Master Emmalyn Panacea was a legend as ordinary in appearance as her tales were extraordinary. Tall and brittle with straw hair that had gone gray, giving her the look of a dusty broom that had been transfigured into a human. Her hazel eyes studied Alfread, nested in a face that at best could be called unfortunate in a land that prized beauty above all else in a woman. She was severely pocked, proclaiming that she’d dabbled extensively and recklessly in potioneering prior to acquiring healing magic proficiency.

  Beyond the stories of her told by his mother and Asa, who’d both trained under the legend, Alfread identified her by the rank insignias on her white-sleeved ruby-red robes. The red and gold patches on those white sleeves declared her a master of Potioneering, Spirit, Light, and Water. Most revealing of all was the mortar and pestle, thrice as large as the others.

  To passersby, Master Panacea could’ve been the illustration of the wicked witch who’d feed you a poisoned apple, suck out your soul, and fly away on her broom cackling brought to life. But Mirielda’s son knew better. People are more than the front cover. He knew enough of Emmalyn Panacea’s story to know that there was great beauty within a shell few would call beautiful.

  Master Potioneering folded her arms over her chest, holding a flat-lipped stare crafted to perfection after decades of disciplining students. Alfread saw now where his mother had learned how to manipulate her eyebrows for maximum intimidation. If anything, the effect was more terrifying on a face that wasn’t as blessed by Leverith as Mirielda’s.

  He swallowed hard, hoping that she would have a hand in concocting him into the man he was to become. Thus, to him, that hoarse, hostile contralto was sweet music. “Are you truly Mirielda’s son?”

  “I am,” Alfread said, words catching in his throat, stumbling out as though he were hammered on firewhiskey. “I’ve come to learn.”

  “To learn?”

  Her voice was a lash striking his hopes. He kept his eyes low, trying not to let the Coward take the quill away from the man that wanted to author his dreams into reality. “Yes, Master,” he managed.

  She raised an eyebrow, Alfread suppressing his urge to flinch. “Learning? Is that what brings people to Leverian University? Here I thought it was for frolicking, politicking, and ticking off mommy and daddy’s boxes.”

  A wave of relief washed over him, like a tonic of courage, when the witch bared a thin-lipped grin. He wavered on his rebuttal—that frolicking and politicking both amounted to doing your best to choose who would fuck you—unsure of how the stern witch would respond to something better fit for a Bear’s Crossing tavern. History would never know whether less restraint would’ve led to being pulled by the ear until he was flung from the city or at least a chuckle.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation from Kai Blazelord himself?”

  Alfread felt relieved that he didn’t press his luck with dirty humor. “No, Master. I’ve heard stories about you from my parents. I’m … in your debt. I owe my life to you.”

  “Is that so?” Her eyebrow game was legendary. “I’m not the one who poked your mom.”

  Alfread did a double take, realizing that Emmalyn Panacea was doing everything she could to keep him off-balance. She was testing who he was and he wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Better to not play the game. Better to be oneself.

  “No, Master, and we all appreciate that.” Her lips curved up, a pleasant cue to keep going. “You merely gave away the first vial of panacea since Meridian burned to save my father’s life.”

  Emmalyn shrugged. “To be honest, I did it more for her than him. Mirielda was one of the best students I’ve ever had.” She measured him with her eyes. “Come along now and let us see what you can do, Son of Evan.”

  “Alfread,” he said, following Master Panacea toward a red building that was one of Leverian University’s smallest, but arguably its most opulent in design.

  “Alfread?” she said, before giving a stable boy Workhorse and some curt instructions. “Why am I not surprised?” she said, Alfread unsure whether she referred to his name or something else.

  He crushed the impulse to obsequiously tell her that a legend such as herself shouldn’t ever be surprised. He didn’t get the sense that she’d succumb to flattery nor was that truly what he believed. “I’d venture you knew my mother well,” he said instead.

  “Today isn’t about what I know, Mirielda’s son. Knowing your mother, you hopefully already know that you won’t receive preferential treatment here. You won’t get it from me either, not because I’m a mean old nasty witch who looks like she’ll try to sell you a poisoned apple either.” She pulled up her hood to sell the image. “You’re going to have to prove yourself, have to be better than almost everyone else, just to be given a chance. Even then, most will want you gone. Did you know that none of Queen Camellia’s meritorious-funded students have lasted more than two moons? That we currently don’t have any registered?”

  Alfread shook his head. He’d hoped that he wouldn’t be alone.

  “That is why I’m not going to coddle you.” She straightened her back. “But I will try to give you the chance to prove yourself, because it shouldn’t just be cognitive-affectomancers and those born of noble blood not disowned that should have a chance to show the world what they can do.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “Don’t thank me, Alfread son of Evan. If you get through this, it’ll be on your own merit. I won’t lift you up if your father has filled your head with silly stories where your mother’s knowledge ought to have went.”

  “I understand. I’ll do my best.”

  “Good,” she said.

  Emmalyn went on to explain the process in detail while Alfread fought off the Coward who kept whispering that he didn’t belong at a place of such grandeur where he was bound to be rejected. This building, called “Foundry,” was where all requests came into Leverian University, including applicant registration. It was the smiling face of the university, and he’d likely be greeted by false smiles within.

  The Foundry building was one massive chamber with ridiculously high ceilings, alternating ivory and ebony columns supporting the ridiculously high ceilings, and ruby-red with gold trimmed walls with neatly arranged artwork depicting historical scenes and the portraits of the kingdom’s historical figures. The current king and queen were prominent near the entrance: Handsome Adameon with his classic ruby eyes and hair, sturdy Camellia with her strong Tandande features.

  Alfread could’ve spent angles examining the art and the stories they portrayed. Alas, Emmalyn hurried him toward the long, ruby-bejeweled, reception desk in the center of the building. Alfread found the false smiles, sensing the wolves marking him as sheep.

  A well-manicured, traditionally handsome, fair-skinned, white-haired young man who looked and sounded everything like Alfread would expect a lordling to, greeted Alfread’s guide as he masterfully ignored Alfread’s existence.

  Glancing away from the clear condescension, Alfread matched the three books on the reception table with the three readers. The yellow-robed girl on the left had an unopened Perfect Poetry and Prose, the golden-robed man in the center had Legal Disputes of the 1st Leverian Era opened to the midway point, and the yellow-robed girl on his right was holding Annals of an Anathema.

  Master Panacea was just as curt and concise with the lordlings as she had been with him. “Adept Irvaine. Apprentices Salora and Valice. I bring you a meritorious grant applicant.” Without another word, she turned and exited the building.

  The yellow-robed girl on his left with the unopened writing manual, dandelion hair, fair skin, and a fortunate face that would likely see her as an archlord’s lady after a little frolicking and politicking asked the first question as the grand oak doors sealed behind him. “Are you a long lost Tandande?”

  The man in the middle, Adept Irvaine, scoffed, muttering the yellow-haired girl’s name, “Salora,” while the girl on the right, Apprentice Valice, set down her book, looking aghast.

  Uncertain of what traps he’d stumble into if he answered or kept quiet, Alfread considered the question as seriously as if his test results depended on the answer. Did he resemble the Tandande Mountain Men? Was he blood relative to the queen? He felt a nervous flutter in his chest. His mother never told him where he came from and he’d never asked, decided early in life that he didn’t want to know who his grandfather’s people were. They weren’t his family any more than his name was theirs.

  “Why do you ask?”

  Salora leaned toward him, her mischievous grin blossoming into a full smile. “Because you are built like a mountain, man, and I want to climb you.”

  Beside her, Adept Irvaine, who was decidedly not built like a mountain, shook his head. He narrowed his eyes. “Name yourself.”

  “Alfread son of Evan.”

  Irvaine smiled devilishly, glancing sideways at Salora with an expression Alfread would describe as equally possessive and mocking. “Chipped so far off the mountain that you no longer have a name, boy.”

  Alfread snapped at him, barely restraining the gnash of teeth honed long and sharp by hatred of people exactly like Irvaine. “Sir Evan is a Peacewatch knight raised by his own merits rather than his pedigree.”

  “So meritorious that I have heard of him naught.” Irvaine smirked at Salora. “This is not climbing, Salora sweet, but falling into the trough and spilling straight into the horseshit then rolling until Salora is not so sweet anymore-a.”

  Salora offered Alfread a sharp side-eye, edging him on to see what he would do. But Alfread shifted his focus away from the condescending lord and the entitled lady.

  Apprentice Valice was darker, not quite Isihlan brown like Asa, but bearing the tanned skin of the equatorial Leverian south and Kavova. Her dark eyes and hair were a sharp contrast to Irvaine beside her, as was her disposition. Her sympathetic mien let Alfread know he wasn’t stranded like a tiny ship in a violent lordling sea. Her book, Vara Spearman’s memoirs of Maddeck Eckhard, an inverted wizard hated for who he loved, was a lighthouse directing him to this safe harbor.

  Feeling less alone, he unclenched white-knuckled fists and leaned onto the table. “You must feel so high. Judging a man by his name. I came here to apply. Thus, I take my aim. Will you give me the test so we can see who’s really best? Oh, high judge will you acquit, and let the score declare who is truly shit.”

  Salora whistled, batting her eyes at Alfread, clapping daintily with two fingers on each hand. Valice’s mouth opened into a broad smile, stealing a sidelong glance at Irvaine.

  But Irvaine’s sneer only grew more confident. “The testing fee is five golden Leverians.” He tapped the table, holding out his palm.

  It was like cold water had been dumped on him. He didn’t have nearly enough. His legs seemed likely to buckle. He looked to Apprentice Valice, hoping that she would say it wasn’t true. She frowned, nodding, the delicate up and down crushing his dreams.

  Irvaine feigned sadness with a sigh as if he was capable of empathy behind that condescending smile. He leaned forward, never looking more punchable. “That is so unfortunate. I will tell you what, Alford. You seem like a...” Irvaine grimaced dramatically, “pleasant peasant. I will give you some advice, free of charge. A face like yours can make coin in Rubinia, if you comprehend my meaning.”

  After Alfread remained silent, Irvaine spoke the quiet part aloud, eager to make obvious insinuations that Alfread’s peasant mind was too stupid to comprehend. “In brothels.”

  Irvaine slapped the cover of Annals of an Anathema. “Who knows? Maybe you will find a real daddy who can pay for your half-semester of tuition before you learn that you don’t belong here.”

  Alfread clenched his fists, his beliefs about lordlings feeling undisputedly confirmed. When he looked at Irvaine, he didn’t see one person; Alfread saw the entire system. Irvaine was just one piece of a puzzle made up of identical privileged, pompous, punchable pieces.

  “Not so witty now, are you?” Irvaine beamed at Salora. “The mountain crumbles as soon as you touch it because it has an unworthy foundation.”

  Salora shrugged. She wasn’t going to go against this high lordling to defend a commoner. Her affection for him didn’t go further than a girl’s fancy for pretty things and when you had the money to get whatever you wanted, you didn’t defend the expendable.

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  Fortunately, there were three at the Foundry’s reception table. “Stop!” Valice shouted. Irvaine was blindsided by her intensity. Valice pulled out a purple coinpurse and dropped five golden Leverians on the desk. “If you receive meritorious funding, you will pay me back. If you don’t, you owe me nothing.”

  “Thank you,” Alfread said, this act of kindheartedness once again challenged his beliefs even as Irvaine and Salora vied to confirm them. At the least, he wondered whether there might be a few spots on the lordling tapestry where people like Mirielda, Valice, and Jaseon Ruby could exist.

  Irvaine seized the coins. “How about a wager, Valice? I say you are betting on a one-to-one-hundred longshot. If the farm boy receives funding, I will pay you five hundred golden Leverians. When he fails, you will join me at Leverith’s Touch.”

  “I have no interest in either your money or your touch.”

  Irvaine took the rejection in stride, his fingers tapping Annals of an Anathema. “Whose touch do you have interest in?”

  Valice squirmed, leaning as far from Irvaine as she could. “Not yours.”

  Irvaine flicked a coin up in the air. “Then I suppose I will have to report this as a violation of university law.” He caught the coin. “Applicants cannot receive financial support from current members of the University. Causes conflicts of interest.”

  Valice stared at Irvaine. Alfread could see her wrestle with whether he was lying and what the consequences could be of all possible outcomes. “You don’t have to do this,” Alfread said. He wished his heart would have been behind those words. Yet, he didn’t want to come this far to be defeated by this haughty lordling and a few golden coins. He looked down when Valice glanced at him, lest she see how much he needed her to risk herself for him.

  “If I accept your wager, you will let him test?”

  Irvaine leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on the desk. Alfread loathed the smug grin he flashed his way. “To his little heart’s content.”

  “And you will allow Salora to grade.”

  “T’would be my pleasure. But I will review the results to confirm, as is my role as the adept here.”

  Alfread’s stomach clenched at the possibility of Irvaine manipulating his exam.

  Irvaine fed into Alfread’s fears. “Worry not, on my honor as a Celvine, I solemnly swear that son of Egon’s performance will speak for itself, and not be manipulated by some soft woman’s charity.”

  “His performance will speak for itself,” Valice agreed. “And it will only be the charity of the Celvine family after I donate your gift back to him less the five he owes me.”

  Irvaine clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head. “No, no, no, Valice Dalardor. Not a single iota of my money will find its way into his filthy fingers, even should a Rebirth miracle take place. This is from me to you, payment for the pleasure of your fine company.” He winked at her. He tried to flick the coin down the top of her robes, but it clattered against her chest before bouncing back to the opulent tabletop.

  Alfread held himself still, knowing his role in this game didn’t give him the power to slam this awful creature’s head into the desk. For now, Valice was safe and he was going to be tested. “I look forward to proving you wrong,” Alfread told him.

  Irvaine shrugged. “And I look forward to making a tribute to Leverith.” He sneered at Valice. “The elusive Valice Dalardor remains one of my last holdouts. I will even give you the five coins once you fail so you can buy yourself a pony to get out of our city, little farmer boy.” Irvaine shifted to Salora. “Write his name on the applicant list.”

  “Gladly.”

  Salora retrieved a ledger from beneath the desk, making the necessary notations. The high lass was highly entertained by the show in front of her. She was just another thread in the tapestry of oppression. Alfread couldn’t help himself from looking down on her. She smiled at him after it was done. Alfread tried to mirror her, lest she sabotage his grading herself.

  Valice pushed herself out of her chair, bringing her book with her. “Come on, Alfread. I will prepare you for the examination.”

  Alfread followed Valice to rear of the great chamber, giving his eyes and attention only to her. Never before had someone taken on such personal risk to help him and she didn’t seem to be doing it out of a notion to offer him as tribute to Leverith either. Despite that, or more likely, because of that, he found himself appreciating the pleasant contours of her body knowing that it housed such a compassionate soul.

  Once out of Irvaine and Salora’s earshot, he said, “Valice the brave. Thanks for the save. Apprentice Valice Dalardor, truly has a kind core.”

  She put a hand to her heart, sharing her beautiful smile with him. “I wish we lived in a world where helping somebody take an aptitude test didn’t merit such kind words.”

  “Aye,” Alfread wholeheartedly agreed, as some of his heart was stolen. “And yet we do live in such a world. Thank you, Valice.”

  “Back in Meridian, we believe everyone deserves to learn,” Valice told him, as she opened a cabinet and started rummaging through it. “We offer education to all of our children and any can enter Erudition to seek knowledge. My ancestors knew that these restrictions on who has a right to learn only hurt Leveria. Yet, for the people here, they would choose to water only their favorite corner of the garden and then wonder why the garden doesn’t thrive.”

  “It is worse than that,” Alfread said, his positive regard for Valice flooding him. “They blame the neglected side of the garden for failing them.”

  Valice paused her rummaging to look at Alfread. “Could you imagine how beautiful the world could be if the whole garden had access to the water and the sun? Instead, we plant it in the worst soil and give the seeds of our future nothing. Then, those given everything they ever needed can point at those struggling with nothing and say that this is proof of their superiority.”

  Alfread had never in his whole entire seventeen-and-a-half years felt what he felt now. His admiration for Valice Dalardor was immeasurable, her words echoing every sentiment he ever felt toward Leverian politics. Neither Asa nor Zander had ever resonated so resoundingly with his beliefs. Here was a kindred spirit, yet born into the plenty and not the lack. His mind struggled to grasp that as his heart lumbered forth, translating his values into words that he hoped were able to stand alongside the wisdom emanating from this beautiful young woman who was infinitely more than an apprentice.

  “And it is all to maintain the status quo. How much has been lost because the people who hold the knowledge hoard it to themselves?”

  Valice nodded and bless her! Alfread could read the twinkle in her eyes. “Too much. And that isn’t all they hoard.” Valice finished gathering parchment, an inkpot, and several quills from the cabinet. She led him toward a long row of glass chambers that contained small desks and backless wooden stools that Alfread knew would be splintered and wobbly. A white cassock draped each desk.

  “Knowledge. Wealth. Power. Even love itself is hoarded.” Alfread said. “I would do what I can to change these things, Valice Dalardor.”

  Valice averted her eyes, but Alfread could see she was choked with emotion. “Even if all you ever do is try, then this is the best five gold I ever spent.”

  “And I will pay you back for that,” Alfread promised. “With interest.” Alfread meant the word on many levels, and projected each to Valice.

  “I would value your friendship above anything else you can offer, Alfread.”

  Alfread didn’t mistake her many meanings. Given his history with suitoresses, he was unaccustomed to the role of being the one politely denied, except for one particular time that happened to be the reason he was here in the first place. Thirteen Divines! He understood better now how they must’ve felt. Even when done with grace, it felt like you were a disgrace.

  The awkward silence blessedly ended when Valice slid one of the glass panels open. “This part is,” she sighed nervously, “awkward.”

  Fantastic, Alfread thought. “Awkward? Not me. Not you. Never.”

  Blushing, Valice gestured to the white cassock. She struggled to form words. Alfread couldn’t grasp how donning the cassock would be awkward. It was a stuffy tradition, sure, but how uncomfortable could it be to slip a big robe over yourself?

  Very. Apparently.

  Salora rushed over, beaming like she was shining with all the light of the sun. “In order to test, the applicant must participate in the rebirthing tradition!”

  Ah, Alfread thought, assembling the story of this so-very-Leverian tradition.

  “The applicant enters the university world naked and swaddled in white,” Salora explained. “Those that pass the examination and pay their tuition are given the green robe of the novice and a personal room in the Cradle where they can grow their mind with study.”

  “Getting dressed is hardly the hardest thing I’ve learned back on the farm,” Alfread said.

  Salora bit her lip. “I’d hope you can teach me about these hard things on your farm, Alfread. I’m a very good student.”

  Alfread’s heartbeat rose fast. He inhaled. For all that he got the sense that Salora wasn’t someone he’d ever consider bonding, she was splendid to look upon. He might have mastery over this urge, but it didn’t mean he didn’t feel it. “I’m glad to hear you value your education,” he said, the words not so steady. “One can learn much from the way folks live.”

  “One can also learn much from watching them,” Salora said, tilting her head toward the cassock. “One must observe the rebirthing to ensure the applicant takes nothing into his birthing chamber other than himself.” She strode over to Valice, placing a fair hand on the darker girl’s shoulder. “I volunteer myself for this duty.”

  “It is yours,” Valice said, taking her book and returning to the reception desk. The oak doors opened in the front. Fortunately, the testing chambers were behind a wall. Unfortunately, Salora stared at Alfread with profound anticipation, giddy energy emanating from her.

  He wasn’t ashamed of his appearance. Alfread might not be as muscular as Zander, but he was tall, lean, and powerful, with good complexion, and all the right blessings from Leverith. In a world that prized last names, he still had the privilege of being handsome. Wherever he went, women were nice to him before they even knew him, expecting him to have an attractive personality. If people judged the book by its cover, which they did, he had unfair advantages.

  Yet, something bothered him about the rebirthing process. He couldn’t imagine a tradition that allowed the adolescent daughters of archlords to be bared. Would a man who disowned his daughter for loving a commoner allow her to get undressed in front of a random person to go to school? Then he remembered that the piety of Leveria was founded on the sexualization and promiscuity of young adults and that none were held to the highest of beauty standards like a highborn woman was. His grandfather didn’t disown his daughter because she bared herself, but because of who she bared herself to. To men like him, their daughter’s worth was determined by the alliances they could provide with their beauty.

  Alfread knew the answer before he finished the asking. “Did you have to do the same when you took the application exam?”

  “Only royals or cognitive-affectomancers are exempt from the applicant exam,” Salora explained. “Think of it like you would a Purification ritual. Only it will be better because I will be here with you.”

  She batted her eyes. Alfread used that, hoping to make use of his privilege to ensure his exam was graded fairly. He made deep eye contact with Salora. “To be fair, everyone undresses on Purification.”

  The high lady blushed, placing her genteel fingers on her robe buttons. “I am a fair lady,” she said with a salacious wink, “and you have made an excellent point. I will partake partway now, and all the way later should you find yourself a member of the University.”

  “What of tradition?” Alfread whispered.

  Salora raised an eyebrow. Her voice was low and husky. “Archlord Rainwater need not concern himself with his daughter’s secrets and neither need you concern yourself with him.” Before she was finished, her neck, breasts, and belly were exposed to him, while her robes covered her back, hips, and legs. Anyone glancing back here would see her dressed, missing the view Alfread partook in.

  Salora Rainwater had a pageant winner’s height and frame. Alfread could envision himself tossing her onto his bed, cupping her breasts in his hands, kissing her neck, and thrusting himself deep inside of her belly. The vision played in his mind: her moans for him, her hands clinging to his back, her legs shaking as her body surrendered to his touch, and the feel of himself exploring every inch of her beautiful body.

  He kept his fingers steady as first brigandine, then tunic hit the floor. Salora exhaled a heavy, lusty breath. She reached out her soft hands and caressed his muscular chest, ran down his toned abdomen, coursed up his obliques, and traced down his shoulders to his powerful arms. Her eyes weren’t on his as he undid his belt. “Find anything I’m not supposed to take into the exam with me?” Alfread whispered.

  “Not yet,” she said, reaching for his pants. “I better check everything. Don’t you think?”

  Alfread puckered his lips, carefully guiding her hands. A part of him felt guilty for doing this. Yet, the larger part of him was swollen with lust and excitement at the game he played. He justified that he was only doing what he needed to get into Leverian University, and that everyone else had already done far more in the name of tribute. “Lady Salora, lovely aurora. Prepare for a sight of future delight?”

  He let go of his light touch on her wrists and she ripped the belt out of its loops, then dropped his trousers and loincloth to the floor like a child ripping open a wrapped present on the Rebirth holyday. The chubby captain, as Kenneth had taken to calling the phallic state characterized by full mass and low mast dangled in front of Archlord Loftlan Rainwater’s daughter. She seized it in her hand, then tugged on him.

  He hadn’t envisioned her going this far, nor for the second, third, and fourth tugs. By the time she put her tongue in his gaped maw his mind still hadn’t caught up. Salora traced her fingers along the length of his manhood, nibbled on his neck, and pressed her exposed belly against him. Alfread didn’t want to like it. Didn’t want to feel such heat for a lordling, but that only seemed to make him want it more. He tried to kill his lust with thoughts about test questions, but the captain kept trying to raise the mast.

  “Alfread son of Evan passes inspection,” Salora announced, her voice ringing through the Foundry. “Gloriously, my mountain man,” she whispered in his ear, nibbling on the earlobe and tugging him once more before pulling away.

  Freeing his ankles from the confines of his pants and loincloth, Alfread slipped into the cubicle.

  “Leave the door open,” Salora said, “and don’t don the cassock until you’re given permission.”

  Salora refastened her buttons with a wink, then sashayed toward the reception desk. As Alfread watched those hips sway, reliving the feeling of her on him, he worried that he’d gone too far. An archlord’s daughter probably wouldn’t respond well to a polite refusal. Stifling the anxiety before it seized him, he took solace in the likelihood that she wouldn’t sabotage his scoring.

  When Valice rounded the corner, Alfread tried to cover himself up with the cassock, but it was too late. Valice quickly pulled back, covered her eyes, and squeaked, “Please don the Rebirthing robe and take a seat.”

  Ashamed that he’d upset his one true ally, and annoyed that Salora had tricked him into doing it, Alfread slipped into the cassock. The divinedamned thing was itchy and left his knees exposed making him feel like he was a sheep sheared below the knees.

  Valice delivered a large sheaf of parchments. “You will not be permitted to leave the chamber for any reason during the examination.” She gestured to a pan in the corner. “If you must.”

  “Understood,” Alfread said, hoping his smile would restore the goodwill he’d lost.

  Valice’s smile was forced when she slid the panel shut. Alfread couldn’t see out of the room, though they could see in.

  Despite taking a test that determined his fate, he felt relieved. Here, at least, he would be able to prove himself on nothing but his own merit. No frolicking and politicking involved. No lordlings to heckle him. No girls trying to lift his mass and set sail. Alfread took the quill, dipped it into the inkpot, and began.