The tall hall of Gildya Magna reminded Koshmarnyk of his past more than he liked. Back then he’d often sneaked through the servants’ door, rushing to a lecture or a workshop, avoiding his teachers. This time, he used the main entrance, and a passing-by adept’s startled expression brought a half-smile to his face. His sleeveless vest exposed gems in his forearms, and although he wasn’t one to provoke, Gildya had made the first move ten years ago.
Kamira was right—if he wanted to change things around Kaighal, he had to do it from a position of power and confidence. Otherwise the adepts would once more coddle him with empty promises while preparing the knife to go in his back.
As he walked across the polished marble, its geometric designs once fuel for ideas and now nothing but pointless sh
