6
Archmage Yoreus poured himself more wine. The soft cushions he valued for their comfort made him sink into the armchair as if the burden of his thoughts weighed on his body. Atissa walked in, and her rocking steps brought beauty and harmony into the chaos of suspicions, fears, and decisions that plagued Yoreus’s mind. She brushed her brown locks behind her ears and straightened invisible creases on the simple student robe she wore.
“He’s asleep now, Father,” she said with that sweet, soft voice he made her practice. “Why did you bring him here? He’s just a refugee, even if he is of a noble ancestry. The Devanshari are of no consequence to us.” She stopped several steps away, awaiting his permission.
“You shouldn’t be so certain.” He indicated the other armchair. He might have offered
