Owain lay in bed, unable to sleep. It was too quiet. He was used to the sounds of a busy city all around him. Here, all he could hear was some kid snoring, and the clanking of a templar's armor as he made his rounds every half hour. Other than that it was silent.

Still, it wasn't all bad here. He had been thrilled when they had handed him his very own pair of boots. His family had been poor, and even though Owain was an only child, his parents hadn't been able to afford shoes for him. But he had always been resourceful, by necessity if nothing else. He had spent large parts of his days scrounging for useful items, and very rarely he would find a pair of well worn shoes. They usually didn't last very long, but it had been something. And he secretly liked the mage robes, although he would never say that out loud. The other kids complained about them, but they were clean and warm, and they didn't have any holes in them.

He liked the food, too. Not that it was fancy, but they got to eat three times a day, which was a big plus in his book. At home, Owain could only really count on dinner, and even then they sometimes had to do without. He had often found odd jobs he could do around the city for a loaf of bread or a bowl of stew, however. Once, an older woman had even given him a piece of pie! He had never tasted anything sweet before, and from then on he had worked for pie every chance he'd got.

When he hadn't been doing that, he had sometimes played tag or hide-and-go-seek with other boys. He had never really been friends with any of them, though. Many of them had been pickpockets or would steal from merchants, and he hadn't wanted anything to do with that. It hadn't seem right to steal from people, especially the ones who were almost as poor as they were.

He wondered what his parents were doing right now. Did they miss him? Did they know their son was a murderer? They were probably glad he was gone; they'd be scared of him now anyway. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt tears threatening to fall. He was not going to cry! He was ten years old, not a baby anymore! He tried swallowing his tears, and when that didn't work, he hid his face in his pillow and cried as quietly as he could.

ooOoo

Owain stared at the book, feeling his cheeks heat up. He had slumped down as far into his seat as he could, but had been called on to read a passage anyway. He hadn't been paying attention. "Umm, where were we again?"

"Page two, paragraph three," Enchanter Leorah said, with the air of a woman who had repeated herself one time too many today.

Owain could hear whispering among the other students in the class. The room was tiny, with six tables arranged by twos, two students to a table. The stone walls echoed the whispers and distorted them enough that he couldn't make out the individual words, but Owain was humiliated all the same.

At that moment the bell rang, and Owain slammed his book in relief and got up.

"Where do you think you are going, young man? You still have a paragraph to read."

Owain slid back down into his seat and reluctantly opened the book again. He heard someone sniggering as they filed out.

"Well?" she said.

"What was that paragraph again? Page two, paragraph three?" He looked up with a smirk on his face and noticed her mouth had been pressed into a thin line. The elven mage's face was usually kindly, but it was clear she was rapidly losing what little patience she had left. By that time most of the students had left the room.

"Yes!"

Owain looked down at the page again and squirmed. "T...he b...best...p...pl...place"

"Owain?"

Owain looked up.

"Do you know how to read?"

He frowned. "Sure I do...well, a little."

Her face softened. "Didn't you go to school?"

"Sometimes, but it was boring. I never needed to read anyway," he said, crossing his arms.

"Well, mages need to know how to read. I'm going to have to put you in Senior Enchanter Sweeney's class."

He jumped out of his seat. "But...but that's the baby class! Everyone will make fun of me!"

"Now Owain, there's no shame in needing a little extra help." She turned away from him with an air of finality and began tidying up her papers.

He stared at her back for a moment feeling the heat of his shame, then turned and left the room.


Many thanks to Hatsepsut, my awesome beta.

I also owe a special thank you to Shakespira, for mentoring me on characterization, millelibri for patiently answering a ton of questions about her experiences at boarding school, and all my reviewers who take the time to give me feedback.