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of terror contorting Fedeles' innocent face. The image found its way into each of the charcoal studies that Kiram produced.
    At the end of the class the instructor raised one wiry white brow and inquired about the brain fever that had apparently burned away his sense of good taste.
    Kiram apologized and promised to make the work up on his free day. In the hallway a few minutes later, Nestor simply handed him a few of his own sketches to copy.
    "Thanks." Kiram was genuinely touched by the offer.
    "No problem," Nestor replied. "I really liked the studies you did. They looked like those devil-haunted souls that are always carved into the underside of chapel altars."
    "Is that so?" Kiram pulled one of the piteously contorted faces out from his leather satchel. It didn't strike him as anything like a holy image, but then he knew little of Cadeleonian iconography. Haldiim were not permitted in Cadeleonian chapels unless they were undergoing conversions.
    "The eyes are too flat," Kiram said.
    "Yeah, but that makes it all the creepier." Nestor grinned at the image. "He looks like he's been lost for a hundred years in the sorrowlands and is turning into a wraith."
    "You want it?" Kiram offered.
    "Of course." Nestor took the drawing happily and tucked it away with his own, far superior works.
    In history class, Kiram was far too occupied to think of Fedeles. It took all of his willpower not to argue with the doughy instructor, Holy Father Habalan, while he rhapsodized over the glorious reign of King Nazario Sagrada. Among the Haldiim, King Nazario was remembered as the Crowned Impaler. His rule had been a time of mass executions and public torture. His purges were the reason that even now huge walls surrounded the Haldiim district in Anacleto and archers still stood guard atop them. Haldiim mothers might pay taxes to the Cadeleonian kings, but the memory of Nazario's atrocities ensured they would never trust Cadeleonian lords to protect them.
    Kiram had no idea of how he would write an essay chronicling the king's innovations without his writing degenerating to a string of obscenities. He had to bow his head just to keep the plump holy father from seeing his revulsion.
    Afterwards Nestor asked if he was sick.
    "Just tired." Kiram forced a smile. It was difficult to look at Nestor and know that his ancestors were probably among those noblemen who hunted Haldiim shepherds for sport and impaled lovers for their evening's entertainment. And yet when he did meet Nestor's gaze, no such malevolence showed in his expression. Kiram felt his anger drain away. Nestor wasn't responsible for his ancestry. He couldn't help being Cadeleonian any more than Kiram could take credit for being born a Haldiim.
    "I'll feel better after dinner," Kiram said.
    "Maybe not," Nestor replied. "It's bean night tonight."
    They shared a scowl at the thought of the flatulence- inducing stew they would soon be served. Then Kiram smirked.
    "Poor Javier." Kiram smiled maliciously. "His white hell demon may well choke to death on the fury of my fart demon."
    Nestor responded to that with scandalized laugh and clapped him on the back. "That's the spirit, Kiram!"
    Nestor's company buoyed Kiram through their riding lessons and dinner. Though when Kiram noted Fedeles' absence from their table Nestor just replied that Fedeles did as he pleased, and more than likely, eating a sludge of beans didn't suit him.
    After dinner Nestor left to attend his upperclassman and Kiram found himself alone, pacing the vast corridors of the academy library.
    Kiram adored the Sagrada Academy's library.
    Walls of knowledge surrounded him. Shelves abounded with rare texts, written before printing presses came into use, and displaying page after page of beautifully detailed illuminations. Filed among countless tomes lay treasures of unpublished scientific studies, penned more as letters between the scholars than as formal presentations.
    Any other day Kiram would have been happy to pour over them