“You were! You did! It’s my stupid cousin’s fault! Epiny is the one sending letters to you. You haven’t written back, have you?”
“I have. I’ve written reams and reams of letters to her, but I haven’t been able to send them. There was no way to do so without, well, without your uncle and aunt knowing. So there you are, Nevare. I did know it was wrong, or I wouldn’t have been hiding it from them.”
“Spink, stop being so dramatic! Think this through. It’s Caulder behind it. He did hear us that day in the library! And this is his perfect revenge, not just on you, but on my uncle for coming to the Academy and complaining about how we were treated. I’m sure Caulder is behind this; he probably wrote to my aunt, or said something to his mother to get the rumour started. Then my aunt would have gone looking for evidence.”
“I never should have let her write to me.”
“Spink, how could you have stopped her? You didn’t do anything wrong. It was all Epiny! She was the one traipsing about the house half the day in her nightgown, she was the one making her horse run off and writing you lots of letters. How could you have stopped her? It isn’t fair. And—” A slow realization was dawning in my sleepy brain, “I’ll wager my uncle knows nothing of my aunt’s letter. He liked you: I know he did. He wouldn’t write a letter accusing you of seducing Epiny. If he had any notion that you had behaved improperly toward her, he’d have bluntly told us when we were there. And if he’d heard accusations that you had done something improper, he would have come here and confronted us both. He’s direct; that’s his way. I’m sure of it. This hasn’t got back to him yet.”
Spink sat by my bed on the floor, breathing raggedly. When he spoke, his tone said this was obviously the worst news of all. “They’ve sent her away, Nevare. Colonel Stiet told me so. I won’t see Epiny again.”
“What? Where did they send her?”
“It’s done. They sent her to a finishing school, way out on the edge of the city. Colonel Stiet didn’t say which one, only that he wanted me to know that she was forever out of my reach.”
I had only the most vague concept of what a finishing school was. My elder sister had spoken of them with longing, as a place where women could learn music and poetry and dancing and manners, in the jolly company of other well-bred girls. A finishing school taught a girl all that she might need to hold graciously an exalted place in society. To send a girl to a finishing school did not sound like such a dire fate to me. I said as much.
“Epiny will hate it there. And it’s all my fault, so she’ll hate me, too.”
“Stop wallowing in it, Spink!” I hated to hear him taking all the blame on himself. “Yes, she’ll hate it, but maybe they’ll teach her how to conduct herself like a lady. Maybe they’ll grind all this seance silliness out of her. Now listen to me. Tomorrow, I’m writing to my uncle about this. I write to him every day anyway, and I’m sure when I tell him what happened he’ll straighten it out and let Commander Stiet know that you haven’t done anything wrong and shouldn’t be punished. Besides, we have much worse things to worry about.”
Hastily I told him about the test, the culling to follow, and Trist’s suggestion to Gord. I had expected him to get angry at the suggestion he might cheat. Instead, it just plunged him deeper into despair. “I’m going to ruin everything for everybody. Oh, Nevare, it’s like a curse called down on me.”
“Enough of curses! Don’t be silly, Spink. We need to focus on what is real and important. Forget about Epiny until after I’ve written to my uncle. The most important thing you can do in the next day or so is study your eyes out.”
But he was in no mood to hear or heed me. “I’ll try. But I can’t forget about Epiny or forget that I am at fault for her unhappiness. And now I endanger all of you.” His clothing rustled as he stood up. “The best thing I could do would be to resign from the Academy immediately. Then they couldn’t count my low scores against the rest of you.”
“Spink, don’t be an idiot!”
“Too late. I’ve been that, and more. The Colonel told me that I’ve exhibited every fault that he has come to expect in new nobles’ sons. That my behaviour is far more suited to a common foot soldier than a cavalla officer, and shows that in elevating soldier sons to noble status, the king has usurped the good god’s will in what I was meant to be.”
“He said that to you?” I was outraged. I was not alone. I heard Natred sit up in his blankets. I suspected the Kort was awake and listening in, also.
“He said it. That, and a lot of other, uglier things.”
Nate spoke from the darkness in a furious whisper. “If you quit, you just prove him right. And if you fail, you prove that they have always been right about new nobles’ sons: that we are fit only to be common soldiers not officers. Spink, you cannot do either. For the dignity of your father’s name, you have to prove him wrong. Stay on. Pass the damned test. Do whatever you must to pass it. And let Nevare help you clear your name. Have him go to his uncle on your behalf. I have not heard you speak one degrading word about this Epiny. You have not dishonoured her. Fight to clear your own name, and hers. If you cut and run now, everyone will think you did it because you were ashamed.”
Silently I blessed Natred. He had so quickly and clearly seen how best to sway Spink to courage. What he would not do for himself, he would do for his father’s honour and Epiny’s good name. I could almost hear him thinking. He walked to his bed and I heard him undress in the dark. Just as I was giving up on him and sliding off into sleep, Spink spoke again. “I’ll try,” he said. “I’ll try.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Intervention
There were only three days left until the section test and the culling that would follow. As Gord had predicted, we were not the only first-years to have heard the rumours. Perhaps they had been deliberately sown, perhaps not. All I knew was that the campus was suddenly a far more sombre place. There was no talking or jesting in the meal lines any more, and conversation at table now consisted of discussing our studies and what might or might not be on any of the examinations.
All of us studied harder, but some of us had our own particular demons to wrestle. Rory’s was Varnian grammar. Natred and Kort worked endlessly on drafting. Mine was Captain Infal’s military history class. He’d spent the last two weeks on sea battles from King Jurew’s War. I failed to see how sea tactics and strategy applied to cavalry officers, and had a hard time keeping the names of the various captains and the military capabilities of their various ships fixed in my head. Now I re-read my notes, desperately trying to memorize every stage of each battle. I was furious with the instructor, certain that I’d never use any of this knowledge that I so painfully pounded into my memory.
And Spink struggled with his math. It was awful to watch him. There was a safety lamp that was kept burning in the stairwell at all times, even after lights-out. In the ferocity of his drive to find more hours to study, Spink would furtively creep out on the landing with a chair, and stand on top of it to bring his book close enough to the dim lantern to continue studying the equations and how they were manipulated. In the mornings, he rose with bloodshot eyes and a sagging face to begin the day.
Spink’s efforts did not escape notice by Trist. He only spoke of it once to him, and he sounded almost kind when he did. “We all see how hard you’re trying, Spink. And we, well, whatever you have to do to get a good score, we’ll know that you’re doing it as much for us as for yourself.”
Spink lifted his head to stare at Trist and said quietly. “I don’t cheat. Not for anyone.” Then he had turned his gaze back to his books. He had not looked up again after that, not even when Trist shoved his chair back from the table and stamped out of the room.