“Candallar.”
Nightshade.As he gave wordless, motionless permission, Kaylin said—through his mouth, “You haven’t taught a class here since the rise of the Towers.”
“That is true. I feel that I had little incentive if things were going smoothly.”
“You’re teaching one now.”
“Also demonstrably true.”
“You’re more aware of your surroundings, of the Academia.”
He nodded, his single eye almost flashing. She had the attention—well, Nightshade did—of the entire class, but in Kaylin’s admittedly limited experience, that was the norm when one asked questions.
“Why?”
“I have more engaged students,” he replied. “I have students who might learn something. They have questions, and some of those questions might lead them to answers that other students in our history have not achieved.”
She frowned.
“So...students are important?”
“Students are the heart of the Academia.” Something about that answer stuck and echoed. “Students, scholars, sages. You are searching, perhaps, for something I lack. You will not find it.”
“Were the students in the classes introduced to you recently?”
“Some of the students in these classes have been introduced to the Academia over a period of decades, in your time. Some, however, never chose to leave; they are not all contained in this classroom.”
“And some are here as students on an off-day?”
“They have not been admitted into the current academic stream.”
“By their choice or by yours?”
He frowned; the frown had texture. It had a physical force that Kaylin should not have been able to feel—but did.
“Admittance was not, in general, my responsibility,” he finally said. “I could, however, insist if I felt a student that had not shown promise in an obvious way, nonetheless had promise.”
“And the current crop of students?”
He frowned again.
Before he could answer, Kaylin said, “Can you tell us where Candallar is?”
“I am uncertain. Lord Candallar,” he continued with emphasis on the title Kaylin felt no need to respect, “has freedom of entry.”
“How?”
“It is a request received by...”
This was the answer Kaylin wanted, but he stalled out, his eye narrowing, his forehead taking on lines of intense concentration. He failed to speak.
Kaylin said, “Karriamis?”
He lifted his face, his neck extending as his gaze sought the admittedly impressive ceiling. His face ran parallel to the ceiling; his neck bent in an angle that no one else in the room could achieve without breaking their spine. Without lowering his face, he said, “I cannot confirm that. I cannot find an answer. You will excuse me,” he added. “I have lost the thread of this lecture, and must continue it or the students will miss their next class.”
She blinked. The three intruders had not approached the Dragons. The Arbiters stood to either side of Kaylin, possibly because she carried the books. Turning to Kavallac, she said, “Can I give these books to the Arkon?”
“You may give custody of these books to the Arkon,” Kavallac replied. “Where do you intend to go?”
