Twenty-two.

Selden tried to make sense of his meeting with the boy. He spent the afternoon fitfully, first having difficulty sitting through the veritable feast Rian’s mother had prepared. Geoffrey relished the meal as only the young might a forbidden pleasure. It was just as well, Selden thought. He’ll be hurt when I tell him he’ll have to return to the school without me. Or could someone else be trusted to bring the archmage a message?

It was instructive, at least, to see Rian with his family. His mother basked in the opportunity to be hostess. She had a giving nature, the kind of woman who would invite beggars and tinkers through her front door. Rian’s father was a more practical sort, with a more careful measure of loss and gain. He was ambitious for his son, Selden sensed. Certainly more than the boy himself. As for Rian, Selden was a bit fearful of what he had discovered. Well, he had discovered nothing; it was the two bishops who found this boy.

So, why was I sent?, Selden wondered. He watched as Rian ate. The boy used his fingers when the fork wasn’t quite up to the job of shoveling. He licked his fingers, too, oblivious to manners, but wasn’t that how Selden had been raised? Didn’t he scratch himself where he itched when he was young?

Selden contributed as he could to the discussion at table, distracted as he was. Before sitting down, he instructed Geoffrey not to let the conversation fail. “Tell them about our school. It’s what they will want to hear. The boy, too, should have an idea.”

“So he’ll join us?”

“If he can be persuaded.”

“Persuaded? Has he a choice?”

“You had a choice.” He paused. “You still do.”

Geoffrey laughed. “My father wants a bishop.”

Which struck Selden as funny also. “Well, perhaps he’ll have another son...”

“He has bastards enough for an army, but my mother’s only sired him daughters since me, first born and only son.”

“You’re a good son.”

“Who’d like nothing better than use his sword.” The boy’s grin made it quite obvious he was pleased with the double entendre.

“Best you keep your sword sheathed, don’t you think, Geoffrey?” Selden asked, but he needn’t wait for an answer. He had advised the boy time and time again.

“So keep up the conversation, will you? I’m troubled as to what to do in regards to the village priest.” It was true. Selden could hardly leave the bishop to a burial without rites. Back at the school, others could take his classes, he knew, and Geoffrey could be tutored here while they waited for the bishop’s death, but this boy, Rian, he hardly knew what to think of him.

After the meal, and their good day, Selden sat alone in the church and recalled: When he pronounced my truename, I thought he was a demon. My heart leapt–it beat furiously–and I nearly harmed the boy with a spell, ready with my bare hands if it came to that. But I saw him then, shining as brightly and as wildly as a bonfire on St. John’s Eve.