“Don’ have to,” Mags replied immediately. “I am one, an’ I already tried.” When he first realized that there was something wrong, he had done his best to “hunt” for Bear. But his first tentative sweep of the Collegia and grounds had netted nothing; his second, aided by Dallen, had also come up with nothing, and had extended somewhat down into Haven until the press of so many minds had become too much for him to sort through. He was beginning to feel sick with worry. Why would Bear be down in Haven? And if he wasn’t in Haven, where was he? There was no way, short of a god plucking him bodily away, that he could have gotten out of Haven.

Praston no longer looked a little alarmed, he looked startled and frightened. “You two stay here,” he commanded. “Don’t move. This is clearly serious.”

As Mags and Lena exchanged a frantic glance, he summoned half a dozen of his Trainees by the simple expedient of sticking his head into the hallway and shouting at them. Within moments, they were scattering, to get the Guard, then someone from the Palace Guard, someone in charge of the Palace servants, Herald Caelen, and two others Mags didn’t recognize. It took a while for them to arrive, and until they did, Praston quizzed Lena and Mags closely about Bear, especially his state of mind since Midwinter Holidays.

He clearly did not like what they had to tell him.

“Did he seem despondent?” Praston persisted, as the first of those he had summoned arrived. “Did he talk about feeling worthless, or say that no one would miss him if he was gone?”

Mags shook his head, and Lena answered that. “No, sir,” she replied. “Nothing like that. He wasn’t happy, it was because of something that . . . something that happened at home over the holidays. But he wasn’t despondent.”

“You’re absolutely sure about that?” Praston asked. “He didn’t talk about death, wasn’t interested in listening to ballads about death, didn’t write about death?”

“No!” Lena replied with force. “Nothing like that. And what—what happened wouldn’t—he was angry and unhappy but—”

“Perhaps you had better tell us so we can judge for ourselves,” said Praston, as the last person edged into the crowded office.

“I can’t.” Lena lifted her chin stubbornly. “He told me in confidence.”

Praston looked as if he was ready to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled. It was the head of her own Collegium who interrupted bluntly. “Lena, you are not experienced enough to tell if something would or would not drive a boy to thinking of suicide. Tell us. Now.”