ulfr was already walking out of the room when he had finished.
“I hope there’s a bed where we’re going,” Arcturus said, tugging a reluctant Sacharissa behind him. She clearly didn’t want to leave the plush carpet in Charles’s room.
“It has all the essentials. It’s where the provost sends students as a punishment if they break the rules. Solitary confinement and all that,” Ulfr replied, turning into another stairwell at the end of the corridor.
“What’s a provost?” Arcturus’s voice echoed in the tight confines of the staircase.
“A headmaster of sorts. He runs the academy, decides who graduates and sets the curriculum. You might say he’s the highest authority at Vocans.”
“When do I get to meet him?” Arcturus asked. Ulfr ignored him and turned into an empty chamber with two doors. He took him down the left one and they entered a narrow corridor.
“Storage rooms,” Ulfr grunted, pointing at the identical doors on either side. He pushed open a door at the very end and showed Arcturus a bare room with a thin pallet bed in the corner, with a simple desk and cabinet crammed against the far wall. An arrow slit allowed a cold gust of wind into the room and Arcturus felt the hair on his arms stiffen with gooseflesh.
“Home, sweet home. If you need anything, keep it to yourself. I’m paid to serve the noble-born children, not freaks like you. Common summoners. It’s not natural!” Ulfr shook his head and began to walk away.
“I want to tell the provost how poorly the servants are treated here. When do I get to meet him?” Arcturus asked again, hoping to make peace with the dwarf.
Ulfr turned and gave Arcturus a bitter laugh.
“You’ve already met him. The provost is Obadiah Forsyth.”
CHAPTER
6
ARCTURUS WOKE FEELING REFRESHED. Despite the cold drafts of wind that gusted through the glassless window, Sacharissa had wrapped herself around him like a musty fur coat, keeping him warm and comfortable all night.
She whined in complaint as he extricated himself from her embrace and stood shivering in the room. He yanked the threadbare blanket from beneath her and wrapped it around his shoulders.
“Come on, lazybones, we’re going to go find the baths and get ourselves cleaned up. First impressions are important.”
Sacharissa rolled over, then blinked her four eyes at him sorrowfully.
“None of that.” Arcturus grinned. “Your puppy dog act won’t do you any favors here.”
She snorted with feigned annoyance before padding to the door and nudging it open with her nose.
Arcturus followed her out into the corridor, past the storerooms and down the stairs. She snuffled at the ground, as if she was hunting for something.
“I hope you’re not taking me to the kitchens,” Arcturus murmured, trailing behind her. “We need to find the baths.”
As if she could sense his meaning, she turned and looked at him. When his eyes met hers, he felt the connection between them flare, and for a brief moment his senses swam with a new awareness. Sounds became more acute, smells were intense and vivid. Only his vision suffered, the blue-white light of the morning outside turning into shades of gray and shifting strangely in front of his eyes.
He staggered at the sensation, steadying himself on the wall. As quickly as it came, the feeling left him, but not before he sensed the scent that Sacharissa was tracking. Water.
“Lead on.” Arcturus smiled, shooing her forward. He grinned, relishing the memory of his new power. It was fascinating to learn that Sacharissa might not be able to see colors. Who knew?
She turned down the spiral staircase, taking him down to the atrium while snuffling at the ground. It was obviously still early, for the castle was as lifeless and silent as a tomb, so he almost jumped out of his skin when a voice hailed him from the balconies above.
“Arcturus!” Obadiah Forsyth snapped, his face peering over the metal railing from the floor above him. “Who gave you permission to leave your quarters?”
Before Arcturus could answer, Obadiah’s head disappeared and footsteps echoed in the stairwell behind. He emerged red-faced, an accusatory finger pointed at Arcturus like a weapon.
“Sir, I am sorry, I needed to use the facilities,” Arcturus said, layering his voice with as much respect as he could. “I did not mean to break any rules.”
It was an almost-automatic response, for he had learned from his time with the innkeeper that deference could save him from a beating, or worse. It had the desired effect, for Obadiah paused midstride.
“Well … I guess that is a fair excuse,” he grunted begrudgingly, dropping his hand to his side before walking around Arcturus, examining him.
Arcturus lowered his head and watched Obadiah through half-closed lashes, ready for any sudden moves. Instead, the noble lifted Arcturus’s chin with a knuckle and nodded approvingly.
“Well, I’m pleased that you know to respect your elders. And betters for that matter,” Obadiah said, laying a hand on his shoulder and propelling him away from the doorway.
“Your morning ablutions shall have to wait. The king has asked me to find out what level summoner you are. Come with me.”