and earn his living somehow. His hair would grow back to hide the abbey tattoos.
Master Firefox escorted Fyn to the abbot's private chamber, overlooking the abbey's courtyard. Fyn glanced through the arched windows. Far away, across the patchwork of winter-mantled canals and fields, loomed the Dividing Mountains. Rolenhold stood on its protective pinnacle, painted in shades of lavender and blue. Piro was there right now, pretending to have no Affinity. Fyn felt heart-sick, for his parents would never understand why he'd run away from the abbey. He would be dishonoured in front of everyone, branded a coward. But he had been over and over it and he could see no other solution.
He looked around the chamber for the mystics master but Catillum was not present, only the abbot. Fyn hid his surprise.
'Thank you, Firefox,' the abbot dismissed the acolytes master. When he had gone, the abbot came out from behind his parquetry-inlaid desk and sat on a stool in front of the fire. 'Come here, lad.'
As was proper for an acolyte, Fyn knelt on the cushion at the abbot's feet. While the abbot stared into the flames, Fyn wondered what his punishment would be.
At last the leader of the monks sighed. 'Your presence in the abbey makes things very complicated, Fyn. All the masters seek to have you in their service. They believe that one day you will be abbot.'
'But I would have to earn that position,' Fyn argued.
The abbot merely looked at him. 'You are a clever young man, thoughtful beyond your years. By giving up your place in the mystics to your friend you displayed unusual humility. Or was it fear, Fyn?'
'Fear?' he repeated, thinking furiously. Had he betrayed Piro in some way already?
The abbot nodded. 'There are many who fear the power that great Affinity brings. Some even try to deny theirs. It is your destiny to serve the goddess through the mystics. You cannot deny Her, Fyn.'
He nodded. It seemed Master Wintertide had convinced the abbot his lie had been prompted by the fear he was unworthy. He would be given to the mystics and he would have to run and everyone would think him a coward, motivated by fear.
In that instant he realised it did not matter what they thought, as long as he did what he believed to be right.
'Fyn?' the abbott prodded. 'Is there anything you wish to tell me?'
Fyn licked his lips then shook his head. What could he say?
'Very well. This spring cusp you will join the mystics. You can go back to your rostered duties, Fyn. Once the gardens master has finished with you, you can serve the mystics.'
He stood up, bowed and backed out. At the door, he hesitated.
'Ask,' the abbot said.
'It was Galestorm, who shot the bird, not Beartooth.'
'I know. Sixty years in the abbey have taught me to recognise a bully and a liar. I don't have to be a mystics master to see the truth.'
Fyn blinked. 'They why...'
The abbot sighed. 'Galestorm and his companions are backed by powerful masters, who seek to cripple me through you. Do you understand?'
Fyn nodded, though he wasn't sure he did, wasn't really sure why the abbot was telling him this.
'I could not clear you of the accusation without a confession. Feldspar's revelation made it abundantly clear what sort of person you are. Anyone who gives up power because he thinks he does not deserve it would not wantonly harm a defenceless creature.'
Fyn swallowed. 'What will happen to Galestorm and the others?'
The abbot smiled. 'Their penance is to serve the livestock master. They are currently mucking out the stables.'
A laugh escaped Fyn.
The abbot grinned. 'I believe the punishment must fit the crime.'
Fyn discovered he liked the abbot. He bowed and backed out into the hall. No wonder the abbot and Master Wintertide were fast friends, they saw the world in the same way.
It was a pity he had to let them both down.
The thought made him feel heart-sick, again. If the abbot knew the true extent of Fyn's crime, what punishment would he assign him? Deeply saddened, for he had several true friends in the abbey who he would be sorry to disappoint, Fyn headed back to the acolytes' sleeping chamber.
He had until spring cusp to plan his escape.
With a start he realised he would miss his parents' Jubilee. Worse, Piro would think he'd deserted her.
Piro tickled the foenix's chest. 'How's my pretty?'
His chest scales were becoming more pronounced. Eventually they would be hard as armour to protect him in mating