Intrigues: Book Two of the Collegium Chronicles (a Valdemar Novel) Read Free

the bristles of the brush along his Companion’s chin. Having Dallen as a comforting and persistent presence in the back of his mind kept him steady. It was only when the invisible pressure got too much that he needed to physically come to Dallen for relief.
    Just now, the trigger that had sent him here had been a brush of a resentful thought that he was somehow trying to become the teacher’s pet, when in fact all he was doing was trying to stay even with everyone else in class. He couldn’t help it. He was grateful to the teacher for taking the extra time to explain. Why was saying so wrong?
    “You allus make me feel good,” he murmured to Dallen’s shoulder. “I dunno why you don’ get tired of me.”
    :I’ll forgive you if you actually hand over that apple pie that you promised,: said Dallen, nosing at Mags’ pocket urgently. :You know pocket pies are far and away best when still warm, and you said you’d bring an extra from lunch.:
    Happy to have something to take him away from thoughts that were always uncomfortable, Mags reached into his pocket and pulled out the two small rectangular pastries—a special treat for the colder day from the kitchen staff. They were a handy way to take the dessert out of the dining hall and eat it later, they kept your hands warm, and the students always appreciated them. It took a little more effort to make the individual pies, but then again, the dining hall tended to clear that much faster if the food was taken out. That meant the dishes could be worked on faster, tables wiped, floor mopped and the whole job done that much sooner. Everyone benefited.
    The door banged open again, showing that Mags wasn’t the only Gray-wearer that had thought to take the chance of a few stolen moments with his or her Companion. Possibly with an extra pie to share as well. Companions did have a sweet tooth. He didn’t bother to see who it was; if they wanted to talk to him they’d already know he was here. And if they wanted privacy he wasn’t going to invade it.
    Mags watched the pie vanish as Dallen practically inhaled it.
    “I got no idea why you like ’em so much,” he said, “considerin’ that you couldn’t possibly taste it. I’d be surprised if it e’en touched yer tongue.”
    Mags took a bite out of his own pie. It was delicious; it tasted as if the apples had been picked today, which was remarkable, considering it was probably made from dried apples from last year. The head cook did pride himself on making food for well over a hundred people still taste as though it was made for a small family meal. He almost always succeeded. Luncheon today, for instance . . . Mags licked his lips, thinking about it. Thick bean soup with bacon in it, winter greens cooked with ham hocks, lots of bread so fresh from the oven it burned your hands a little as you cut open the rolls and spread them with butter. “Good plain food and plenty of it is what these younglings need,” was what he’d overheard the man saying. “And if the highborn are too good for it, they can go and eat elsewhere.” Well, if this was “good, plain food,” he really didn’t want to eat with the highborn. His head would probably explode.
    And, of course, after this luncheon there had been the pocket pies waiting to be taken away at the door instead of regular pies on the table. There were always pies. The cook reckoned pie was a good way to share out fruit now that it was winter, and make it last. Another undreamed-of luxury. At the mine, the only time he ever tasted anything sweet was chewing the ends of clover-blossoms, stealing honey from a wild-bee nest, or grubbing something sweet and burned out of the pig-food.
    :I taste my pie just fine, thank you. So, do you feel that you are getting on in classes now?: asked Dallen, his enormous tongue licking teeth and lips and curling up around his nose in an effort to retrieve every crumb and speck of sugar, honey and spices. :Sometimes it’s hard to separate your