Damion didn’t like to argue with age—very well, he relished arguing with anyone older than he so he might put his mighty wit and magic on display. At least he had until he’d acquired a damned shadow in the person of that spell that seemed to be ever watching him for the slightest misstep. It was a novel sensation, that not wanting to draw attention to himself. He could only hope that was an aberration that would eventually pass.
“I don’t know, Auntie,” he said, dredging up what he hoped would pass for a respectful tone. “It seems a bit on the dull side to me.”
“I despair for the future of the race,” she said, shaking her head. She reached out and cuffed him on the ear. “Everything flows through here, whelp. Tales, magic, mages. Everything. And don’t think a decent amount of all three doe
