Page 75 of Cast in Conflict

“I have Sedarias constantly lecturing me. Why would I want to sit captive in a chair while anyone else does?”

Kaylin did her level best not to break out laughing, and only in part because she was at the head of the procession and Riaknon and Larrantin were certain to notice. In Larrantin’s mind, Kaylin wasn’t an officer of the law—she was like a student, but worse. A lazy student with no intention of applying herself to her studies.

But Robin and Mandoran started to talk about magical theory—and at greater and greater speed; Kaylin suspected that the person who really wanted the answers was Terrano, who wasn’t present, as these weren’t the normal questions the laid-back Mandoran usually asked.

Robin is, as Starrante suspected, promising indeed, Nightshade said softly. If the conversation was not one Kaylin was interested in, the same couldn’t be said of Nightshade; he was listening, largely to Robin. Kaylin listened only because the kid was so excited and so enthusiastic, she could almost see what he saw.

And frankly, if he’d been talking about playing ball, she would probably have listened just as attentively. Happiness in the fiefs had been brief, and to be grasped whenever one could. Unhappy moments were bound to follow, one after the other.

Robin was from the warrens, not the fiefs; there were no Ferals to deal with. The streets might be unsafe at night, but for entirely human reasons. But his life hadn’t been easy, either. To Robin, the Academia was heaven. And the library was like the highest perch in that heaven. He was practically bouncing on the pads of his feet, even through shoes, when the doors finally opened: the Arbiters had agreed to entertain visitors.

There was noise, a cacophony of clicks and crackles that had syllables of a kind in them. Riaknon entered the library vibrating in place; had Liannor been mounted, Kaylin thought there was a good chance she would have fallen off, he was shaking so much.

Starrante appeared at the sound of Riaknon’s voice—and then there were two Wevaran clicking up a storm of sound that reminded Kaylin of...rattles, maybe? It was a strangely comforting analogy. She didn’t step through the doors, but the library emerged around her anyway. The doors were part of library space.

Arbiter Kavallac chose to join them, as did Arbiter Androsse. Androsse, however, had eyes for Mandoran, and only Mandoran; two extremely delighted and loud Wevaran might have been an everyday occurrence, given his reaction.

Mandoran was watching the Wevaran, his eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed.

“What do you observe so carefully?” Androsse asked him.

“The boy,” Mandoran replied, without otherwise turning to offer the expected, polite greeting.

Robin stood between the Wevaran, or rather, between and to one side, as if he were the apex of a triangle. His head bounced back and forth between the two, the way it might if he were following a normal conversation between two fascinating people.

“Why?” Mandoran’s lack of manners were returned.

“The floor at his feet—and only at his feet—appears to be different. Or different from the floor beneath either of the other two.”

“Interesting. And the floor upon which we are standing?”

Mandoran shook his head as if to clear it. He then turned to fully face Androsse and tendered him a perfect bow. “Apologies, Arbiter Androsse. I find the Wevaran fascinating.”

“Dangerously so,” Androsse replied. “And you have not answered my question.”

“He is not your student.” It was Larrantin, who had chosen to stand back from the meeting of the two Wevaran, who replied.

“Have I made the mistake of somehow inviting your opinion?”

Kaylin coughed.

Larrantin glanced in her direction, but it was brief; he was eyeing Androsse. “What is your concern?”

“You have functional eyes, ears, and magical sensitivity. My concern should be clear to you.”

Ah. Old argument. It hadn’t occurred to her that Larrantin could dislike the Arbiter, or vice versa. People tended to be less hostile to each other in the face of a pressing emergency. She was very glad that it was the chancellor’s problem.

Mandoran, for his part, had ceased to stare at Robin and the two spiders; he was now completely blue-eyed and neutral.

“My question?”

“The ground beneath your feet—and mine—is remarkably similar. The ground beneath the corporal’s feet, and Robin’s, seems solid and mundane in comparison. The ground beneath the feet of the Wevaran is different again.”

To Kaylin, it all looked like wood. Or stone.

Larrantin snorted. “You should take classes, boy,” he told Mandoran. “You are lacking the proper vocabulary to discuss what you see.”

“And you can see it?”

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