Archive of Our Own

The great doors of Aquilegia College refectory were open to the sweet early autumn air, and hundreds of students were pouring out into the courtyard at the end of their mid-day dinner. Behind them, at the high table, the housemaster, the instructors, and the tutors were conversing genially, waiting to make their own more dignified exit. Amongst them, seated uneasily at the end farthest from the door, was Lord Penric kin Jurald, newly-made sorcerer and oddly enough, a first-year student at the great University of Rosehall.

Pen shifted in his seat, wondering when he could leave. This was the third such uneasy dinner hour he'd spent at the high table. For the most part, the others at the table were august presences, some graying, all very dignified. The tutors, who were closer to his age, were seated along the other half of the table. Pen wondered whether he would be spending every dinner at Rosehall this way, like the eldest child forced to honor his aunts, uncles, and grandparents at the dinner table of a holiday feast instead of relaxing amongst the other children.

The Learned Romulda, a stout woman with sharp grey eyes who occupied the next seat, glanced at him with a wry little smile. "Would you like to follow your new classmates? You may go, you know. Most of us haven't seen each other for a few weeks, so there's much catching up to do. Including a lot of gossip."

Within him, Des, his demon, was both amused and mildly offended on Pen's behalf. To Pen's horror, she decided to put in a word for him. "It certainly won't do Penric any good to be seated with his classmates' betters at meals!"

Romulda stared for a second or three, then chuckled. "That was the demon, I take it. No, Madame Demon, it won't, but there is still some discussion to be had over how to fit your master and his situation into life here at the university. Lord Penric, have you spoken to your tutor about your concerns?"

"My tutor?"

"By the Mother's nurturing breast, has no one introduced you to your tutor yet? Well, you can speak with him yourself. Let me see … hmm, he is deep in conversation yet, so why don't you go out into the courtyard for the moment. I will send him after you. And I expect I will see you in the classroom later in the week. I teach history."

She nodded at him and turned back to converse with the instructor on the other side, who was awaiting her attention.

Penric stood and bowed, then hurried across the refectory and out the doors. Outside, in the flagstoned courtyard, the crowd of students had already somewhat dispersed. As he'd noted during his few days at Rosehall, there were four young men for every young woman. Many of them wore dedicats' tabards in service to one of the Five Gods, as he did, but perhaps a third of them wore dark blue university students' gowns, simple and austere, over their street clothes instead.

Nearby, a heated argument was in progress. Several young men in the brown tabards of the Son of Autumn were looming over a shorter fellow garbed as a dedicat of the Father. "What makes you think you know anything about it?" one of them was saying, scorn in his voice.

The other was doing his best to maintain his dignity, but he was uneasy at best, if not outright rattled. "This is my second year of legal studies," he began. "The law regarding inheritance clearly states— ."

"Don't think you can tell Andra anything about it!" said another of the Son's dedicats. "He's lived with the knowledge his whole life. His father is Lord kin Pellicar. Yours is a mere tradesman, a tailor!"

"'Deon of Freitten,'" said Andra. "What a name!"

Someone behind Penric let out an exasperated breath. Pen turned and saw one of the tutor-acolytes who'd been seated at Aquilegia high table, dressed in Bastard's whites. He was a small, fine-boned man, a full head shorter than Pen, with a dusky rose complexion and black hair severely restrained in a Temple queue. Even so, a few small wisps had escaped to curl about his face, framing very dark eyes, a long nose, and a full-lipped mouth that was pursed reprovingly. "That's enough of that!" he said, in a clear, ringing voice. "Lord Andra, Lord Udo, you shame your families by treating a fellow student so."

"Son's arrows," muttered Udo. "That little …"

The acolyte somehow drew himself up, suddenly seeming a handspan taller. "That little what, Lord Udo? Do continue." His voice was icy.

Udo's comrade Andra jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. "It's no problem, Istacio. Just having a chat with Deon."

"'Istacio?' Really?"

Both of the young noblemen looked at him blankly.

"Let me help you then," said the acolyte, with deep sarcasm, and theatrically held out the snowy skirts of his very new-looking acolyte's surplice.

"Acolyte Istacio," said Andra, with an attempt at exaggerated courtesy.

"Very good," said Istacio, mimicking his high-born accent. "Remember it next time. Now take yourselves off to wherever you're supposed to be, instead of lazing around the refectory. You too, Master Deon. Isn't the Archdivine of the Father addressing your class this afternoon?"

Deon, just as flushed as his tormentors, muttered something and fled. The small gang of Son's dedicats retreated more slowly, some of them glancing back angrily as they went out the gate to the street beyond. The acolyte remained in his severe pose, as still as a temple image of the Admonishing Mother, until they had all disappeared. Then he turned to Penric, blinked, and broke into a charming smile.

"I'm afraid I've given you the Bastard's own idea of an introduction here. My apologies, Lord Penric. As that one fellow said, I'm Acolyte Istacio. Of nowhere in particular, hence some of very striking reactions of those young gentlemen. I'll be your tutor for this term at least. I'm very pleased to meet you." His voice was high-pitched and rather nasal, and now that he was speaking more casually, Pen noted that his Wealdean had a faint accent.

"And I, you," said Pen. "Is that sort of animosity common?"

"Not to say common,” said Istacio, "But it still happens more often than it should. Sadly, it's the result of a wholesome vision of the previous chancellor. He thought it lamentable that like tended to stick with like at the university: we devotees of the Bastard, for instance, rarely left our own halls at the seminary except for some advanced academic subjects. Chancellor Notker kin Foxbriar thought this an unfortunate state of affairs and instead established the system of colleges that you are now experiencing. Previously a tradesman's son like Deon would only have had to put up with his fellow dedicats of the Father, who would have been better at hiding any prejudices they might have: those tapped to become devotees of law and such are picked for a more steady and thoughtful character. Now, of course he is a member of Aquilegia College, as are you and I — as well as those high-born, er, proto-cadets."

Pen looked blank.

Istacio grimaced and flicked his own forehead with one finger. "I get carried away with my own rhetoric sometimes. Let me explain more plainly. After a year here, they'll be assigned as cadets to some unit of the Son of Autumn's Own and after more training, most likely end up patrolling the borders of the land. It's a noble task, but it attracts a particular type of youth. I had my own share of Deon's experiences a year ago, when I first came here."

"Oh," said Pen, both enlightened and startled. "You were raised to acolyte after only one year?"

"For my sins, which I suppose is only appropriate for a follower of our god. That's one reason I was assigned to shepherd you through your own early time here. I assume you have realized that you will be allowed to advance as rapidly as you are able, so that this awkward situation of a fellow with little formal education who nevertheless has mastered a very powerful demon will be resolved as quickly as may be, for the sake of the nerves of our superiors here?"

"He didn't actually master me," growled Desdemona, before Pen could control the situation. "We came to an agreement."

Istacio blinked and then spoke in a very respectful, mellow tone, unlike his previous jocular treble chatter. "My apologies, great demon. I have spoken with sorcerers before but never have I been offered a chance to converse with any of their demons."

"Very good," said Pen, managing to assume control of his own voice. "Yes, that was Desdemona. We are still learning to work together. Um, she wants to speak some more."

"You have a pleasant voice when you wish to use it, acolyte," said Desdemona.

Istacio's eyes crinkled at the corners, pleased. He opened his lips again, and out came a beautiful tenor, lifted in one of the classic hymns to the Bastard: "My soul rejoices, amazed, with a heart full of the White God — ."

"Aren't you going to sing the rest?" asked Penric, disappointed that the acolyte had stopped.

Istacio laughed. "Some other time. I'm glad you like music, but look, dinner hour is over. You have someplace to be, don't you?"

"Yes, the scriptorium. The divine who took me through my paces when I first arrived thought my handwriting more than tolerable."

"There's always plenty of work in the scriptorium. Are you free at the fourth hour? Good. I'm told that you and I are in the same lodging upstairs, just around the corner from each other on the third floor. Let's meet after you're finished. You saw where the acolyte's study was?"

"Yes."

"And don't think too harshly of those young lords. I understand their rest was disturbed by a roaring ghost last night."

Des? Is that even possible?

"Ghosts don't roar," she answered, with his own lips.

"I thought it far from likely, myself," said Istacio. "Be off with you. I have to finish copying parts for a chorale for Autumn's Eve. We've only got three weeks to learn it and whip it into shape."

From that afternoon, Penric's life at Rosehall took a different course. During their first meeting, Istacio explained the importance of taking notes and worked with Penric on how best to do it. He even attended some classes with Pen, took his own notes, and then read his against Penric's at their next session, so that Pen could see where he had missed important points. With this framework to assist him in organizing what he was learning, Penric began to enjoy the challenge of his studies, which covered grammar in Wealdean, logic and arithmetic, rhetoric, and history in the university proper, as well as general theology at the Bastard's seminary and special study with the three sorcerers assigned there. He got on especially well with Learned Kinna, a practical woman with a dry sense of humor. The libraries were amazing: the one in the seminary was more than he'd ever dreamed, and the Great Library of Rosehall was at least five times the size.

At the very next dinner, Pen was seated at the other end of the high table, between Istacio and an earnest fellow in Daughter's blues, Boden kin Kendert, and soon all three were sharing stories of their younger days, as well as any other topic that struck their fancies. Pen learned that Istacio had actually spent his boyhood as part of a traveling troupe of entertainers, foster children of a great-hearted married pair of musicians who treated their wards like their own children, the youngest of whom still traveled with them. Disaster had struck the troupe five years ago in the form of an outbreak of the sweating sickness in Easthome. Despite the efforts of all the children, their foster parents and the other adults who worked with them had died.

"The physician of the Mother who attended us in our camp outside the city was much struck by the knowledge and temperament of our brother Kadem, who had been serving as our doctor for two years at that point, although he was but seventeen. She arranged for him to be accepted as a dedicat of the Mother, and after that, our story having made the rounds of the temples and seminaries of the city, we were all portioned off to the various gods." Istacio's voice was dry and matter-of-fact as he spoke, like a clerk reading records aloud.

"That can't have been easy," said Penric.

"Oh, I'm sure we drove them mad," said Istacio. "We could all read, write, and calculate: Mem Conse and Papa Sev saw to that. But we were used to being outdoors and active most of the day. I know that I myself was certainly a headache."

Pen shook his head. "I meant for you children. Why did they separate you?"

"It's worse than you think," said Boden, his voice dark. "They sent Istacio first to Helmharbor and then up here, his younger sister and his older brother Ritselt to Oxmeade to the Daughter, Kadem to the Mother in Suttleaf, their younger brother Midani all the way north to the Son at Badgerbridge, and kept the eldest brother, Albrun, in Easthome, to be dedicated to the Father."

Istacio shrugged, but Penric was as indignant as Boden. "Heartless," agreed Des, aloud.

"I did miss them," conceded Istacio. "Still do, if it comes to that."

When the Son's Day approached, classes were set aside. The night before, as many students as possible gathered into the Father's Bowl, a natural near-circular dell on the edge of the city that had been enhanced with rings of stone benches and a stage in the center. Great lamps were lit along the stage, and the archdivine of the Son led prayers of thanks for the harvest. The university music master then presented various student musical groups in a rousing series of performances. Penric was exhilarated and all but overwhelmed by how well the music came across in this gods-given setting, under the harvest moon. The chorale that Istacio had worked on was the penultimate piece, an intricate yet powerful hymn of praise, and the whole evening wrapped up with the Son's Autumn Carol, an ancient song known to everyone. Penric joined in with heartfelt thanks for his place here at Rosehall.

The next day was all merriment in city and school, except for the serious and important business of gathering the quarter's gifts to the temple. Penric was startled and delighted to see Istacio juggling apples and small sacks of sweets for the children in front of the Bastard's temple, his usual robes traded for a shirt, jerkin, and slim leggings in cream and white. His act was followed by one of the traditional sacred plays. The proto-cadets were kept busy with athletic contests of all kinds, as befitted a day dedicated to the Son: foot races, archery contests, mock combats with staves and blunted swords, and more. Pen and Boden, walking about the festivities, watched the knife throwing for a bit.

"It's too bad Istacio is busy," said Boden. "You saw him juggling, did you not? He can juggle knives, too, and throw them. It's fairly terrifying. He meant it when he said he was a headache to the order as a boy."

Desdemona chuckled appreciatively: "Nothing wrong with a little chaos!"

Breakfast was always a casual affair at Aquilegia College, but the day after the festival, things were particularly lax. At least a quarter of the students seemed to be missing from the long refectory tables, and the sideboards by the kitchen featured many more stoppered jugs of hot herbal brew than usual. One set was labeled bluntly "For the Wine Sickness."

"We're having classes as usual today, aren't we?" Pen asked his tutor, as Istacio arrived at their usual table carrying a bowl of oat porridge and a steaming mug of his preferred spicy brew.

"Of course we are!" Istacio's smile was on the sharp side, and he seemed unusually sleek and relaxed this morning. "But some fellows just can't resist another cup or three of this year's best mature cider."

Boden settled his mighty platter of fried pork, eggs, and new bread onto the table next to Penric. "I take my cider fresh-pressed," he said. "Would you like some, Penric? It's very good this year, fresh from the college orchard."

"Certainly I'll try some."

Penric watched as Istacio stirred his porridge, mixing in the melting pat of butter and drizzle of honey. "Are all these students going to miss their classes?" he asked.

"I'm certain some of them will, and then later on, most of them will be waiting in a sad queue at the Mother's little dispensary down by Rosemary College. They'll be wanting passes for their missed lessons, and some of them may actually get their paper." Istacio took a sip from his steaming cup. "But most of them are drifting through by ones and threes, grabbing a hot cup and perhaps a rusk on their way to class. They'll consider it a task well done if they manage to drop their sorry backsides into their seats before lecture starts. I doubt they'll actually learn anything today." He nodded to the sideboards, and Penric could see what he meant, a slowly moving churn of young men rubbing their heads, blinking as though it hurt, and trying to avoid the amused, knowing gazes of the tableful of young women by the window.

Boden arrived back with two tankards of fresh cider, as promised. He sat down to his meal with his usual appetite and soon had demolished most of his plate. "This last egg's for you, Stash," he said.

"You take such good care of me, Bo," said Istacio, his tone bright and rather mocking. He accepted his friend's plate and began to eat the egg with the dainty enthusiasm of a hungry cat.

"He doesn't eat enough," Boden told Pen. "You saw what a skinny pile of bones he was in his festival costume."

"Yes, and I'd have been quite the sight with a little pot of a belly like yours," snapped Istacio. Boden shrugged and smiled, comfortable with himself and not the least put out.

"'Stash'?" asked Pen.

"It's what my foster-siblings called me. I rue the day I let Bo know about it. Which reminds me: I heard you singing last night during the carol. You have quite a good baritone, almost as good as my brother Rits, and certainly up to the standard of any of our choirs here."

"There must have been more than a thousand voices singing there!" said Pen, astonished. "How did you know mine?"

"Oh, well, there's reason I get to spend so much of my time on music rather than other, more weighty studies, thank the Bastard. Mark me, I know that the masters will dissuade you from spending much time on formal music instruction, but the university has a very good amateur troupe of choristers. I lead it this term. You've only missed the one session. Why not join us? Likely you won't be the only new arrival: we always get a few more voices once everyone has settled into their schedules. We'll meet the evening after next, here, after supper."

Pen hesitated. Then: "As my tutor, would you say I have enough time to commit to this troupe?"

Istacio and Boden looked surprised. "Penric," said Istacio after a moment, "You are coming along very well in your studies now that you know what's expected and how to organize your thoughts. Rehearsing with the choristers and getting to know them will be an excellent way to rest your mind and your nerves, and that will give you a good appetite for your studies. As our foster-mother used to say, all work and no play makes Urs a dull lad."

"I'm sorry," Pen said. "I spent most of my time as a lad dogging my older brothers' heels and learning to help in the household. I suppose I never had much time for anything like, like … ."

"Oh, Daughter's blessed hands, don't apologize!" exclaimed Boden.

"Yes, please don't! Look, you've made my task as your tutor much easier by working so hard at your studies, but I'd be doing a poor job of it if I didn't make certain you were also attending to, well, the rest of you! What else gave you pleasure? You lived in the country, you told us. Did you go out riding? Or hunting?"

"I did hunt. On foot, with a bow."

"Not all of the Son's followers are as snooty as those youths who were tormenting that poor dedicat the other afternoon. Boden, you know some good fellows, don't you?"

"Of course. And it's the season for hunting. I'll find out to whom you should speak about joining a hunt."

"And we'll see you at chorister practice two evenings from now. Yes?"

"Yes, you will," said Desdemona. Penric added, "Thank you for asking me."

"It's no trouble. We do need another baritone. Oh, Bastard's tears, we need to leave now. We're all going to be late for our lectures!" Istacio gulped down the last of his cooling brew, and they left the refectory together.

As they passed through the courtyard, they caught a stray bit of conversation from a group of winesick-looking Son's dedicats: "… as loud as ever! Son's arms protect us … ."

"The ghost again?" mused Boden.

"I wager Madame Demon knows about ghosts, doesn't she, Penric?" asked Istacio. "What do you think, madam? Is this noise they're hearing a ghost?"

Penric could almost feel his demon's components discussing the matter among themselves. Just before the student and the acolytes had to go their separate ways, she finally spoke through Pen's lips: "Ghosts do not make sounds that a person could hear, any more than they move objects or physically attack living people. Something else is going on."

The days grew shorter, and the weather colder. Istacio's choristers, including Penric, were working on a fresh arrangement of an old hymn for performance at the Son's Little Festival, six weeks after the quarterly observance. One evening, after singing practice, Istacio and his sorcerer pupil were working on Pen's latest arithmetic lesson. A fire was lit in the fireplace of the acolytes' study, and three other tutor-student pairs were murmuring over books and notebooks. Pen was feeling as content as a cat by the kitchen oven. Two days previous, he'd gone hunting with a couple of acolytes of the Son and brought back a brace of partridge for the college's kitchen.

"Penric, I have to say, this looks like you are all but finished with the whole term's lessons in this class. Are you?" said Istacio, after going through Penric's notes for the day.

"I'm afraid so. As you warned me, the instructors are letting me set my own pace."

"Well, when you finish up the second term's lessons, I'll have to arrange a separate tutor for you for geometry and higher mathematics. Those were never my subjects. At this rate, that may be by Daughter's Day, or even by the Father's Little Festival."

Penric sat bolt upright. "What? A different tutor?"

Istacio glanced up at him, eyebrows raised, and then back at Pen's notebook, smiling. "Just for maths and such. I'll be able to keep up with you in logic, rhetoric, history, and theology, at least until you reach where I am now. And I'm a moving target: my own instructors are pleased with me as well. Now, was there anything about this lesson in which you still have questions?"

Just for maths. Perhaps that was Desdemona, Penric thought, trying to comfort him. Their ability to communicate seemed to be improving with his sessions with the senior sorcerers in the seminary. Pen dragged his mind back to the schoolwork. "Well, here in this calculation … ."

Suddenly, their colloquy was interrupted by what sounded like the entire populace of the upper floor dormitories pounding down the stairs. Voices were shouting. "Bastard's tears," sighed Istacio. One of the other acolytes, his face thunderous, got up to open the door and have a look. "What in the name of the Father's balls are you lot on about?" he roared.

A confused babble of voices arose. The word "ghost" was audible and clear enough. "Where?" snarled the Father's acolyte. He was a tall, heavyset fellow, and he took up most of the doorway.

At this point, the others using the study were crowded around the door, annoyed yet fascinated. Pen, with his height, had a good view of the angry and frightened faces: all young men. The women, in their dormitory below on the floor with the instructors, didn't seem to have become involved at all. "On the other side, by the orchard!" someone shouted.

"Hurry, or it will be gone!" yelled someone else.

The Father's acolyte elbowed his way through the crowd, the others close behind him, and the dormitory inhabitants parted for them and then re-formed their mob behind. Once they reached the other side of the building (passing Pen's and Istacio's rooms on the way), the big acolyte glanced along the row of doors, picked one, and knocked. It opened to reveal a sleepy fellow in a loose woolen wrapper over a nightshirt. "Oh, it's you, Valker. What's amiss?"

"The babies from upstairs are shouting about their ghost. Did you hear anything?"

As if in answer, a weird noise came from the room's window, which was open only a crack for air. The room's owner raised his eyebrows and went over to the window, throwing it wide. A howling, gibbering cry swirled in. The crowd behind Penric made uneasy sounds, including a couple of moans of fear. Valker stalked over and leaned out the window. "Nothing ... oh, there's a little patch of something white, moving beneath the trees?"

The other acolytes and their pupils rushed to the window. Pen could see what Valker meant: something white and formless, about the height of a man, swirled and flapped in the shadows beneath the apple, plum, and pear trees. Then it disappeared.

"I'm off to take a look," said Valker. "Who's with me?"

There were several bold volunteers. They all clattered down the stairs to the back door of the college and thence, presumably, to the orchard. Penric wasn't certain because the inhabitant of the invaded room requested most politely that they leave. "I'm already wide awake all over again, and the room's gone quite chilly. I'll have to read another fifty pages before I can sleep," he said.

In the hallway, the remaining students continued to mill about, chattering uneasily, until the remaining acolytes, having conversed silently with speaking looks and weary gestures, waved them off to their usual territory upstairs. The action was just in time: Master Gostar, Pen's rhetoric instructor, came tramping up the stairs in a splendid wrapper of crimson silk brocade, and demanded to know what in the name of the Father was going on.

"The youngsters and their ghost again, master," said Istacio, bobbing respectfully.

"Hmmph. I take it you find this unlikely, as a follower of the White God?"

"Indeed, master. But at this point, they're all feeding off each other's fears and excitement. Much more dangerous than any ghost."

"Very good. You have an old head on your young shoulders. This has to stop. I will speak to the underchancellor tomorrow." He paced off with dignity in his extravagant wrapper, and they heard his steps on the stairs down. Wearily, the tutors and their pupils trudged back to the study.

Istacio looked at their books and notebooks and sighed. "It's not that I'm wise, it's just that I've been taught how crowds work. Pen, I don't think I've got any more left to give you tonight. Is there anything else you need from me for tomorrow?"

Penric gathered his things. "No, Acolyte Ignacio. Thank you so much for your tutelage."

"None of that, boyo, or I'll have to be all 'Lord Penric this' and 'Dedicat Penric that.' Dire, that would be. Good night."

Just before Penric turned the corner of the corridor, he heard one of the other acolytes say, in the study behind him, "You're getting awfully chummy with your protegé, Istacio. Succumbing to those very blue eyes?"

"Shut it, Orst. He's not at all my type. We're just friends." Istacio's voice was lower and rougher than usual.

Penric opened his own door, slipped inside, and shut it behind him. "Well," said Des, "Now we know why he was dedicated to the Bastard. I suspected as much."

"But that happened when he was a child," said Penric, surprised. He was even more glad than usual that his status as a sorcerer had given him this private room.

"According to my calculations, he was fourteen or fifteen. I'm certain you were showing your interest in girls by then."

Well, yes. "I'm just hoping this doesn't make things different between us."

"One, it's been true since the moment you first met, so it shouldn't make a difference now. Two, you're not his type."

"What if he was just saying that to make Acolyte Orst leave off?"

"If you'd use your eyes and your head, you'd know what his type is. Your height is good, but he likes his men dark and with strong shoulders. You've seen him give such fellows a second glance, but you didn't know what you were seeing. Do try to keep up. It will help keep things easy between the two of you."

"Oh."

Penric closed his window, with its view of the forecourt of the college and the rest of the university, and stripped down to wash. As he dried himself off and put on his nightshirt, other thoughts occurred to him. "I do hope none of those bully boys are taking it against him. He's so small and slight."

"He's an acolyte and one of the White God's own. He knows the use of a knife, and a lot of that seemingly skinny body is sinew. And he's been walking this edge since he was truly a mere lad. I'm sure he was a charming child, with those big dark eyes, before he had so much nose and such a dark beard showing. He grew up on the road, exposed to all sorts of dangers, no matter how affectionate the foster parents were. He's not helpless, and you'll be doing him no favors by treating him as though he were."

More things to think about. Pen blew out the lamp and wriggled beneath his blankets and coverlet, feeling the spreading warmth of his own body. "Thank you, Des," he said.

"If you're going to fret about anything," continued his demon, "Think about who could be creating this supposed ghostly phenomenon. It smacks of human desperation."

As a notion to lull him into sleep, though Pen, this was not a good choice. But in fact, he sank into dreams very shortly thereafter.

At mid-day dinner the week before the Son's Little Festival, the Aquilegia underchancellor rose to his feel and rapped on the high table hard enough that Penric feared the man might split a knuckle. "Attention, please!"

Surprised, the students and staff of the college quieted.

"Thank you. As you know, the Son's Little Festival falls this next week. For those who are new to the university, this does not mean that all classes will be cancelled. You will go to your morning lectures and tutorials as usual, but there will only be a light dinner before your free afternoon. The town will be having special markets, and I imagine many of you will choose to shop for gifts for your families for the solstice. I'm sure the townsfolk will be happy to see your coin; beware of pickpockets. Supper will be early, at sunset, and will be a festive affair. Come to table clean and well dressed, for we have special guests. The Daughter's Choir from Oxmeade will be here, having arrived the night before the festival at the Mother's Guest House. They perform for us after supper, along with some of your collegial brothers and sisters, who have been working hard for this day. The next noon, the choir will perform for the notables of the town, before making the journey back to Oxmeade the following morning.

"I assume that you all know what honor is due our guests. I will also add that I want no repetition of the ridiculous fits that have been taking some of you youngsters in the evenings, most recently three days ago. We have it on good authority of the Archdivine of the Bastard that the crazed descriptions given by those of you who seem most affected do not correspond to any true manifestation of ghostly or demonic activity. Stop the nonsense. I don't care if ghosts are famously supposed to walk on the Son's Night. We want to present Aquilegia's best face to the guests. That's all. Finish up; I know most of you have a busy afternoon ahead."

The usual hubbub of chatter and chairs being pushed back rose again. Pen looked over at Istacio. "No one ever did find anything in the orchard, did they?"

"No. And it's not like people haven't tried to figure out what's happening. The housemasters have been running bed checks, like they do at the orphanages, but nothing's come of it." Istacio shrugged. "Anyway, I've had a letter." He looked at Penric expectantly.

Boden laughed. "You're supposed to say, 'Why, how remarkable, Istacio. Was it good news?' Or something like that, anyway."

Pen said, very flatly, "Istacio. Did you have news."

"Pffft. I don't know why I tell you two anything. Look, you should have figured it out yourselves anyway. I've told you that my foster-sister Tadeia is part of the Daughter's Choir down in Oxmeade. She'll be coming north with the rest of them. She's received permission from their choirmaster to sit with us at supper, and I've confirmed it with the underchancellor. She wants to meet you two."

Penric was quite touched, as was Boden, judging by his flush. "That's very good news!" Pen said.

"I do hope nothing stupid happens that evening," said Boden, seriously. "The Daughter's hand to all of us."

Pen and Istacio exchanged a glance: they weren't going to try to draw their god's attention to next week's events at all.

The morning of the Son's Little Festival dawned clear and chilly, with wisps of mist in the orchard and down toward the river. The previous evening had been uneventful, and everyone in the university seemed well rested and full of anticipation. At breakfast, Penric learned from Istacio that the choir, including Tadeia, had arrived safely the previous evening. Lessons were learned, lectures were heard, and tutorials received their due attention. Istacio asked Pen to stay in the refectory after the dinner of soup, cheese, and bread.

"I want to get one more rehearsal in," he said.

The rest of the Rosehall Choristers started arriving. Istacio fussed them into position, reminding Penric irresistibly of the sheep dogs back home at Greenwell. Abruptly Pen realized that the choristers were not, in fact, being herded into their usual places. A much larger space was being left than was needed for the half dozen women members. He was unsurprised when some twenty other women arrived, all in snowy dresses with blue tabards or blue-bordered surplices, their hair in braided coronets around their heads. They were led by a tall, sturdy woman in a complete set of Daughter's blues, with silver embroidery of birds and butterflies. She halted her charges before Istacio. "Acolyte Istacio, I am pleased to meet you again and happy to congratulate you in person on your advance in our Lady's Un-Sibling's service."

"Learned Minarda, I am honored by your presence and your praise," said Istacio. "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for granting us your time, and that of the choir, for this extra rehearsal."

"Of course, of course. You have composed a remarkable arrangement, and we all want to give it a proper debut. Please proceed, choirmaster."

Istacio drew a deep breath and showed the choir members their places. It was easy to pick out Tadeia: she and Istacio were exchanging quick little smiles as the women arranged themselves beside and among the choristers. They even looked alike, slight of stature, with their dark eyes and curly dark hair that was barely restrained in plaits so that wisps escaped and curled around their faces. But her nose was shorter and blunter than his, her lips not as full, and her smile was sweetly crooked. Her skin was lighter than his, gold-toned like an islander's.

Istacio stood before them and gave the count, quietly, and they all burst into song together. Things were a little ragged at first: the choristers weren't used to such a full sound from the treble side, and likewise the choir was accustomed to the bass and tenor portions being sung in a higher register. But things were coming together quite well, and they finished strongly. There was a brief silence.

"Well done, for a first time together," said Learned Minarda.

"Thank you," said Istacio, smiling. "Everyone, could we please try it again?"

They ran through it twice more. Then Learned Minarda stepped forward and addressed the group. "Now, as to the rest of the program: the choir will march in from that vestibule I just saw, and open with 'The Hart and the Hare," and then 'The Son's Joy.' Where will the choristers be while that is happening?"

"You see the benches that were just set up against the wall?" said Istacio. "The choristers will go there after supper, while the choir makes its withdrawal to the courtyard."

"Very good. Choristers, please take your seats there, and the choir will withdraw and re-enter. Then take your places again."

The two groups ran through their paces until Learned Minarda proclaimed herself satisfied. "Then, after Istacio's piece, we will all together lead the college in the 'Easthome Thanksgiving Hymn.' And then the choir will process out to the courtyard. We will give half an hour for good nights, and then we will walk back to our lodging. Which we will do now, I think, to have a bit of rest before the festive meal."

The meal that night was quite pleasant. Tadeia was delighted to be introduced to Penric and Boden and declared that her foster-brother had written such effusive letters about them that she felt she knew them inside and out.

"Daughter's tears, I hope not!" said Boden, devoutly.

"All lies, I am afraid," said Penric, his face grave. He could feel Desdemona's approving chuckle.

Istacio rolled his eyes. "Lies are, after all, our god's remit. I do hope you can forgive me, Tadi."

She laughed, an extraordinary deep-throated chuckle. "There are lies and lies. Has Stash ever told you about the time we helped the Mother's Divine at Becqerel in Darthaca recover her missing chickens?"

"Oh, Bastard's lips, I'd all but forgotten that!" said Istacio, in dismay.

Tadeia was an excellent story-teller, and she reduced them to helpless laughter by the time the honey cakes, pears baked in cream, and hot spiced cider were brought in. "Tadi, stop, we need some breath for singing," wheezed her brother, at last.

She gave him a most sweetly wicked smile, but then she was kind enough to let them eat their delicious sweets in rapt silence.

The performances went off without a single complication. The choir sang their two pieces most beautifully: Penric was glad that he could listen without the distraction of performing himself. But the joint performance of Istacio's complex arrangement was exhilarating in its own way, and by the time the final hymn was done, he was filled with a deep, almost nourishing joy.

The choir filed out into the courtyard, followed by the choristers. Tadeia attached herself to her foster-brother, her arm around his waist and his arm around her shoulders, as the staff and students of Aquilegia and the university praised their guests and the performances. Learned Minarda seemed to have a very strong sense of time, and all too soon she gave Tadeia a very firm look and said "Say good night to your brother, child. We must be going."

"Learned Minarda, please!" Tadeia released her hold on Istacio. "I have not seen him for almost two years! Mightn't I visit with him a little longer? He and his protegé Lord Penric and his colleague, Acolyte Boden, can walk me back to the hostel. Please?"

Underchancellor Toman was nearby and apparently listening. "Truly, Learned Minarda, although I hate to interfere, it seems hard to forbid the child this time with her kin. These young men are completely trustworthy. Aquilegia College has a very pleasant garden on the eastern side. They might sit there and converse."

Learned Minarda frowned. "At night? In mid-autumn?"

"I can fetch her a cloak, Learned," said Penric, with a little bow. "She'll come to no harm."

Tadeia half-turned to give him a look shining with gratitude. He was bemused to notice that somehow, she looked much more the "child" her guardian termed her than the confident, amusing young woman who'd eaten supper with the three friends.

"Well, I presume no difficulties are likely to come of it," conceded Learned Minarda. The underchancellor nodded indulgent agreement, and Penric hurried off to his room for the promised cloak.

"Clever girl," murmured Des as he climbed the stairs. "She is very much the actress."

"Is that what she was doing?" returned Pen. "I was quite confused." He threw open his clothes chest, and pulled out the winter cloak he hadn't needed yet this season.

"She wasn't doing it for you," said Des. "Her targets were her sharp-eyed superior and the underchancellor. She uses what weapons she has."

Penric puzzled over these words as he went back to the courtyard. He smiled and bowed to the choir master and the underchancellor, who waved them away. Learned Minarda clapped her hands briskly and summoned the choir members to her. As the three friends left with Tadeia, Penric heard her explaining to some of the singers what had become of their colleague.

Boden said, "Actually, I can't stay but a few moments anyway. One of my charges, Vernet kin Boarford, fetched up on the rocks in an oral examination in logic this morning, and he's begged me to go over the material with him."

"Oh, kin Boarford! Of the Boarfords. Well, you ought to run off at once, Bo," said Istacio, sharply.

"Well, I'll not hurry unreasonably. He needs to learn patience as well as logic. Good evening, Dedicat Tadeia. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Acolyte Boden," she said, with a charming courtesy.

The three of them left by the courtyard's smaller rear gateway, mostly used by the kitchen staff. The flagged pathway circled the kitchen gardens and fetched up in a small formal space of paths, hedges, and flower beds. Late asters were still blooming in some sheltered corners, and the light of the setting half moon showed the oaken benches. The open space in the center had a sun clock, which currently threw meaningless shadows.

"I suppose we'd best sit away from the building," said Tadeia. "Our voices will be less likely to rise to the windows of the rooms."

"And people will feel smug that they can see we're not up to any nonsense with a young woman," suggested Pen.

"My word, what devious minds you both have," said Istacio. "Who would have thought it?" He went to sit at one end of a bench along the side of the garden and patted the space next to him. "Tadi, here — is this good?"

"Perfect." She seated herself hard against him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

Penric seated himself gingerly on the other side of Istacio's sister, and she turned to give him a sweet smile, seemingly without guile this time. "Thank you for the use of your cloak," she said.

"Of course, Dedicat Tadeia."

"No, please call me Tadi. I miss being able to just speak to people."

Istacio gave a vehement little groan of agreement. "Honestly, there are days where I feel as though I'll burst if I have to utter one more pious pleasantry. How are you actually faring, Tadi?"

"Oh … well, I have a decent bed, and food to eat. I have music to sing. I'm still learning a bit, but honestly, they aren't that interested in teaching me more. I can already instruct any student in a Lady-school, at any level. In fact, they have me go about from one school to another, one day a week at each school in Oxmeade, teaching the pupils little hymns and such. The children are mostly very sweet, but there isn't much to it."

"What would you want to do instead?" asked Penric.

"I'd even prefer actual teaching, I think. There's a problem with this business of going to play for them: I never actually get to know any of them, because I'm going from school to school. But the divines don't take me seriously as a student myself. Now that I'm no longer a child, they expect someone to ask for my hand at any moment. You should have seen Learned Flura when we played for the earl last Daughter's Day, when I was almost nineteen. Earl Goffred has three unmarried sons, and Flura insisted on having me introduced to each of them in turn. She looked at their faces so hopefully! That's what the Daughter's Order expects to do with orphan girls, you know: marry off the pretty ones and assign the rest to teach, even if they have no talent for it."

"They imagine that marriage and babies are all a girl could want," said Istacio.

Penric hunched his shoulders. "I thought that's what most girls want?"

"Really, Penric!" said Desdemona, so sharply that Pen was horrified to hear that tone coming from his own mouth. "Have you gathered nothing from our memories? There is much more that a clever girl could do!"

And then the ghost started roaring. It was a weird sound that rose and fell, sometimes buzzing like a huge swarm of wasps.

"What in the world is that?" asked Tadeia.

"Ugh. Our resident ghost," said her foster-brother. "It's coming from behind us, from the orchard, like last time."

"Ghost don't make noise like that," said Des.

Pen twisted on the bench. "Bastard take it, here it comes." He watched as the drifting white apparition headed straight toward them. It certainly wasn't a ghost. In fact, it looked like a man in a long cloak with a hood, although he couldn't see any face. "Off the bench, duck down,' he whispered.

The foster siblings obeyed, but as soon as she was settled, Tadeia poked her head up for a better look. "Oh, Daughter's breath, that's not a ghost!"

To his surprise, Penric felt heard and felt himself saying almost the same words, minus Tadeia's girlish oath.

When the thing was some thirty paces off, Istacio moved suddenly. Tadeia shrieked, "No, Stash!"

And Des did something. There was a metallic clank in the direction of the white phantom — which swerved to one side and stumbled in a very human fashion.

"Bastard take it!" swore Istacio.

Tadeia was on her feet, her clothing rustling. To Penric's astonishment, she leapt atop the bench and sprang over the hedge, hitting the ground without a stumble and running toward the staggered erstwhile ghost.

"What is she doing? Should we stop her?" Pen could see that she'd tucked her skirts into her belt.

"Not unless you can run faster than she can," said Istacio, sounding very cross. "She's good at this. Much better than I am."

Penric watched as Tadeia swung one leg and apparently knocked the supposed ghost's legs out from under it. Then she leapt on it like a wildcat and seemed to have pinned one arm behind its back.

"I'm going over there," said Pen.

"Yes, because she so clearly needs help. And what happened to my knife?"

Pen felt a very strong sense of smug satisfaction that could only have one source. "I think Desdemona did something."

"Did you really mean to kill him, Istacio?" said Desdemona. She sounded intrigued.

"No, I couldn't kill anyone with a tiny knife like that, unless I hit him in the eye. I was aiming for his shoulder. Only wanted to stop him, so we could see who it was. But Tadi took care of that. Where's my knife, Madame Demon?"

Penric was already making for the path and the gap in the hedge around the garden. Istacio followed, muttering wrathfully. As they arrived at Tadeia's side, she looked up and grinned like a vixen. "It's a person — a man," she whispered.

"Let me go!" said the man in question. "Can't you hear them pounding down the stairs? They'll murder me!"

The voice sounded familiar. "He's right, they're going to be pretty angry. He's been scaring them for weeks now," whispered Penric. "Can we stuff him under the bench?"

"Of course, good idea," said Tadeia. "Stash, give us a hand."

"Father preserve us, let me turn my robe the other way out first!"

Istacio grabbed the hem of the garment and peered at it. "Black on the other side, good thinking. But let's get you inside the hedge."

They hauled him to his feet. "White against your whites should work pretty well," whispered Tadeia. "You take him, I'll follow."

Once they got him back to their bench, they could hear the shouts and footsteps outside, around the corner. Pen stood, dithering a moment. The foster siblings had no such hesitation: They were bending over the not-ghost, pulling at the white garment. The man between them was protesting faintly, but in a very few seconds, the white garment was removed, flipped inside out, and placed back on its wearer. And Penric had seen his face. Deon.

"I'm not surprised," said Desdemona, low, in Pen's voice.

They rolled him under the bench. Tadeia stood up and pulled her own clothing to rights, brushing futilely at her white gown over her knees, where it was marked from the ground.

"I think I can handle that," said Des. Suddenly there were faint puffs of dust in the air by the marks on the gown.

"Oh, most excellent demon!" murmured Tadeia. She grabbed Pen's cloak and put it around her shoulders again. "Penric, hold my elbow like you're holding me up. Stash, you sit on the bench but squirm halfway 'round to watch them coming."

Penric followed her order. "What do we tell them?" he whispered.

"Follow Tadi's lead," muttered Istacio. "You may not need to say a thing."

A moment later, a small mob of the Son's dedicats thundered into view, Andra kin Pellicar at their head. "Where's that ghost?" he demanded.

Tadeia gave a shudder. "Th-that white thing?" she half-whispered, her voice high-pitched and girlish.

Penric looking down at her, feeling quite protective because she was so small. And realized that she had arched her back so that she was holding her chest out. Her Daughter's tabard hid her skin entirely, but somehow, her well-filled bodice was very obvious. He controlled his face with effort. It felt like Des was chortling to herself.

The restless mob quieted a bit. A lot of them seemed fascinated by the young woman on Penric's arm. She half-turned to bury her face in Pen's chest, maintaining the rest of her posture quite well, "It was t-terrible! B-but Lord Penric and my brother invoked the White God, and it left!"

"Where? Which way?" someone called out. Perhaps his view was blocked, thought Pen.

Tadeia drew a shaken breath and turned to face them again. Tears glimmered in her eyes, and one started to trickle down her cheek. "Th-that way!" She gestured past the garden to the woodlot behind Baron Oberly House, the grounds of which adjoined those of Aquilegia.

"She's right," said Istacio, in a subdued voice. "That's where it fled. Like demons were after it."

Penric realized that he'd been given a cue. "Indeed, perhaps demons were involved," he said, voice firm.

"Sorcerer," muttered someone in the back.

For the next few moments, the mob entertained them by arguing whether they should pursue the demon-harried ghost into the back grounds of the residence of some of the most elderly, august instructors of Rosehall. Penric put his arm around Tadeia, and Istacio rose to do the same. At last, Andra said, "Fine, let's just go back." He gave Penric and Istacio unloving looks, and then bowed to Tadeia. "Good evening, Dedicat."

The mob broke down into a crowd of annoyed and tired university students, who trailed back to the rear door of Aquilegia College. "I want to sit down now," said Tadeia, in a clear but shaken voice.

After the last of the former ghost-hunters had gone out of earshot, Tadheia broke down into barely audible but also barely controlled giggles. "Daughter preserve you, sis," said Istacio, grinning. "It's a good thing your learned divine didn't see you do that! I thought they'd start slavering like wolves any second."

"Yes," wheezed Tadeia. "But look how I'm dressed! I had to make it really, really hard to ignore."

A voice came from beneath them. "May I go now?" said Deon.

"Not quite yet," said Penric. "I think this had better be the end of the haunting of Aquilegia College, don't you?"

There was a brief silence. "I suppose so," said their prisoner.

"I can guess why you did it," Penric went on. "Did it help, do you think?"

"Maybe not? But things aren't as bad now. I have a couple of fellows who'll stand by me, when kin Pellicar and his cronies decide to have fun at my expense … in fact, I was wondering how to end off the whole jape."

"Well, we've given you your finale," said Istacio. "Exit one ghost, pursued by the Bastard's demons. And we all live happily 'til the end of our days. How are you going to get back inside?"

"I have a knotted rope from the linen room window. It's all but invisible from the outside because there's that huge juniper almost against the wall. That's how I've been doing it all along."

Penric rose, and the other two followed. Deon rolled out from under the bench and got to his feet. He made a little bow. "Thank you all."

"Wait," said Tadeia. "I think you dropped something." She pointed to an object on the bricks of the walkway. It looked rather like a small weaving shuttle at the end of a string.

"Oh. My bullroarer. For the ghost sound, you know."

"Good work on the robe, by the way," Istacio said, and crooked an eyebrow at him. "Sometimes being a tailor's son is useful, no?"

Deon actually smiled. "As is being the former members of a traveling troupe, I see. Good night."

They watched him vanish around the corner of the building. "Daughter bless me, it's been more than an hour," said Tadeia, abruptly. "You'd better take me back."

"Not quite yet," said Desdemona. "Young woman, how long have you been seeing actual ghosts?"

Tadeia's smile disappeared. "I guess it was too much to expect you wouldn't notice that," she murmured. "Madame Demon, it first happened soon after my monthlies started. But first I noticed that some people have, well, … colored lights? Inside of them? We were at Idau, in Westria, and Mem wanted to offer at the temple for a good journey over the mountains to our next festival, and I went with her. The divine at the temple looked odd to me, and he gave me a second glance as well, but nothing else came of it. On our journey down the River Stork, I noticed it a few more times, and I also started to see shadowy things where no one was. The first time, we were passing Bloodfield, which is an uncanny place anyway."

"It certainly is!" said Penric, who had learned about the events there from his history lectures, and then from another viewpoint with Learned Kinna, who explained a bit of the mystical events that had occurred.

"So, I told Mem that I was seeing things. She took me to see a physician of the Mother in Badgerbridge. He told us that I was well in body and mind, but that it was possible I had some divine gift. Mem promised to take me to the Order of the Mother in Easthome. But she and Papa and Uncle Mirco got the sweating sickness when we arrived there."

"And they all died," said Istacio, subdued. "I never knew that was happening, Tadi."

"Well, it seemed to be some kind of womanish thing, because of when it started. And we didn't want to worry anyone. We were delayed by heavy snow in the mountains, remember? So we were in a hurry all the way down the river."

"What happened after you became a dedicat of the Daughter?" asked Penric.

"That was a terrible time. We were all so sad about our parents, and then the temple split us up! I rather hated them for that. I never did come to trust any of them very well. I did notice ghosts more and more, and I started to realize that most people had the colored lights, although they were often quite faint." She raised her eyes to smile at Penric. "Yours are very bright. Is that Madame Desdemona inside you?"

"Yes, child," Desdemona answered for both of them. "You would seem to be some sort of sensitive. Penric, I would speak to your superiors about this. Sooner rather than later. Your tutelary sorcerer Learned Kinna might be receptive. I believe she would agree that this young woman would be wasted if relegated to a classroom or a reluctant marriage."

"Oh, please do!" said Tadeia, fervent. "The choir leaves here for the return to Oxmeade overmorrow, and tomorrow from mid-day to late afternoon we have that performance at the city hall."

"What do you have tomorrow morning, Penric?" asked Istacio. "Theology at the seminary, isn't it?"

"It is," said Penric. "That puts me in the right location, at least. I hate to mislead Learned Torvis, but I may have to, if he doesn't respond well to the notion that I have an urgent sorcerous matter to discuss with Learned Kinna."

"Well, it is an urgent sorcerous matter, is it not?" asked Istacio.

"Probably not sorcerous, in truth. Des and I would be able to see plainly if Tadeia were harboring a demon."

Tadeia nodded. "That makes sense. We'd better go now. Bringing me back too late won't help the situation."

Late the next afternoon, the three of them and Learned Minarda sat at a table in the private study of the Archdivine of the Bastard, the highest temple authority that Learned Kinna could arrange for on such short notice. Kinna had introduced herself and her demon, who had recently been named Theano at the demon's own request after working with Penric and Desdemona for most of the term.

Learned Minarda was sitting bolt upright in her place across from her charge and at what would be the Archdivine's right hand, judging from the large, well-cushioned chair at the head of the table. She watched Kinna pace, and then said, for the third time, "This is highly irregular."

"We appreciate that, Learned," said Kinna, patiently. "The archdivine should make things quite plain — here he is now."

The Archdivine of the Bastard, Reiker kin Stagthorne, was a large man who moved lightly despite his massive frame. As he came through the doorway, he gestured courteously to the two who came after him. "Blessed Frekke, Learned Keifer, both of the Mother."

Everyone seated at the table rose to acknowledge the important visitors. The saint was a tall, thin woman with dun-colored hair and very pale grey eyes, dressed in a plain woolen gown of moss green with a brighter green sash. Penric could see the god's influence fairly shining from her, a cool and soothing light like that of the sun filtered through the full leaves of midsummer. The divine was a pleasant, rosy-faced fellow half a head shorter than the saint. "No need to stand, no need," he urged them. "Where shall we sit, Archdivine?"

"As you please. These are Learned Minarda of the Daughter's Order in Oxmeade, Acolyte Istacio of the Bastard's Order here, his foster-sister Dedicat Tadeia of the Daughter's Order in Oxmeade, and Dedicat and sorcerer lord Penric kin Jurald of the Bastard's Order here. You already know Learned and sorcerer Kinna. Let us commence, Kinna. I know we all have duties yet to perform this day. For instance, my two young men here are both missing their last lectures of the afternoon." The Archdivine bent a mock-severe look at them.

The guests sat down in two of the remaining seats, and Kinna took the last place at the foot of the table. "This morning," she began, "My pupil Lord Penric, a novice sorcerer who carries a very old and wise demon, came to tell me that this young woman, Tadeia, a dedicat of the Daughter, seems to be a sensitive of some kind. His demon concurs, as do I and my demon. The young woman can see powerful souls within people that she encounters and can also see ghosts."

The saint of the Mother was looking at Tadeia with interest. "Yes, I can see this," said Blessed Frekke. "What do you see when you look at me, Tadeia?"

"Blessed … you shine, brighter than the sorcerers but somehow, more quietly? I don't know if that makes any sense. I haven't had to talk about it before. Oh, and the light makes me feel … calm. Contented, maybe? Oh, soothed — that is the word I mean."

"Have you felt that way ever before?"

Tadeia thought, then bowed her head and put her hands over her face. "As a tiny child, when my own mother held me, or my foster mother," she whispered, muffled by her hands yet clear enough to those seated at the table.

"They have died?"

"Yes."

The saint smiled, but with sympathy. "Know that the Mother is always with you, Blessed Tadeia, in your sorrow and in your joy. But I do not think that she is the god giving you your especial sight. That is not what I see in you. I see something less steady, more capricious. My Daughter? No, that is not right. But you are a lesser saint. Some god has set a mark on you. You sorcerers, can you not see it?"

And in fact, now that he knew to look, Penric could see a faint brightness, silver-white, within Tadeia, quite unlike that of the others in the room.

Frekke sat back in her chair and looked around the circle of faces one by one. She came back again to those in the room who served the Bastard. "Tadeia should be examined by a saint of the White God," she said, at last.

"Oh, no!" cried Learned Minarda.

"Why 'oh, no'?" asked the saint. "Look how she is seated between her kinsman and his friend for comfort and support, both dedicated to the White God, summoned here by the Archdivine of the White God, at the advice of a sorcerer of the White God. His hands are here."

The Archdivine cleared his throat. "And in truth, He has no hands but ours. That is true of all the gods, but it is seen most vividly in the workings of the Bastard. Learned Minarda, this is a holy calling no less than that of the gentle god you serve. How old are you, Dedicat Tadeia?"

"I was nineteen this past spring, Archdivine."

"A very suitable age to be enrolled in the University, as well as one of the seminaries here in Rosehall."

Tadeia's breath made an eager little sound. Her eyes were alight.

"I do not like the idea of such a valuable young person being held back in such roles as the Daughter's Order usually holds for orphans, especially for girls and women," he continued. "Here at Rosehall we have young women learning all the knowledge that can be offered by institutions. She will learn with and from other women, as well as men. It may be that she will feel the call of wifehood and motherhood at some point; so be it. Many saints, scholars, and sorcerers have followed that path, emerging when their children are grown to once again follow the roads of knowledge and faith, but we will give her the tools to make such choices wisely and in the service of the Five."

The Archdivine opened a small bound book, took up a pen, and wrote briefly. "Here is what I will do. I will write a letter to the Archdivine of the Bastard in Oxmeade, explaining the situation and requesting that he summon Blessed Albern, Saint of the White God in your city, to interview Dedicat Tadeia. This will be sent by messenger tomorrow. I will write also to the Daughter's archdivine in Oxmeade, letting her know as well what is afoot and what I recommend." He looked up from his memorandum. "Learned Minarda, I judge that I can depend upon you to deliver that second letter."

Learned Minarda nodded, but she looked as though she had bitten into something very sour.

"I imagine that my fellow archdivines will understand that time is of the essence, since the next term at Rosehall starts three weeks after Father's Day, and of course travel becomes more difficult over the next several weeks. I will certainly remind them of these facts in my letters, and offer my fervent hope that I hear from them before the next month is out. Has anyone anything to add, at this point?"

"A bold plan," said Learned Keifer. "But well-reasoned."

"I understand your points," said Learned Minarda, her voice tight. "But we will miss one of our best musicians."

"Her musical talents will not go to waste here, I assure you," said Learned Kinna. "Music is one of the formal subjects taught at the university, and as you know, Acolyte Istacio has organized the choristers for those unable to make time for formal music instruction. When Tadeia has finished her required studies at seminary, she may choose to make a proper study of music."

"But what about fees?" asked Learned Minarda.

The archdivine gestured as though to fan away her concerns. "She is already part of a temple order, so a dower is not a concern. We will bestow a scholarship for the separate university fees, with a stipend for books, room, and board. Thus have we provided for her foster-brother here."

Tadeia gave him a smile that would have left any other man dazed for a week.

After the choir had been seen off in their coaches the next morning, the university and its people settled into the rest of the term's work. The haunting of Aquilegia College remained a topic for speculation for only a few weeks: the so-called ghost never made another appearance, much to the relief of the underchancellor. The Rosehall Choristers were celebrated by the school and the city, and they were booked to sing a full round of events in the week between examinations and the winter break. Boden kin Kendert was slated to make Learned Divine by the end of the spring term, and had his planned classes adjusted accordingly. Deon of Freitten made the cut for the Aquilegia Father's Advocates, a student debate group. Penric kin Jurald finished his first term of maths two weeks after the Little Festival of the Son and was assigned to work directly with the youngest maths instructor rather than registering for a regular lecture section for the spring term.

Acolyte Istacio never did find his throwing knife. However, he made his first foray into chamber music with a commission from the Earl kin Boarford, in exchange for a sizable donation to the university, which the young composer requested to be used to pay for texts for poor scholars. The finished work was to be played at the Daughter's Day festivities in the spring. Also, two weeks before examinations, he received a letter that he shared with Boden and Penric:

My dearest brother Stash,

I have the very best news!

The Archdivines had the saint Blessed Albern come talk to me. Learned Minarda was there, because she says she's my Guardian. Anyway, the saint said I am a Lesser Saint of the White God and I should be learning a lot more. And since I had kin at the University, that was where I should go!

And then the Daughter's Archdivine wrote some letters and the latest news is that I am to go to the University right before Father's Day, to be examined by what instructors are there during the break. I will stay in the hostel, and two women who are lay dedicats of the Mother will look after me. And then on move-in day, I will move into a College just like any new student. I hope it is your College!! but I don't know yet.

I know you stay at Rosehall during Father's Day and the break, so I will be with you for the holiday! And they are re-calling Rits to accompany me North, and they think they can get Midani back too! We haven't seen him since he was 12! I wonder how tall he is now!

Please share any of this you want with your friends Boden and Penric and the Lady Demon too, because I know you are all as thick as thieves!

Your always loving sister
Tadi
 

"I'm so glad for all of you," said Boden, smiling widely.

"Good work, Pen!" said Desdemona.

Pen signed the tally of all five gods. "It wasn't just me, it was the archdivines, and the saints, and Learned Kinna, and you and Stash too."

"Many hands make light work," said Desdemona. "But you started it by undertaking to speak with Kinna."

Istacio smiled, his face easier and softer than usual. "No hands but ours," he quoted.