Crowchanger (Changers of Chandris) by A.C. Smyth Page B

then it will be done. Do you understand me?”
    “I understand, Father.”
    Deygan got the impression that his son understood well enough, but did not agree. But he was young yet. He would learn.
    Casian hesitated before knocking on the door of Mistress Yinaede’s study. This was ridiculous. The conversation he had overheard between Garyth and Miralee in the refectory the night before might have had nothing to do with him. But he had heard his name over the hubbub—had heard it with the clarity with which a person always picks out his own name from a mix of voices. Trying not to be noticed, he wandered within earshot to listen to the rest of the conversation.
    “I think you should tell Mistress Yinaede,” Garyth said.
    His sister pushed her hair away from her face with a restless motion. “What if it’s nothing? What if it’s not Casian? I said it looked like him, but older. I didn’t say it was him.”
    “I’m no seer, but you said all seeings are recorded and kept, in case they become significant later.”
    “They are, but it wasn’t significant. Just people talking.”
    “They must hold snippets like that too, in case they can piece fragments together later and make a bigger picture. And this is your first proper seeing. She will want to know you’re making progress, even if you don’t understand what it means.”
    They had changed the subject shortly after that and Casian drifted away, but it preyed on his mind. Had Miralee really had a seeing about him? If so, he wanted to know what it entailed. He could ask her, but that would reveal that he had eavesdropped, and he didn’t know her well enough to strike up a conversation out of the blue. He finally settled on his plan to return to Yinaede’s sessions, in the hopes of extracting the answer.
    He had been to the study many times in the past. Casian was a talent—they had established that much early on, when Master Jesely observed disturbances of the aiea-dera around him. ‘Talent knows talent’ as the changers said. He stopped attending Yinaede’s lessons after two or three months, after all his attempts at seeing had failed. His talent remained a mystery to the masters, although Casian had worked it out for himself. He had a compulsion talent, the ability rare enough to have been virtually forgotten, and worth keeping hidden. Returning to Yinaede’s classes might even confuse the trail a little longer.
    Casian rapped on the door and heard Yinaede’s voice calling him in. He had not been in Yinaede’s study for many months, but little had changed. The study had much the same layout as Jesely’s. A few more feminine touches, perhaps: a sprig of blossom in a container; a painting of a landscape on the wall; a stack of books beside a comfortable chair covered with a thick blanket; a child’s picture in charcoal and chalk pinned to a board. Essentially, it was the same small office in which all masters received their students.
    Miralee was there when he arrived, deep in conversation with Yinaede. The girl flushed when he entered, and he suppressed a smile. She was stunning, a golden-haired Irmos, and the colour in her cheeks suggested she had noticed him too. He wondered if he could conceal an involvement with her from Sylas, or how upset the Chesammos might be if Casian shared his affections. Very, probably. The Chesammos was strangely emotional.
    “Come in, Casian,” said Yinaede. “It’s good to see you back, if a little surprising.”
    He took one of the wooden chairs near the wall by its back and swung it closer to Miralee. “I am sorry, Mistress. I have still not discovered the nature of my talent, so I thought—” he flashed the smile he knew few women could resist—“maybe I could resume studying with you. This time we might make a breakthrough.”
    She grunted. “So you are here because you have not found your place anywhere else. Or maybe because a recognised talent would help your bid for mastery. Mistress Ayriene is back at the