Traitor Savant (Second Seal of the Duelists) by Jasmine Giacomo Read Free Book Online

saying?”
    Bayan saw that all of his friends had come to help. Of all the campus chanters who watched diligently for injuries during arena practice, Doc Theo was the one with whom his hex felt the closest kinship. “I have no idea. Maybe he’s sick. Let’s get him over to the Chantery.”
    Together, the four of them wrangled the wandering, mumbling Doc Theo in the right direction. Finally, he seemed to recognize Bayan.
    “Ah-hah. Thought that wa’ zhoo. Don’ talk to the gardens. Hear me, B’yan? Don’ do it. Not safe.”
    “If you say so, Doc.”
    “Is he drunk?” Tarin whispered.
    “If he is,” Eward replied, also in a whisper, “it’s because he means to be. Chanters can heal inebriation.”
    Alarmed, Bayan asked the man if something had happened to upset him. He had to repeat the question twice.
    “Yesanno. Ever see somethin’ that was always there, and yer jus’ now seein’ it? Iz not good. I cain’t—spiderwebs. Big, ugly spiderwebs.”
    Doc Theo flailed and rambled on about dangerous webs. Bayan and Calder took hold of his arms, trying to keep him from hurting anyone. Over his bizarre ramblings, Tarin asked whether they should restrain him with magic.
    “I think that’d look even worse,” Eward said. “The Chantery’s just one tunnel away. We can make it.”
    Soon the Chantery loomed ahead of them, half of it magicked from the living stone of the cliff behind it, and half shaped to look as if it were living stone. Its second story windows, Bayan knew from experience, led to recovery rooms. His hexmate Odjin had lain in one, moments before he was expelled from campus for no longer possessing the requisite four limbs required to perform elemental magic.
    The hex reached the Chantery steps amidst Doc Theo’s soliloquy on snakes, who apparently couldn’t be trusted with pies. Before Bayan could open the Chantery’s front door, someone opened it from within.
    “Thank sints!” Diantha sigh ed in relief at the sight of Doc Theo. “Bring him in here.” The willowy chanter led the way to a small patient room at the end of a hall. While Tarin conjured a small flame for the lamp, Diantha helped Calder and Bayan guide Doc Theo to the bed. The man sat easily enough, interrupting his speech on which blood types were tastiest to bats in order to test the thickness of the feather mattress with a hand.
    “We think he got drunk,” Eward explained.
    The corners of Diantha’s mouth drew down, and she spoke in the sentence patterns peculiar to the Akrestan lands. “Doc Theo, he’s not drunk. This time, it isn’t the first. And whatever is bothering him, I can’t heal it.”
    Bayan and the others exchanged glances. Doc Theo had been instrumental in saving Kiwani’s life just last year. He had kept Kiwani’s devastating secret to himself when he learned that her blood type didn’t match that of her noble parents—an impossibility that led him to the knowledge that she couldn’t have been born from nobility. He’d become someone Bayan could trust completely. Something was happening to him, and not even another chanter could remedy it. “How long has this been happening? What do you think it is?”
    “Nearly a season now, with greater frequency. I’m … I’m afraid he’s losing himself.”
    “You mean … he’s going off his nut?” Calder asked. “His mind’s off squint? He’s losing his ducats?” Eward gave him a severe look.
    Diantha hesitated, then nodded . Her rows of short blonde braids swayed. “Some form of dementia, yes. Such natural processes, they aren’t curable. We can’t extend life past the limits we’re born with. If we could, we’d all be richer than the emperor, instead of manual laborers within our magic.”
    Despite his concern for Doc Theo, Bayan sensed a kinship between Diantha's words and something Doc Theo had said earlier. “Manual laborers… Potioneers of song?”
    The Akrestoi healer lifted a corner of her mouth. “Yes. Chanters here on campus, we work