3

Cull, you're beyond this, said Esste, with grief and sympathy and reproach. You're a good teacher, and that's why we trusted you with the new ones.

I know, Cull said. But Esste--

You wept for minutes. Minutes before you regained Control. Cull, have you been ill?"

Healthy.

Are you unhappy?

I wasn't, not until after-after. I wasn't weeping for grief, Mother Esste, I was weeping for--

For what?

Joy.

Esste hammed exasperation and noncomprehension.

The child, Esste, the child.

Ansset, yes? The blond one?

Yes. I sang him trust, and he sang it back to me.

He shows promise then, and you broke Control in front of him.

You are impatient.

Esste bowed her head. I am. Her posture said shame. Her voice said she was still impatient and only a little ashamed after all. She could not lie to a teacher.

Listen to me, pleaded Cull.

I'm listening, said Esste's reassuring sigh.

Ansset sang my trust back to me note for note, perfectly. Nearly a minute, and it wasn't easy. And he didn't sing just the melody. He sang pitch. He sang nuance. He sang every emotion I had said to him, except that it was stronger. It was like singing into a long hall and having the sound come back at you louder than you sang it,

Do you exaggerate? asked Esste's hum.

I was shocked. And yet delighted. Because I knew in that instant that here we had a true prodigy. Someone who might become a Songbird--

Careful, careful, said the hiss from Esste's mouth.

I know it's not my decision, but you didn't hear his answer. It's his first day, his first lesson-and anyway, that was nothing, nothing at all to what came after, Esste, he sang the love song to me. Rruk only sang it to him once yesterday. But he sang the whole thing--