No one could come up with a good excuse for Kash not to return to his classes the following day. Kash himself thought he ought to refrain from any serious magic, just in case, but the only class on the agenda for that day was music, and that at leasthe knew he could do without blowing up anything structurally important.

He had to be reunited with Priya first, however. He was escorted by two of the Imperial Guard to the Princess' chambers, and she was chaperoned by the Empress herself, who sat in a chair by the window. It hardly seemed to matter, however, when the door was opened and she was right there in front of his eyes.

She stared at him for a long while, something very strange and sorrowful in her eyes, and then, with the barest hint of a cough from her mother, she bent into a low curtsey, the kind reserved for royalty.

"Don't do that," he said quickly, and then, realising his company, added, "Please, Princess, I - you really oughtn't."

"I hope you do not presume to tell me what I should or should not do, Master Salmalin," she said, with only the barest hint of a smile.

"Of course not," he replied, ducking his head. Of course she couldn't say what she really felt, he realised, his heart sinking. Not in front of her mother, and neither could he. Would they ever get to say the words they needed to say?

"Princess Priyana owes you her life," Empress Kalasin explained. She was holding embroidery in her hands, but made no attempt to pretend to do it. Kash got the impression it was there purely for show. Perhaps embroidery was the sort of thing chaperones usually did; he had no idea, since Priya had never bothered with them before now. "You are due her greatest respect, and mine." She nodded to him, and he flushed. He couldn't think of anything at all to say to that.

"I was told you visited my bedside daily during my… while I was ill," he said instead to Priya. Diplomatic talk was not really his thing either, come to think of it, which was embarrassing, especially considering he had been close friends with a royal for the last few years. He got tongue-tied in formal situations. "I thank you."

Priya curtseyed again. Kash did not know if that was acceptance or dismissal. He found himself wishing he hadn't fallen asleep quite so often in etiquette lessons.

"Priyana will see you again at your lesson," Kalasin said, waving at the guard to open the door. Dismissal, Kash thought gloomily as he left the room and made his way back through the royal apartments, which were heavy with guards. They all stared at him as he passed before returning to their duty. No one else was getting kidnapped on this trip, that was certain enough. He shook his head and tried to put Priya out of his mind, for now.

He had a pleasant lunch with Sarra out in the palace grounds. There was one good thing to come out of this, he supposed, and that was the bridge that had started to form across the gap that had grown between him and his sister while he had been away in Carthak. She had grown into a remarkable young woman, he began to see quite clearly. She sensed his reluctance to be around big crowds of people, and brought him food that they could eat while walking, as she pointed out improvements being made to the stable for pages and squires, and introduced him to a dozen new palace cats and dogs as they came up to greet her. He was even able to forget about what was coming that afternoon for a moment or two, until the bell rang and he felt his stomach turn over.

Sarra kissed him and told him good luck, and he made his way back into the palace and up to where the journeymen were gathering in the greater dining hall. An assortment of guests, including some from the royal music hall, had gathered to watch. The King was there, again, and so were Kash's family, just to complicate things. He joined the line at the end and followed Ajit and the others into the open space left for them. Then he had to walk past everyone else to the end as the students moved into formation - brass, strings, woodwind, percussion, and chorus.

Kash was always chorus. He could do instruments just as well, but no one else could manipulate the sound of hundreds of individual voices, harmony and melody, the way he could. He only hoped he could still do it, or the embarrassment would haunt him for the rest of his life. As he took his place, he couldn't help but feel very strange that he was here at all. To everyone else, he had been away for weeks, but to him, having been asleep all that time, it felt like only a day or two since he had been destroying the lives of nine people. It didn't seem fair that he should be here, now, allowed to continue with anything so frivolous as music, after that.

None of the students had actual instruments, though nearly all of them had had to learn to actually play them first. The Carthak University orchestra was Master Passinet's greatest pride and joy, and he prided himself on being able to create complex and beautiful music from thin air that was just as magnificent as that played the traditional way. Some students were better at this than others, but Passinet had worked hard to bring them all up to a level he was proud to show to Kings and Emperors.

Making music had come almost as naturally to Kash as breathing. It was his example that had given Passinet the idea in the first place. Kash could have played almost the whole orchestra on his own, of course, but oddly enough no one ever mentioned that.

"Look at them," Ajit hissed to him as they took their places. Kash looked up and saw the music hall people frowning and whispering to each other, apparently angered by their lack of physical instruments. Passinet did not seem to even notice.

"Very well journeymen," he said, and his voice echoed up and around the hall, easily audible from the raised dias where the onlookers were sitting. Kash could see his parents holding hands, Sarra sneaking in at the back, the royal family, and, to his great surprise, Uday. There were guards around the doors, despite Priya, who was playing first flute, being nestled safely between the girls to either side. "Now we are all together again, I think it is time we demonstrated some of our repertoire. We will begin with Rodin, I think. Percussion, let us not get carried away. Yamia, I should like a little more oboe this time. Salmalin -"

Kash jumped. He had been so busy looking at the spectators that had had almost forgotten what he was supposed to be doing.

"Pay attention," Passinet said, giving him a meaningful look. "And not too heavy on the tenor."

Kash nodded, trying not to go red. Don't think about it, he told himself firmly. If you think about it you won't be able to. Just do it. There wasn't a great deal more time to think about it however, because Passinet had raised his hands, and Priya had played a single, haunting note on the flute, and the music had begun.

The angry muttering died away almost instantly as the rest of the journeymen used their Gifts to create a swelling undertone that grew steadily until it was a resounding chord. Kash felt his chest swell with pride for Master Passinet as the man, smiling broadly, swept his arms upward, holding the chord until it crashed down again, like the breaking of a wave. The piece by Rodin had been written especially for Passinet some years before, and he constantly told his students how he had searched for the right way to perform it. Kash had to admit the sound emanating from fifteen or so young people who weren't even moving, except for the occasional twitch of a hand, or tap of a foot, was impressive.

There was a good five minutes of music before Kash even had to do anything. As the sound swelled around him he felt himself getting more and more nervous, forcing himself to watch his Master's conducting instead of the stunned faces of the royal music hall. What if he called on his Gift and nothing came out? Little flames were one thing, but he had to manipulate a hundred individual voices. Of course he could just use the same eight voices over and over, but the sound would be wooden, false. Passinet would never forgive him. Perhaps if he cut the choir down to fifty voices? But he knew the hundred so well, he knew how they worked, how they blended together. He started to have horrible visions of what would happen when the music slowed and there was no melody. The audience didn't know the piece, would they notice? Would Passinet be able to save it somehow? He wished he had practiced even a little.

He looked down the line at the journeymen, all of their faces tight and narrow with concentration as the piece introduced fish, and octopi, and whales. Most of them played only one instrument with their Gift, the one they knew best. Some of the percussionists could manage two at once. No one had even thought of seriously attempting playing music with their Gift until Kash proved utterly incompetent at playing even the simplest physical instrument and had started doing it 'the other way'. And now, when he failed, all Passinet's hopes for the future of this strange new art form would be completely dashed.

The music slowed, the tide coming in as the various instruments representing the creatures of the sea began to die away. He could feel himself start to panic, and where a few weeks ago his Gift would probably have started overpowering him and doing who-knows-what with his panic, there was only a terrible empty feeling. He couldn't do it. He couldn't even try. His Gift was different. He was different. The Goddess had touched him, changed him somehow, and no one, least of all him, truly understood what that meant.

And then, from the line of journeymen, a face looked over at him. It was Priya. She smiled at him, and suddenly he didn't feel empty at all, but full, full of feeling and music and magic. When Passinet lifted a hand and motioned in his direction, Kash didn't even hesitate. A choir of a hundred voices filled the hall, singing the song of the sea.

A silence that carries the earth's heart beating

A following whisper of worlds yet unknown

Dark waves and bright water,

In moonlight and sunlight

And singing, and sighing, the transient home

Oh call to Araiya, the Queen of the Water

Oh Goddess, light o'er the silvery waves

A Gift left untouched

In the kingdom of silence

And singing, and sighing, the transient home.

He had to take a breath to bring himself back. He'd been so deep into his Gift that he'd almost forgotten where he was. He let himself relax. There were six more verses, but he had at least four minutes to catch his breath. He wondered, vaguely, if Master Passinet had chosen the Rodin for precisely that reason, to give him breathing space. But no, surely that was giving the old man too much credit. If he hadn't seen there was a problem before, surely he couldn't have sensed it today.

Kash did not look at the spectators. He knew it would only distract him, make him panic again. Really Gods-blessed good time to get stage fright, he thought, keeping his eyes on Passinet. But somehow, incredibly, he got through the rest of it. Whenever he felt like he might fail, he looked at Priya, and somehow she was always looking back at him, encouragement shining in her dark eyes. What he wouldn't give for a real conversation with her!

As the song ended, and the spectators burst into wondrous applause, he realised he wanted more than anything to go back to Carthak. For things to go back to the way they had been. And this time he wouldn't worry about the future, wouldn't spend thankless hours concerning himself with what might be. He would spend every waking moment thanking the Gods that he had Priya, for now, and that was all that mattered.

Except things weren't ever going to be the same again, he realised as Master Passinet took his bow. People know now. Nothing will ever be the same.