I began by raiding Max’s bookcases, sprawling the tomes all over the floor and chipping through words I hardly
understood. Something in here had to help me, or at least give me a hint as to what would impress the Orders. But reading them felt like wading through sludge. Aran words blurred in front of me, little more than a tangle of letters. Tucked between books were pieces of parchments with circles scribbled on them, similar to the ones I’d seen Nura draw, but I had no idea what they did. The books didn’t help with that, either.
Max regarded me through all of this, ignoring me except to remind me not to touch something or to clean up whatever I had misplaced (I refrained from pointing out that “cleaning up” was an awfully relative term, in this house). Eventually, he went into the kitchen and soon, aromas that made my stomach rumble filled the house. He emerged with two plates, motioning for me to sit.
I slid into a chair, not even really bothering to look at what I was eating before inhaling it. I was that hungry.
Max eyed the pile of books at the center of the floor. “How far did those get you? They’re not exactly easy reading.”
I pushed my rice around my plate. Before I could find a way to tell him exactly how far they didn’t get me, the door
swung open.
I looked up to see a man standing in the doorway — tall and straight-backed, hands tucked into the pockets of a well-fitting bronze jacket. He was perhaps Max’s age, with dark skin, cropped black hair, and quiet eyes that slowly moved from me to Max and back again.
Max looked over his shoulder. “You should knock. One of these days you’re going to walk in on something that you don’t want to see.”
The newcomer’s brows rose, just slightly. “Is that what I’m doing now?”
“Not that kind of scandal, sadly.”
He shot Max a questioning look, then took a step forward and leaned over the table, extending a hand to me. “Sammerin. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?” His voice was low and smooth, deep but inviting and gentle.
It took me just long enough to be awkward to realize that I was supposed to grasp his hand. This was not a common greeting in Threll. “Tisaanah.”
“This is my apprentice,” Max said. He hadn’t stopped eating through this exchange. “At least, so they tell me.”
Sammerin straightened, his eyebrows jumping. “She’s your apprentice?”
Every single word is that small sentence was emphasized in a different way, communicating a different meaning.
“She’s your apprentice?” Translation: She’s a Valtain, and a Fragmented one for good measure.
“She’s your apprentice?” Translation: She’s way too old for this.
“She’s your apprentice?” Translation: They got you to take an apprentice?
It was oddly comforting, the way these things transcended language. And that I could hear those little nuances in Aran just as I did in Thereni.
Max sighed. “Yes, apparently.”
Sammerin seemed stunned by this, his brow wrinkling thoughtfully. Then it smoothed as offered me a small smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Tisaanah. I’m sorry that you’ve been saddled with such an unpleasant mentor.”
I liked him.
Max jerked upright, leaning to peer around Sammerin’s body at the doorway. “What did I tell you? No apprentices allowed in the house!”
“You just said that she’s an apprentice,” a wavering, lisped voice replied. I craned my neck to see a boy standing behind Sammerin, perhaps twelve years old, chubby with a mopped head of curly blond hair.
“This one won’t leave, so it appears that I’m stuck with her. But if she broke as many of my things as you did, I’d banish her, too.”
“I’m sorry about the spyglass, it was—”
Sammerin looked down at the boy. “Why don’t you go outside and practice today’s lesson? I won’t be here long.”
“But—”
“Moth.” The patience in Sammerin’s voice was so threadbare that it sounded within seconds of tearing.
The child sighed. “Fine,” he huffed, then retreated into the garden. Sammerin shut the door behind him, letting out a low, exasperated breath as he sank into a chair.
“That boy. You have no idea.” I had some idea.
“I have some idea,” Max said.
“Five and a half years left.” Sammerin eyed the bottle of wine. Max poured him a glass and slid it across the table.
Sammerin straightened as he turned back to me, as if he was trying to shake off his frustration. “So, Tisaanah. Tell me about yourself.” He was so soft-spoken that I found myself leaning closer in order to hear him. I wondered if this was intentional.
“Nura just left her here yesterday,” Max grumbled.
“My question was not directed at you.” Sammerin gave Max a withering look, then turned a much more pleasant gaze to me, waiting politely.
Yes, I decided, I definitely liked him.
“I must apprentice for joining the Orders. Max is the only one who can do it. So I am here.”
“Hm.” A flicker crossed Sammerin’s face, gone before I could identify it. Then, “You aren’t from Ara, are you?”
Oh, he was pretending that my accent wasn’t that noticeable. Very cute. “I came from Threll.”
“That is a long journey.” I nodded.
Sammerin’s fingers hovered at his chin, thoughtfully brushing his cropped beard. “And you came just for the Orders?”
I nodded. “I met a Valtain, Zeryth, who teach me about them. He said he would introduce me, but…”
Sammerin and Max exchanged a look. Max sat up straighter, suddenly attentive. “Zeryth Aldris?”
“Yes.” I flicked my eyes between the two men across from me, my own interest piqued by theirs. “You know him?”
“What was Zeryth doing in Threll?” Max asked.
“He said — Order things.” I tried not to look too interested. “Why?”
Silence for a second too long. “We’re just curious,” Sammerin said.
“How do you know him?” “It’s a long story. We—”
“Sammerin, I don’t mean to interrupt you but—” Max stood up, peering out the window. “Your apprentice has set my rose bushes on fire.”
Sammerin jumped to his feet, muttering a word that I didn’t understand but was spoken with the violent enthusiasm of a curse. “That boy. You have no idea.”
I have some idea, I thought.
“Five years, four months, and twenty-six days.” Sammerin paused at the door, his voice softening into a honeyed tone that, I suspected, was reserved only for attractive young women. “It was lovely to meet you, Tisaanah.”
“And you.” I unleashed my most well-practiced, charming smile.
I wondered if Sammerin would be open to taking a second apprentice. He seemed far more agreeable.
“What about me?” Max said. “Was it lovely to see me, Sammerin?”
Sammerin placed a sarcastic hand over his heart. “Always, Max.”
Then he slipped out the door, leaving it to slam behind him. In the distance, we heard his voice. “Moth! By the Ascended, what are you doing?”
“I was just—”
“You can’t just wander around throwing those sparks—”
The voices stopped abruptly. I wondered if they had disappeared like Nura had when she brought me here.
Max and I sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other.
“You could have that apprentice,” I said, at last.
A smile quirked at the corners of Max’s mouth, though it looked like he was fighting it desperately. “True,” he replied.
And then, at the same time, we both chuckled.
