Han read and studied Kinley like a fiend, searching for answers. He couldn’t ask Gryphon because that would only draw the master’s attention. After the incident with Abelard, they left the topic of Aediion for good. The master continued to pick on Han in class, regularly descending on him like a predator bird with broken wings and a savage bite. It was as if he blamed Han for getting him into trouble with Dean Abelard.

Han stayed up late every night, preparing for class, trying to make himself less vulnerable to attack. The threat of humiliation was incredibly motivating.

The rest of the class suffered too, just not so often as Han. Gryphon reduced Darnleigh to tears, ridiculed the Mander brothers, and treated Dancer like an idiot. Even the Bayars came in for tough questioning at times, though it seemed to Han that Gryphon’s verbal blade was blunted in their case. Especially with Fiona.

Twice during the next week, Dean Abelard came into the class and sat at the back of the room. She tapped her fingers on the desk in front of her, her face grim and unsmiling in the faint glow from her amulet. During those sessions Gryphon floundered, often losing his train of thought.

Micah and his cousins spent little time at Hampton Hall, so Han rarely saw them except in class. They preferred The Crown and Castle, where they held court nightly with Fiona and Will and a large crowd of Mystwerk newlings Micah was tight with. It made sense. Most of Han’s class came from the Fells; they’d likely been cozy since childhood.

Han forced himself to go into The Crown and Castle now and then, just to make show, even though the taproom went silent when he entered, and Micah’s mates made a point of grabbing their purses and guarding their amulets if he came anywhere near.

Seven weeks into the term, the newlings were notified that Dean Abelard would host the first Dean’s Dinner at Mystwerk Hall on Temple Day. All Mystwerk students, proficients, and faculty were expected to attend.

Han didn’t look forward to coming under Dean Abelard’s eye again. His face-to-face with her was only a week away. He still clung to the frail hope he could get out of it.

As Han dressed for dinner, he was glad for the red robe of anonymity he pulled on over his clothes. He’d bathed, scraped the stubble from his face, combed his hair, and shined up his amulet with a chamois. He couldn’t think of how else to prepare.

Mystwerk Hall was ablaze with lights as Han and Dancer walked across the quad, the entryway spattered with red robes. For once it wasn’t raining, though a brisk wind from the north said the weather was changing.

Servants wearing Mystwerk livery directed them into the Great Hall.