The parapet was deserted. Not even the guards could be seen from this spot and there were no other strollers along the walls. He was completely isolated, but . . .
Was it his imagination or had he seen a figure flit behind a tower as he pulled himself back onto the parapet?
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. He gave two more private lessons, tried to teach a class of apprentices what the concept of zero was all about and spent nearly half an hour listening to Pelus, who was trying to get him to vote against Juvian at the next Council meeting. The sun had set over the towers of the Capital by the time he left his work room and trudged down the winding stairs to the suite he and Moira shared. Lanterns along the walls cast a warm mellow light on the wide corridors.
Wiz was so tired he barely noticed.
As he came down the hall a young man came toward him. Wiz stepped slightly to the side but instead of moving out of his way the man seemed to step in front of Wiz so he jostled him as they passed.
“Clumsy Sparrow,” the young man hissed.
Wiz started to say something, thought better of it, and swept past the sneering young man.
What the hell is his problem? Wiz thought.
He knew the man more or less by sight. An apprentice with a vaguely Welsh name. They had never exchanged more than a half a dozen words and now the man was going out of his way to be insulting.
One more thing to worry about. This place was getting to him. He was trying to do a job he wasn’t very good at, a lot of the people here seemed to hate him, he couldn’t concentrate on the parts he could do and even the simplest thing seemed to take forever. He was stretched tauter than a violin string and the fatigue and tension was telling on him.
The door to their apartment was open and he saw Moira sitting in the light of a magical lantern. The light caught her hair and glints of brushed copper played through it. Her mouth was twisted up in a little moue as she bent over the mending in her lap.
Still, Wiz thought, there are compensations.
As he came into the room he saw there was someone else there. A painfully thin girl with flyaway brown hair was sitting at Moira’s feet working on a piece of embroidery.
Without a word the girl got up and left.
“Hi June,” Wiz said to her back as she brushed by.
“What have you been doing?” he said as he came to her.
“Sewing.” Moira laughed. “I fear I will never be skilled with a needle.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “That’s all right. You’re good at plenty of other things.”
She arched one of her coppery eyebrows. “And how am I to take that, My Lord?”
“As a compliment.” He bent down and kissed her again.
“And how has your day been?”
Well, let’s see. I insulted one of the most powerful members of the Council, botched a tutoring session and nearly killed myself by falling off the parapet. “Oh, okay,” he mumbled.
Moira looked at him sharply. “What did you do to your nose?”
“I ran into a door. How is June?” He asked quickly to change the subject.
Moira gave him an odd look, but she took the bait. “She improves, I think.”
Like Moira, June had been found wandering as a child in the Fringe of the Wild Wood. Unlike Moira, no one knew where she came from or who her parents were. She was quiet, as shy and skittish as a woodland animal. She worked as a maid and servant around Wizard’s Lodge—when anyone could find her.
Wiz had never heard her speak, although Moira said she occasionally talked.
“Can’t you do something to heal her?” Wiz asked.
“Bronwyn, the chief healer, says she is not ill in her mind,” Moira said. “That it is merely her way.”
“If she’s not ill, she’s sure peculiar.”
“That is odd coming from you, Sparrow,” Moira said.