Thunder rolled over the rooftops of Arnathe like heavy barrels tumbling down stone steps. The sound lingered, deep and low, then faded into the steady rush of rain. Water streamed from every tiled roof and poured from gargoyles shaped like lions and old kings. The streets below the college hill were already turning to mud.

  Velthur stood beneath the covered walkway outside the main lecture hall and watched lightning flash over the distant walls of the city. Each strike lit the world in sharp white for a heartbeat, then left everything darker than before.

  He should have gone back to his dormitory when the bells rang for storm curfew. Everyone else had. But storms made him restless. Ever since he was small, loud weather made it hard for him to sit still. It felt like something important might happen while everyone else hid indoors.

  He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and leaned against one of the stone pillars. The college courtyard stretched out before him, empty except for sheets of rain and a few abandoned wooden practice swords near the fencing circle.

  Three years, he thought.

  Three years since his father and the warband had taken on Nezzarod. Five years since running, fighting, and losing his old home Elzibar. He was taller now. His voice had changed. He wore a student’s blue sash instead of a traveler’s dust. But some nights he still felt like the same frightened boy from the forest road.

  A flash of lightning lit the tallest tower of the college.

  Something moved along the edge of the roof.

  Velthur squinted through the rain.

  A large black bird sat on the stone lip near the bell arch. It did not move when thunder followed. It just watched the courtyard below, head tilted slightly, as if listening.

  “A raven,” Velthur muttered.

  The bird felt out of place. Surely it would take cover in a storm.

  “Course you’d be out here.”

  Velthur turned. Tarrow jogged under the walkway, hood half on, half falling off, curls plastered to his forehead. He carried an armful of rolled parchment that was slowly getting damp at the edges.

  “You’ll ruin those,” Velthur said.

  “I already ruined them,” Tarrow replied cheerfully. “Magister Hollen says if they smear, I have to re-write them. Truth is I just wrote gibberish because I forgot about the assignment until last minute. Now I’ll be forced to have more time!”

  Velthur gave him a look. “You came out in this weather to delay your assignment?”

  “No,” Tarrow said. “I came out because scaffolding fell off the new west wing and everyone is shouting about it.”

  Velthur straightened. “What?”

  “Big crash. Workers were still up there trying to tie down canvas before the wind took it. I was in the library annex and thought the ceiling fell in.” He jerked his head toward the far side of the courtyard. “They’re all running that way.”

  Another lightning flash split the sky. For an instant the courtyard shone bright as day.

  Velthur glanced back where had looked before. The raven was gone.

  “Come on,” Tarrow said. “If we are going to get yelled at for being outside, we should at least have a good reason.”

  They ran across the courtyard, boots splashing through shallow streams of rainwater. Wind tugged at Velthur’s hood and shoved cold water down the back of his collar. By the time they reached the western side of the college grounds, a small crowd had gathered under an overhang across from the half-finished building.

  The new west wing was supposed to house lecture rooms and private study chambers. Wooden scaffolding still wrapped around the outer walls. Or at least most of it did. A section had collapsed inward, taking a chunk of the unfinished stone face with it.

  Lanterns bobbed in the rain as workers and a few instructors shouted over the storm.

  “Everyone accounted for?” someone yelled.

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  “Jerrik’s here!”

  “So is Maldo!”

  “I saw Peren climb down before it went!”

  Velthur spotted a familiar lithe figure near the front of the on-lookers. Nethira stood with her arms crossed, rain dripping from her hood. She had just returned from a fortnight trip to the grove, and she was met with this terrible storm upon her return.

  Velthur felt a flicker of relief just seeing her.

  Nethira noticed him a moment later. She pushed through the crowd toward the boys.

  “You two should be inside,” he said. Her voice was calm, but there was strain in it.

  “We heard the crash,” Velthur said. “Is anyone hurt?”

  “Doesn’t seem like it,” Nethira said. “Probably more startled than anything.”

  Tarrow leaned past him, peering at the scene. “I never noticed that before.” He pointed to a section of the grounds that had been unearthed that had been uncovered as a canvas had blown away.

  Nethira glanced back. “Neither have I. Maybe it was dug up while I was away.”

  “That must be old,” Tarrow said, frowning. “Maybe from an older building. What does the script on it say?”

  Velthur stepped closer to peer at it, though couldn’t make out a script at all. It looked like symbols he had never seen before.

  One of the foremen standing next to the group, a stocky woman with a leather cap, pointed at the opening. “Strange, I don’t remember seeing that during framing,” she said mostly to herself.

  “Is it part of the original structure?” Velthur asked.

  She shrugged. “Maybe. We were using parts of an older foundation, or at least that is what I was told.”

  Tarrow shook his head slowly. “Yeah, foundation of a school. A different school. Older.”

  Nethira looked at him. “Different school? I think I vaguely remember hearing about that. That was some years back, though.”

  “I remember reading a scroll once that mentioned it,” Tarrow said. “About the Lyceum that stood here long ago. It mentioned halls beneath the current foundations.”

  Velthur felt a strange chill that had nothing to do with the rain.

  Another lightning strike lit the broken wall.

  For a split second, Velthur could see lines carved into the dark stone in the ground. Shapes.

  The thunder came so fast it felt like the ground shook.

  “Did you see that?” Velthur asked.

  “See what?” Maruzan said.

  “Tarrow?”

  Tarrow was already squinting into the opening. “Hold on.”

  Before anyone could stop him, he ducked under the rope barrier and stepped closer to the hole.

  “Tarrow,” Nethira warned.

  “I am not going in,” Tarrow said. “I just want a better look.”

  The foreman yelled at Tarrow as he held his lantern over the hole hiding the slab.

  The light fell across the exposed surface.

  There were carvings.

  Not decorative swirls or mason marks. These were symbols, cut deep and worn smooth by time. Circles within circles. Lines that bent at sharp angles and then curved back in ways that made Velthur’s eyes struggle to follow them.

  “Those are not builder’s marks,” Nethira said softly.

  “No,” Tarrow agreed. “They are not.”

  “Step back now,” the foreman said. “We do not know how stable the ground is.”

  Tarrow took one more long look, then retreated under the overhang.

  Velthur joined him. “Did you get a good look?”

  Tarrow nodded slowly. “I have seen shapes like that in old diagrams. Not exact, but similar. They had to do with...maybe meditation? Or deep thoughts, maybe subconscious.”

  Velthur’s stomach tightened.

  Dreams.

  He thought of things he had seen that he still did not fully understand. Of places that felt real even when they weren’t.

  Nethira rested a hand on Velthur’s shoulder. “Do not go chasing this yet,” she said quietly. “Storms make people imagine more than is there.”

  Velthur nodded, but his eyes stayed on the carvings.

  Behind them, a new voice cut through the rain.

  “What happened here?”

  Magister Justinus strode across the courtyard, cloak snapping behind him. Water streamed off his shoulders but he did not seem to notice. His sharp eyes took in the broken scaffolding, the gathered workers, the hole in the wall.

  “Scaffold collapse,” the foreman said. “No injuries. Canvas flew off a hole covering a stone, too, so we’re trying to keep the kids away until we secure the site again.”

  She gestured toward the exposed stone.

  Justinus stepped closer. He made himself tall and peered at the stone and the markings that become visible via lightning.

  For a moment he said nothing.

  Velthur watched his face.

  The magister did not look curious.

  He looked concerned.

  Justinus lowered the lamp. “No one goes near it until the council reviews the structure.”

  His gaze swept the students. It lingered on Velthur and Tarrow.

  “You two,” he said. “Back to your dormitories. Now.”

  Tarrow opened his mouth, then closed it again. He gave Velthur a sideways look that clearly meant that they would talk again soon.

  They turned and started back across the courtyard.

  Halfway there, Velthur glanced up at the tower again. The raven was back.

  It stood on the edge of the roof, feathers slick with rain, head turned toward the broken wall.

  Watching.