An abandoned boy, a grieving prince, and a reclusive sorcerer find themselves caught in a web of peril and mystery...
Domi, a young thief abandoned on the street at birth, just wants to save his dying foster mother. But first, he must survive the m...
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Domi didn't understand why he must stay in bed. He felt great. Wonderful. Far better than someone who had been eviscerated by a lifeholder and executed by a worldholder a day before had any right to feel.
"You must stay put because I don't want you to fall flat on your face," the lifeholder who tended him said. "That would require me to waste promenia to heal you. Again."
"I didn't get to see you waste promenia the first time," Domi pointed out. After all, he'd been unconscious or close to it at the time. He missed the whole thing. He offered her a sly grin. "And what if I'm a lifeholder? Shouldn't I watch? Start learning?"
He still did not buy that he was a Promethides, let alone a Trueborn Lightbearer. But Arbita thought he was, all because he bled all over that stone or whatever.
The empathy she bestowed on him because of her mistaken belief in their similarity worked in his favor. After all, no one would show him the time of day, let alone take care of him like this, if they deemed him a mere Pullatus.
He meant to stay in the Collegium as long as he could get away with it. He needed to regain as much strength as possible to steal the stone again, this time without getting caught or killed.
Radix, sitting curled up in a velvet armchair at the side of his bed, said, "I saw it."
Their voice was so soft Domi found himself asking, "What?"
"Saw her heal you." They shuddered. "It wasn't pretty, Domi."
He tilted his head. "The healing?"
"No, you." They fidgeted with the layered servant's tunicas someone gave them to wear, one a bright masculine mint, the other a warm feminine gold. The combination looked good on them. Really good. "You were burned all over. Your head, arm, both feet... You were smoking, Domi, and the cut..."
He nibbled his lip. "How bad was it?"
They gulped, graying, and glanced away toward one of the little kids sleeping, flushed with fever, in the bed across from Domi. "Bad. When Promerenti Arbita undressed you to tend it, I saw things. Inside. I don't want her to need to heal you. It would mean you got hurt again."
Domi found the description of his injuries hard to believe. Sure, he remembered pain. Vaguely. He remembered holding his belly, astonished by how much blood soaked his new paenula. He remembered the air flaring white when the worldholder struck him with lightning.
But now there was no pain, no blood, no burns, and no scars. No reminder of his ordeal remained except a little bald spot on his head where the lightning strike singed off a bit of his hair. He hoped it would grow back. But otherwise, no hint of yesterday's injuries lingered other than this intense weakness.
"Drink this," Arbita said, some of the earlier exasperation fading from her voice. Domi scowled, but they both understood she had won for now.
He accepted the familiar goblet. The creamy, floral drink inside still tasted incredible. His body wanted nothing else. Which was lucky for him, because Arbita gave him nothing else to eat or drink since his arrival, and the sick toddlers in the other beds received the same treatment. "What is this?" he asked between greedy sips.
