Lyssa was a bit slower. As she rose, Tarek saw a faint flicker of purple light on her left sleeve.
“Wait.” He reached for her.
She jumped aside and snatched her book from the table. Without meeting his gaze or saying a word, she hurried out of the room.
Tarek stared at the doorway a moment, unease prickling through him again.
“Come to my study,” Master Adrun said, pausing beside the bench. “And don’t look so worried. This will be quick.”
Spirits sinking, Tarek gathered his books and followed the Master. He didn’t imagine a reprimand would take long, though he knew it would seem like an eternity. Every time he’d disappointed his father by not behaving as a lord should, he’d gotten lectures that had left him smarting, his ego bruised. Until he’d adopted the same arrogant manner and hard ways of Lord Strand.
It had been hard to shed that behavior, though his time at the Collegium had blunted it. And then, of course, everything had changed when Tarek’s latent Healing Gift had burst out of him, and he’d had to face a far different future than what he’d planned.
Master Adrun held open the oaken door of his study, then closed it firmly behind them and placed his lecture notes on his desk. Instead of settling behind its intimidating expanse, however, he waved Tarek to one of the paired armchairs before the empty hearth.
Carefully, Tarek settled on the dark green cushions and waited. He’d learned from his interactions with his father that it never helped to begin the conversation with excuses. Despite the protests burning on his tongue, he remained silent.
Master Adrun sat across from him and smiled, lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes.
“You’re learning,” he said. “I commend you for it.”
“I thought you were going to scold me.”
“No.” The Master’s smile faded. “I need your assistance. And your discretion.”
Tarek nodded, curiosity flashing through him. “I’d be glad to help.”
Master Adrun’s eyebrow twitched. “I would think a future jord would know better than to agree to anything without first hearing the terms.”
“I trust you.” The words surprised Tarek, even as he spoke them. It seemed the last of his anger with the Master Healer had dissipated. After all, it was not his fault that Tarek had been forced onto the Healer’s path.
It was no one’s fault, really, and though he thought he’d accepted the fact months ago, it was, finally, a truth he could live with. The knowledge gave him a measure of peace.
“I am much pleased to hear it,” the Master said, and the dryness of his tone did not completely mask his approval. “There is a student in your class, Lyssa Varcourt. I believe you know who she is?”
“Yes.” Tarek leaned forward. “In fact, and I know this sounds strange, but . . . I think something is the matter with her.”
Master Adrun let out a satisfied breath. “Your Gift serves you well, Tarek. Indeed, I’ve been sensing distress from her for some time, but when confronted, she refuses to admit anything’s wrong. I was hoping that you might befriend her and perhaps gain some insight into the problem. You have a younger sister, I believe?”
“I do.” Tarek dug the toe of his shoe into the thick carpeting. “But Lyssa’s much younger than I am.”
“Then think of yourself as a mentor or a champion. The girl needs help, but she refuses to turn to any of the Masters for it.”
“Do you think there’s a problem with her Gift?”
“Perhaps.” Master Adrun rubbed his forehead. “I’m not quite sure where the problem lies. She comes from a family that’s known for producing strong Healers, and she seems capable enough at her studies.”
Privately, Tarek thought she was more than capable. It must be nice to come from a background where Gifts were accepted and supported. Where Healing was discussed openly, and information about it was freely available.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know the answer to your question, today,” he said. “I was distracted by Lyssa, in fact.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s hard to explain.” Tarek paused a moment, trying to put it as coherently as he could. “First, I felt a . . . well, it was an uncomfortable vibration, I guess. Then there was violet light on her left arm, and I thought I sensed cuts all along her skin. And then she noticed me looking at her, and all of that just vanished. She seemed perfectly fine.”
Master Adrun frowned. “But you and I know that is not the case. This seems even more worrisome than I’d first thought.”
“I’m not sure what I can do to help,” Tarek said. “But I’ll try and pay attention whenever I’m around her. And see if she’ll maybe talk to me a little.”
“Even that much is more than I can do,” the Master said, rising. “Please keep me informed as to what you discover.”
Tarek wasn’t at all certain he could succeed where Master Adrun had failed, but he nodded anyway and let the Healer show him to the door.
• • •
Lunch in the Common Room was a noisy affair, full of the clack of dishes and babble of competing conversations. Herald Trainees in their Grays made up the majority of the diners, but there were a smattering of rust-clad Bards in training and, here and there, the subdued mossy tones worn by the Healer Trainees.
It didn’t take Tarek long to spot Lyssa’s pale hair. She was seated at a table in the corner, only a book keeping her company as she ate her serving of vegetable pie.
“Mind if I sit here?” Tarek asked, putting his plate down on the scuffed wooden table.
She gave him a cautious look. “Go ahead. I’m just studying.”
“No wonder you always know the answers.” He settled on the bench across from her and nodded at the treatise on herbal remedies. “I need to spend more time with my books. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never catch up.”
She closed the text and dropped her left arm to her lap. Away from his gaze. He decided not to say anything; Lyssa was skittish enough already.
“I don’t always know the answers,” she said, something unhappy in her voice. “It can take years to master the Gift, my aunt says. She’s the best Healer in Haven, you know.”
Tarek glanced at her. “I’d heard you come from a family known for its Healers. My own family still doesn’t quite believe that Gifts are real. It must be nice to have the support and understanding.”
“It’s horrible.” She flushed. “I mean, not in the same way as your family, but I have to be good at Healing.”
“You’re one of the youngest Trainees in the class. Of course you’re good at Healing.”
She ducked her head and nervously thumbed the pages of her book. “Maybe I’m not.”
Tarek gave her a close look. He wasn’t particularly strong in Empathy, but he could sense the misery coming off her in waves. Something strange was definitely going on with this girl.
“Do you think . . . that perhaps the Collegium made a mistake?” he asked. “Have you spoken to Master Adrun about it?”
She shook her head.
He didn’t want to push her, but he couldn’t ignore that there was clearly a problem, and it seemed to do with her Gift.
The thought tickling the back of his mind emerged, and he smiled. Maybe Tarek couldn’t do much, but he knew who could. Shandara Tem, the Bard whose quiet words had helped him face the truth about his own Gift.
And, honestly, he wouldn’t mind the excuse to see her. Since he’d become a Healer Trainee, he’d chatted with her a few times and once even had lunch with her by a stroke of good fortune, but she moved in circles far beyond his own. Especially as he was now a First Year again.
“I know someone you could talk to,” he said to Lyssa. “Someone who’s good at helping people. Would you be willing to meet her?”
She shrugged, her shoulders, thin and vulnerable under the pale green fabric of
her tunic. Tarek felt as if he were trying to coax a wild bird to take seed from his cupped hand. But it was worth a try.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
“Bard Shandara. Do you know her?”
Lyssa gave him a blank look. “No.”
Right. It seemed that the story of last year’s Midwinter Recital had finally been buried beneath other gossip.
He scanned the room, looking for a smiling brunette wearing Scarlets. As usual, Shandara Tem didn’t appear to be taking her lunch among the Trainees.
“She’s not here,” he said. “But after lunch we could go to her rooms and see if she’s in. If you want.”
“I’ll need to let my floor manager know where I’m going,” Lyssa said with an edge of aggravation. “Sometimes they treat us like babies here.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
“Eleven. Practically grown up.”
Tarek swallowed his smile. “When I was a Blue, they made us all check in until we were fifteen.”
She looked over to a table filled with gray-clad students, and frowned. “Herald Trainees don’t have nursemaids.”
“They have worse.” Tarek leaned forward and gave her a conspiratorial grin. “They have Companions, poor things.”
A smile ghosted across Lyssa’s face, and he was glad to see she was capable of some amusement, despite whatever shadow lay over her.
“Meet you at the Bardic Collegium in half an hour?” he asked.
“All right.” Lyssa looked down and fidgeted with the pages of her book again, then picked it up and stood. “I’ll be there.”
“Don’t worry—Shandara is really nice.” And pretty, and smart . . .
As Lyssa left the Common Room, Tarek sipped his apple cider to distract himself. For one thing, he was way too busy to pursue anything more than friendship with Shandara Tem. And for another, she was a Bard and he was a Trainee, and he was fairly sure there were rules about those kinds of things—even if they were almost the same age.
• • •
Despite his resolve to think of Shandara only as a friend—and a distant one at that—Tarek couldn’t help the knot in his throat as he knocked on the door of her rooms. Lyssa stood beside him, small and fragile, her left arm tucked down against her body.
He’d tried to get a good look at that arm, but his few glimpses at lunch and as they walked through the halls of Bardic hadn’t shown him anything odd. The only thing, in fact, that made him certain there was something wrong was the way Lyssa was obviously trying to shield her arm from view. And in retrospect, it was a bit suspicious that she always wore long sleeves, even on the hottest days.
There was no response to his knock.
“Maybe she’s not there,” Lyssa said in a small voice.
“We’ll give it a minute,” he said. “And if she’s not home, then we’ll come a different time.” Though, judging by Lyssa’s tight expression, he might not be able to convince her to visit again.
He knocked one last time. After waiting at least another minute, while his heartbeat echoed the sound of his knuckles on the door, Tarek had to admit that Shandara wasn’t in her rooms.
Swallowing his disappointment, he turned to Lyssa. “We can try again tomorrow.”
“Maybe.” She sounded unconvinced as they started back down the wide, wood-floored hall.
Windows set high in the walls let in beams of sunshine, and the portraits of famous Bards lining the hallway seemed to watch them as they passed.
Tarek frowned. He should have sent a note asking for an appointment instead of dragging Lyssa over on a fruitless quest for help. Now he’d probably lost his chance.
He glanced at the girl. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
She chewed on her lip a moment, and hope sparked that maybe she’d confide in him after all. Then she shook her head, her pale hair falling over her face, and the opportunity was gone.
“Nothing,” she said.
By all the rooftops of Haven, he’d bungled this one. And Master Adrun was counting on him. What kind of Healer would he make, or lord for that matter, if he couldn’t solve the most basic of problems?
A flicker of bright red at the edge of his vision made him lift his head. Relief swept through him as he saw Shandara striding down the hall in their direction.
“Tarek!” she said, and the gladness in her voice gave his heart a treacherous squeeze. “What a nice surprise to find you roaming the halls of Bardic.” Her gaze went to Lyssa. “And who is your young friend?”
“This is Lyssa Varcourt,” he said.
“Of the Varcourt Healers?” Shandara came to a stop before them. The sunlight picked out the gold highlights in her brown hair and made her Scarlets glow.
“Yes, that’s my family name,” Lyssa said.
Shandara must have heard the sour note in the girl’s voice, for one eyebrow went up. “Pleased to meet you, Lyssa. Can I help you two find something?”
“You already have,” Tarek said, and he couldn’t help smiling. “We were hoping to see you.”
Shandara spread her arms. “What luck, then, that I am standing before you. Would you like to come to my rooms so we can talk?”
Despite the lightness of her tone, she shot Tarek a concerned glance. Clearly she could see this was not simply a social visit.
“Yes,” he said, and Lyssa gave a sharp nod.
• • •
A few minutes later, Tarek and Lyssa were seated on a small couch in Shandara’s cozy living room. She opened a window to let the clover-scented breeze blow through, offered them each a cup of cool water from the pitcher on her sideboard, then settled on the low-backed chair across from them.
A gentle silence filled the room. Tarek glanced at Lyssa, but she gazed at the floor and said nothing. It was up to him to get at the heart of the trouble—whatever it might be.
He cleared his throat and met Shandara’s gaze. The quiet warmth in her eyes helped give him the confidence to begin.
“We’re here because of your specialty with problem Gifts,” he said.
Beside him, Lyssa stiffened and sent him a startled look.
Shandara nodded. “I suspected as much. I don’t know if I can help, but if you tell me the trouble, we’ll see what we might be able to do.”
“But you’re not a Healer,” Lyssa said.
“No, I’m a Bard.” Shandara gave her a quiet smile. “And yet, since my own Gift was a bit troublesome, it seems that I can offer insight and aid to others who are struggling.”
She turned her smile on Tarek, and he vividly recalled the details of their first meeting. It had been awkward, conversing with her from his convalescent bed in the House of Healing. But her sincerity and kindness had won him over, even if he hadn’t wanted to hear what she’d had to say.
“It’s true,” he said to Lyssa. “Shandara helped me accept my own late-blooming Healing Gift, and I know she’s been able to assist others on their path.”
Shandara waved her hand in dismissal, while a faint blush colored her cheeks. “Small things, mostly. But it seems I have some Empathy for sensing when people’s Gifts are blocked or are giving them pain.” She leaned toward the slight girl seated across from her. “As yours is, Lyssa.”
Lyssa scooted back, her eyes widening. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Truly?” Shandara tilted her head. “Tell me about your Gift.”
“I’m a Healer!” There was a desperate edge to the girl’s voice.
Tarek winced as a surge of buzzing discomfort rose from her body, centered on her left arm.
“What’s the matter with your arm?” he asked, as gently as he could. “Can I see it?”
“No.” She tucked it against her side, then sprang to her feet. “I’m fine.”
Shandara held out her hand. “Lyssa—”
>
“Leave me alone,” the girl said in a tight voice.
Before Tarek could say anything, she ran to the door and let herself out. The sound of her racing footsteps echoed down the hallway.
“Well.” Shandara rose to close the door. “She’s rather volatile.”
Tarek groaned and dropped his head to his hands, running his fingers through his hair. “That was terrible. I promised Master Adrun I’d help, and now I’ve made matters even worse.”
Shandara paused beside Tarek and set a warm hand on his shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. I’ve seen enough Gifts go awry that I’m fairly confident that is at the heart of Lyssa’s troubles. One of the first steps is always acknowledging there’s a problem. As you know.”
“I do.” He let out a rueful laugh. “I wonder what Lyssa’s avoiding.”
Shandara let go of his shoulder, and he tried not to lean after her.
“I think we can piece this out together,” she said, settling across from him. “Tell me about her arm.”
He did, recounting his fleeting impression of what seemed to be multiple cuts on Lyssa’s arm, which had then mysteriously disappeared, plus the occasional prickling of his Healing Gift responding to her pain. A pain she always denied.
Shandara rested her chin in her hand, her face thoughtful, her hazel eyes watching him as he spoke.
“Anything else?” she asked when he’d finished.
Tarek tilted his head, remembering his conversation with Lyssa at lunch. “She doesn’t like her family. Or, not that exactly, but she doesn’t like being a member of the Varcourts.”
“Hm.” Shandara straightened. “She was awfully adamant about being a Healer, too. I wonder . . . This might sound strange, but what if she doesn’t, in fact, have the Gift of Healing?”
“I thought of that, but then she wouldn’t be in the Collegium. The Masters would never take bribes or succumb to pressure to accept an unGifted student—even one from such a prestigious family.”
“Oh, I believe she does have a Gift,” Shandara said. “But maybe it’s not the one everyone thinks. Let me speak with Master Adrun on this. Meanwhile, how are your studies going, young lordling?”
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