Steelhands - Jaida Jones [224]
“It’s Basquiat business,” Royston said. Evidently wonders never ceased—he sounded cowed, almost like he was making an apology. “I’ll be inside the whole time—perhaps I’ll even ask Wildgrave Ozanne to heal me up while I’m there. Doesn’t that sound like an appealing solution to this whole business?”
“I’ll go with you,” Hal said, reaching for his coat and Royston’s at the same time. There was a willful set to his jaw that I was beginning to recognize from all the time I’d spent around mulish young people of late—a stubbornness only the vitality of youth could maintain. “I can wait outside, if I have to, but we’re coming home straight afterward.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Royston said, looking to me for support.
“Sorry,” I told him. “I’m with Freckles on this one.”
SEVENTEEN
LAURE
A week after I’d found her, I still didn’t know what to name my girl.
It was a small detail, but everyone who knew about it kept bringing it up, like it was the most important thing I had to look after. Not the letter to Da explaining I’d got a job working for Chief Sergeant Adamo—I didn’t put “ex” in there, just to keep the whole thing true; I never could lie to my own family—nor all the hassle I went through withdrawing from my place as a student right at the end of the semester. Even though nobody in the ’Versity actually wanted me, much less wanted me to stay, they sure kicked up a stink about me leaving, though the paperwork all went through once they remembered I was a scholarship student and they weren’t making money off of my attendance.
I wasn’t the only one who’d quit right before the end of the race. Though I was following in ex–Professor Adamo’s footsteps, and for me, that was a right noble position.
Neither of us was cut out for it—not like some. Toverre, for example, probably couldn’t fail an examination if he tried. Despite the constant bathing—he had four of ’em a day, three after meals and one for good luck or something—and how he was dogging Gaeth’s footsteps out of sheer stubbornness, he still found time to study and pull off top marks. I wasn’t even jealous of him, just impressed, since Da taught me to give credit where it was due, and it was nice to be reminded that Toverre might be of some use to someone, someday. And not just as Thremedon’s finest laundryman.
I was glad I didn’t have to study, or even think about studying, since so much was happening all at once. The city itself was in an uproar, distracting most of the good students from getting any work done since history was being made right in front of their eyes. I bet they were wondering, So why in bastion’s name am I studying it? The big thing was th’Esar being as good as dead, out like a light, and those of us who’d been there the only people who knew the truth. Even I didn’t rightly understand how they were keeping him alive since it had to do with Talent and I had none, but Antoinette had assured us all that she’d take care of things, and she was the kind of woman who made you believe a thing when she said it. All I understood was your body got weaker the longer you slept, and even though th’Esar had been an ox-looking fellow, it was safer to keep him stabilized with magic. The only thing worse than th’Esar in a coma, after all, was th’Esar suddenly up and dying on us.
It was all people could talk about, and I guess I didn’t blame them too much; all they knew was that the man who’d gotten them through the war had been taken out of commission, and I didn’t envy th’Esarina one bit having to convince them she’d do just fine in his place. No one knew whether the envoy from Arlemagne would stick around to deal with her or whether they’d consider themselves well shut of Volstov altogether. At least th’Esar hadn’t died—since according to my dragon, that would have meant the end of all the dragons—but I guess I could sympathize with the people a little. They hadn’t been