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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It was late afternoon on the third day of Domi's lessons when Valens at last deigned to teach him anything.
They sat together in the garden under the gazebo, the circular structure serving as a "change of scenery" for his otherwise unchanging breathing exercises. His aedificans believed lounging under the open-sided building—where the garden's sage-scented breeze brushed skin and ruffled hair—would introduce minor distractions to help sharpen Domi's ability to concentrate.
Instead, it kept putting him to sleep.
"Stop."
The snapped word sliced through the fuzzy tendrils of dreams that had been weaving their way into the space between each inhalation and exhalation. Domi cursed inside his head as he opened his eyes and blinked at his mentor. Drool dampened his lip. He wiped it away with a sheepish smile.
"You are never going to obtain the laurel you so desire if you refuse to learn these simple things, Alumna." The words were matter-of-fact, without particular disappointment or judgment. Domi was beginning to realize that meant his aedificans felt less grouchy than usual. The man seemed to like being outside, and when Valens felt content, or at least less sour, that meant Domi got away with things.
This time, though, Domi didn't want to get away with it. He wanted to master his breathing so he could move on to other things and, yes, see that glittery blackness coil about his throat like a real worldholder.
"Sorry, Aedificanti. Was I, erm, snoring?"
Valens snorted. "Yes. Like an over-gorged pig."
"I'm as stuffed as an over-gorged pig." Domi patted his belly, still rounded from the buttered flatbread, soup, rosemary-spiced rice, and cheese-stuffed peppers they'd eaten for lunch.
"You did not need to eat so much."
Domi lifted a brow. "Then why did you have me make so much?"
"To teach you to cook." Valens shook his head. "A skill you've clearly never learned."
The boy did not respond. He did not mind preparing the post-Brightening meal for the two of them. Though it meant he had needed to wake up earlier and spend more time with the Trueborn today than he liked, to his surprise, he found cooking fun. He had never been given the opportunity to play around with interesting ingredients before or make dishes for the pleasure of eating them instead of simple survival. Valens owned a spacious kitchen with its own promenia-powered stove. It even had an oven. Domi couldn't believe the man didn't need to go to the communal ovens to bake bread.
To their mutual dismay, Valens had ended up stuck supervising him the whole time. The worldholder gave Domi a culinary manual to help him learn, but the Pullatus could not read, much to his aedificans's displeasure.
"Promethidae children begin learning to read, write, figure, and use their prometus while still in nursery school," Valens had said, grumbling. "What do they teach Pullati?"
