“I’m not surprised they’re still whispering about it,” Tellingdwar said. “Fifteen years can’t wash away that blood, I suppose. The rumors are wrong, however. Only one person was killed. A woman, by her husband’s hand. Both Terris.” He hesitated. “I knew them.”

“How did he kill her?”

“Must you know this?”

“Well, the rumors…”

Tellingdwar sighed. “A gun. An outsider weapon. We don’t know where he got it.” Tellingdwar shook his head, dropping the mats into a stack at the side of the room. “I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. Men are the same everywhere, Asinthew. You must remember this. Do not think yourself better than another because you wear the robe.”

Trust Tellingdwar to turn any conversation into a lesson. Waxillium nodded to him and slipped out into the night. The sky rumbled above, foretelling rain, but there was no mist yet.

Men are the same everywhere, Asinthew… What was the purpose, then, of everything they taught in here? If it couldn’t prevent men from acting like monsters?

He reached the boys’ dorm, which was quiet. It was just after curfew, and Waxillium had to bow his head to the dormmaster in apology before rushing down the hallway and into his room on the ground floor. Waxillium’s father had insisted he be given a room to himself, because of his noble heritage. That had only served to set him apart from the others.

He shucked off his robe and threw open his wardrobe. His old clothing hung there. Rain began to patter against his window as he threw on some trousers and a buttoning shirt, which he found more comfortable than those rusting robes. He trimmed his lamp and sat back on his cot, opening a book for some evening reading.

Outside, the sky rumbled like an empty stomach. Waxillium tried to read for a few minutes, then tossed the book aside—nearly knocking over his lamp—and threw himself to his feet. He walked to the window, watching the water stream down. It fell in patches and columns, because of the thick canopy of leaves. He reached over and extinguished the lamp.

He stared at the rain, thoughts tumbling in his head. He’d have to make a decision soon. The agreement between his grandmother and his parents required Waxillium to spend one year in the Village, and only a month of that remained. After that, it would be his choice whether to stay or to leave.

What awaited him outside? White tablecloths, posturing people with nasal accents, and politics.

What awaited him here? Quiet rooms, meditation, and boredom.

A life he detested or a life of mind-numbing repetition. Day after day after day… and…

Was that someone moving through the trees?

Waxillium perked up, pressing against the cool glass. That was someone trudging through the wet forest, a shadowed figure with a familiar height and posture, stooped and carrying a sack over his shoulder. Forch glanced toward the dormitory, but then continued on into the night.

So they were back. That was faster than he’d expected. What was Telsin’s plan for getting into the dorms? Slip in through the windows, then claim they’d come home before curfew and the dormmaster just hadn’t seen them?