If Call had wanted to discredit Alastair, to make it impossible for anyone to believe him if he claimed Call had the soul of Constantine Madden, he couldn’t have done a better job. That part should have made him happy, but it didn’t. Nothing did. He was furious with himself and even more furious with Tamara.
It was late when they finally dismissed him, and Master Rufus led him back to his room.
“I understand now why you did not wish to see your father when he came for you,” Master Rufus said.
Call didn’t respond. Adults had an amazing knack for stating the obvious, and also for telling you whenever they figured anything out.
“You need to know that you are not in trouble, Callum,” said Rufus. “No one would have expected you to break your father’s secrecy, but this burden should never have been set on your shoulders.”
Call stayed silent. He’d been talking for hours and he had nothing more to say.
“Your father became very eccentric after the war. Maybe none of us was willing to see how extreme his behavior had become. Working with the elements as we do has many dangers. We can bend the world to our desires. But the toll on the mind can be great.”
“He’s not insane,” Call snapped.
Master Rufus paused and peered down at Call for a long moment. “I would be very careful about saying that where someone could overhear you,” Master Rufus told him. “Better the world thinks he’s mad than believes him to be in league with the Enemy.”
“Do you think he’s insane?” Call demanded.
“I cannot imagine Alastair in league with Constantine,” Rufus answered after a pause. “I taught them both. They were indeed friends. No one was more betrayed by Constantine’s eventual descent into evil than Alastair was. No one was more determined to bring Constantine down — even more so after Sarah was killed. There is no greater betrayal than that of a friend.”
Call looked at Rufus, feeling dizzy. He thought of Aaron, who had been born to defeat Call. Destined for it, even if he didn’t know it.
“Some people are meant to be friends, and some to be enemies,” said Rufus. “Eventually the universe rights itself.”
“Everything in balance,” Call muttered. It was an alchemical saying.
“Exactly.” Rufus laid a hand on Call’s shoulder, which was surprising enough to make Call jump. “Will you be all right?”
Call nodded and slipped into his rooms. They were empty; both Tamara and Aaron had gone to their bedrooms, the doors shut tightly. He went into his own room and lay down on the bed fully clothed. Havoc was already asleep on the blankets. Call drew Miri from her sheath and held her up where he could see her, could see the whorls and swirls of folded metal in the blade. Peace.
He let his hand fall to the side and closed his eyes, too exhausted to even bother to undress.
He woke the next day to the wretched screaming of the first bell, which meant he was already late for breakfast. He hadn’t eaten much the night before and he felt queasy, as though he’d been punched several times in the stomach instead of just skipped a meal.
He pulled on a fresh uniform and tugged on his boots.
Neither Tamara nor Aaron was waiting for him in the common space of their rooms. Either they’d decided they hated him or they didn’t even know he’d returned the night before.
With his Chaos-ridden wolf trailing after him, Call began his stiff-legged walk to the Refectory. It was teeming with apprentices. Gray-clad Iron Year students milled around, still making faces over the fuzziness of the piles of different colored lichen and gaping at large mushroom slices toasting on a grill. A few of the Silver and Gold Year apprentices sat in clumps, back from missions and looking around as contemptuously as if they were already Masters.