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well-being seeped through Caelan. He felt stronger already.
    Finally
Master Grigori stepped back. “That will do,” he said, glancing at Agel. ‘The
wound is closed and will finish healing quickly in a day or two. Bandage him so
he doesn’t forget to protect the area, then arrange his release from the
infirmary.”
    Agel
bowed. “Yes.”
    “Thank
you, Master Grigori,” Caelan said, but the healer turned on his heel and left
without another glance at Caelan.
    “So
it’s to be the silent treatment, is it?” Caelan muttered angrily.
    Saying
nothing, Agel rebandaged him with quick  efficiency. “Your clothes are in the
basket,” he said, pointing at the foot of the cot.
    Resentfully
Caelan flung off his blanket and dug out his clothing. He found a fresh shirt
and leggings and a replacement novice robe, all clean items from his quarters.
    He
dressed while Agel stripped the bedding from the cot and removed it. By the
time Agel returned, rolling down his sleeves, Caelan was ready.
    In
silence they left the infirmary and walked across the courtyard. The day held
the warm golden light of mid- afternoon. Serfs were baking bread in the large,
outdoor ovens. The fragrance of the loaves was intoxicating. Caelan closed his
eyes and drank it in.
    “I
could swoon from hunger,” he said. “How long have I been unconscious?”
    Agel
walked steadily beside him, not looking at him, not replying.
    Caelan’s
anger flamed higher. He grabbed an apple from a basket and munched on it as
they entered the hall, shadowy and silent, its vaulted ceiling soaring high
above their heads.
    Novices
were arranging the long trestle tables and benches for the evening meal as part
of after-class chores. Some of them looked up at Caelan with open mouths and
astonished eyes. Others turned away with frowns.
    At
the entrance to the quarters stood a hooded proctor. Caelan tensed
involuntarily, but the proctor let them pass without question. They climbed the
broad staircase to the fourth floor and walked down the silent corridor. Agel
pushed open the door to Caelan’s room, and Caelan walked inside.
    Agel
started to shut the door on him without entering, but Caelan gripped him by the
front of his robe and pulled him inside. Slamming the door with a bang that
echoed down the corridor, Caelan released Agel and stood with his back to the
door.
    “Now
you can talk,” Caelan said, glaring at him. “How was I found? How long have I
been unconscious?”
    Agel
compressed his lips, but Caelan strode over to him and gripped him by the arm.
Agel jerked away from his touch, and the two boys glared at each other,
nostrils flaring and eyes hot, for a long moment.
    “Talk!”
Caelan said.
    “It’s
forbidden.”
    Caelan
snorted and swung away. “So I’m to be shunned now by everyone. Even you.”
    Agel’s
face whitened with rage. “What you did was unforgivable.”
    Caelan
shrugged, but doing so brought a faint twinge to his shoulder. “I ran away.
What of it? Anything was better than freezing to death.”
    “Even
now you have no shame, no remorse,” Agel marveled. He sent Caelan a horrified
look. “I thought I knew you. But your kind heart and decency are gone.” Shaking
his head, he stepped past Caelan. “There is nothing to say to you.”
    “Wait!”
Caelan said, reaching for his sleeve.
    Agel
shoved him hard against the wall.
    Pain
shot a sickly web of yellow and gray across the world. Caelan caught his breath
and sagged against the wall, trying to hide how much it hurt. The expression of
contempt on Agel’s face made it hurt even more.
    “Agel,”
he said, making it a plea.
    His
cousin averted his eyes. “You have shamed your father,” he whispered, his
throat working. “You have shamed me. I cannot forgive you. No one can.”
    “But—”
    Wrenching
open the door, Agel stormed out and left Caelan there, too stunned and
bewildered to go after him.
    Caelan
rubbed his face with his hands and slowly straightened himself. Agel was