or how well I do it, everyone looks at me the same way." He shot her a glance and said, "Like you are, right now."
Amara frowned and rose, her torn skirts and her appropriated cloak swaying about her ankles. "I'm sorry," she said. "Tavi it's... unusual, I know. I've never heard of anyone with that problem before. But you're also young. It's possible that you just haven't grown into it yet. I mean, you're what? Twelve? Thirteen?"
"Fifteen," Tavi mumbled. He rested his chin on his knees and sighed.
Amara winced. "I see. And you're worried about your service in the Legions."
"What service?" Tavi said. "I don't have any furies. What are the Legions going to do with me? I won't be able to send signals, like the aircrafters, hold the lines with the earthcrafters, or attack with the firecrafters. I won't be able to heal anyone with the watercrafters. I can't forge a sword, or wield one like a metalcrafter. I can't scout and hide, or shoot like a woodcrafter. And I'm small. I'm not even good for handing a spear and fighting in the ranks. What are they going to do with me?"
"No one will be able to question your courage, Tavi. You showed me that last night."
"Courage." Tavi sighed. "As near as I can figure it, all courage gets you is more of a beating than if you'd run away."
"Sometimes that's important," she pointed out.
"Taking a beating?"
"Not running away."
He frowned and said nothing. The slave remained silent for several moments, before she settled down beside him, wrapping the scarlet cloak around her. They listened to the rain outside for a few moments. When Amara spoke, her words took Tavi off guard. "What would you do, if you had a choice?"
"What?" Tavi quirked his head and looked up at her.
"If you could choose anything to do with your life. Anywhere to go," Amara said. "What would you do? Where would you go?"
"The Academy," he said, at once. "I'd go there. You don't have to be a crafter, there. You just have to be smart, and I am. I can read, and write, and do figures. My aunt taught me."
She lifted her brows. "The Academy?"
"It isn't just for Knights you know," Tavi said. "They train legates there, and architects, and engineers. Counselors, musicians, artists. You don't have to be a skilled crafter to design buildings or argue law."
Amara nodded. "Or you could be a Cursor."
Tavi wrinkled up his nose and snorted. "And spend my life delivering mail? How exciting could that be?"
The slave nodded, her expression sober. "Good point."
Tavi swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat. "Out here, on the steadholt, crafting keeps you alive. Literally. Back in the cities, it isn't as important. You can still be someone other than a freak. You can make your own life for yourself. The Academy is the only place in Alera where you can do that."
"Sounds like you've thought about this a lot," Amara said quietly.
"My uncle saw it once, when his Legion was on review for the First Lord. He told me about it. And I've talked to soldiers on their way up to Garrison. Traders. Last spring, Uncle promised me that if I showed him enough responsibility, he'd give me a few sheep of my own. I figured out that if I took care of them and sold them next year, and saved up all of my pay from the Legions, that I could put together enough money for a semester at the Academy."
"One semester?" Amara asked. "What then?"
Tavi shrugged. "I don't know. Try to find some way to stay. I might be able to get someone to be a patron or... I don't know. Something."
She turned to look at him for a moment and said, "You're very brave, Tavi."
"My uncle will never give me the sheep, after this. If he's not dead." The tightness in his throat choked him, and he bowed his head. He could feel tears filling his closed eyes.
"I'm sure he's all right," the slave said.
Tavi nodded, but he couldn't speak. The anguish he'd been trying to keep stuffed down inside rose up in him, and the tears fell onto his cheeks. Uncle Bernard couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. How would Tavi ever be able to live with that?
How would he ever face his aunt?
Tavi lifted his fist and shoved angrily at the tears staining his cheeks.
"At least you're alive," Amara pointed out, her voice quiet. She put a hand on his shoulder. "That's nothing