“Sterol gave part of it away. None of us would be mages this soon if things weren’t getting bad.” Lyasa laughed softly. “I wouldn’t be a mage at all if things weren’t getting bad. I don’t use my body the way some do.”
Faltar raised his eyebrows.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Cerryl said quickly. “We’re mages, and not students, and I’m glad.”
“So am I,” added Faltar. “What are you going to do now?”
“Move,” said Cerryl. “Find those new quarters. Then take a walk and have something to eat for dinner—outside the Halls.”
Lyasa laughed. “I’ll bet dinner tonight is really bad.”
“I’ll worry about that later.” Cerryl straightened and eased out into the foyer, now almost empty. He made his way toward the second rear hall, looking around, but he didn’t see who he sought.
Cerryl’s new quarters were as far as one could get from the main hall, in the building even behind the one in which Jeslek had his apartment. But the overmage had been correct—there was a bronze plate by the door, and the old tongue script spelled out “Cerryl.”
Still, Cerryl allowed himself a smile as he glanced around the room, the most spacious he had ever had, with real shuttered windows—two of them—and a wide desk and a chair with cushions . . . and a full-sized bed with cotton sheets and a red woolen blanket, and even a rug by the bed. And his own washstand—and an empty bookcase against the wall.
His eyes went from item to item. Hard as it was to believe, he was a full mage—admittedly over Jeslek’s machinations and reservations, but a full mage—all he—or his father, had ever hoped for, and far more than he could have reasonably expected.
Yet . . . nothing was certain. War loomed with Gallos—and perhaps with Spidlar and even Recluce. Jeslek was even more angry at Sterol, and Sterol was using Cerryl against Jeslek, and Anya . . . well, Anya was playing an even deeper game, and one Cerryl didn’t understand the reasons for, only that she did play such a game. Then, Myral, who had helped him in so many ways, was not in the best of health.
Still . . . he was more secure, and more able, than ever before in his life. He had a place and a chance at being what he could be, and a chance at happiness . . .
Thrap!
He turned.
“Very nice quarters.” Leyladin stood in the open doorway, a broad smile on her lips.
“I . . . just got them.”
“I know.” The bright green tunic and trousers shimmered, and she seemed especially alive.
Cerryl studied the blond young woman with red highlights in her hair, taking in the dancing green eyes. He couldn’t help smiling.
“I wanted to see your new quarters.” She smiled back.
Perhaps more than a mere chance at happiness. He crossed the room and took her hands.
After a moment, still smiling warmly, her green eyes melding into his gray eyes, she tightened her fingers around his hands.