Mother of Learning: ARC 1

2

In any case, while Zorian had no delusions about ever seeing his writing supplies again, he really needed those textbooks. With that in mind, he marched off to his sister’s room, ignoring the ‘Keep out!’ warning on the door, and quickly found his missing books in their usual location—cunningly hidden under the bed, behind several conveniently placed stuffed animals.

His packing done, he went downstairs to eat something and see what Mother wanted from him.

Though his family thought he simply liked to sleep in, Zorian actually had a reason for being a late riser. It meant he could eat his food in peace, as everyone else had already had breakfast by then. Few things annoyed him more than someone trying to strike up a conversation while he was eating, and that was precisely the time when the rest of his family was most talkative. Unfortunately, that peace seemed beyond reach this morning. He hadn’t even finished his descent to the kitchen when Mother pounced on him, having already found something about him she didn’t like.

“You don’t really intend to go out looking like that, do you?” she asked.

“What’s wrong with this?” asked Zorian. He was wearing simple brown trousers and a clean white shirt. A little plain and utilitarian, but little different from the outfits other boys of similar age wore when they went to the city. It seemed just fine to him.

“You can’t go out looking like that,” his mother said with a long-suffering sigh. “What do you think people will say when they see you wearing that?”

“Nothing?” Zorian tried.

“Zorian, don’t be so difficult,” she snapped at him. “Our family is one of the pillars of this town. We’re under scrutiny every time we leave the house. I know you don’t care about such things, but appearances are important to a lot of people. You need to realize you’re not an island, and you can’t decide things as if you were alone in the world. You are a member of this family, and your actions inevitably reflect on our reputation. I will not let you embarrass me by looking like a common factory worker. Go back to your room and put on some proper clothes.”

Zorian restrained himself from rolling his eyes just long enough to turn his back on her. Maybe her guilt trip would have been more effective if this was the first time she tried it on him. Still, it wasn’t worth the argument, so he changed into a pricier set of clothes—a more colorful shirt made from the fine dyed linen his mother preferred and a more elaborate jacket with ivory buttons and whatnot. It was excessive, considering he’d be spending the whole day in the train, but his mother nodded approvingly when she saw him coming down the stairs. She had him turn and pose like a show animal for a while before pronouncing him ‘fairly decent’. He went to the kitchen and, to his annoyance, Mother followed after him. No eating in peace today, it seemed.

Father was thankfully on one of his 'business trips', so Zorian wouldn't have to deal with him today.

He entered the kitchen and frowned when he saw a bowl of porridge already waiting for him on the table. Usually he made his own breakfast, and he liked it that way, but he knew his mother never accepted that. This was her idea of a peace gesture, which meant she was going to ask something of him he wouldn’t like.

“I figured I’d prepare something for you today, and I know you’ve always liked porridge,” she said. Zorian refrained from mentioning he hadn’t liked it since he was about eight. “You slept longer than I thought you would, though. It's gone cold while I've waited for you.”

Zorian rolled his eyes and cast a slightly modified ‘heat water’ spell on the porridge, which was instantly returned to a pleasant temperature.

He ate his breakfast in silence while Mother talked to him at length about a crop-related dispute one of their suppliers was involved in, dancing around whatever topic she wanted to broach. He effortlessly tuned her out. It was practically a survival skill for every child in the Kazinski family, as both Mother and Father were prone to protracted lectures on every subject imaginable, but doubly so for Zorian, who was the black sheep of the family and thus subjected to such monologues more frequently than the rest. Thankfully, his mother thought nothing of his silence, because Zorian was always as silent as possible around his family—he had learned many years ago that this was the easiest way of getting along with them.

“Mother,” he interrupted her, “I just woke up via Kiri jumping on me, I haven’t had a chance to go to the bathroom, and now you’re pestering me while I’m eating. Either get to the point or wait a couple of minutes while I finish breakfast.”

“She did it again?” his mother asked, amusement obvious in her voice.

Zorian rubbed his eyes, not saying anything, before surreptitiously pocketing an apple from the bowl on the table while his mother wasn’t looking. There were a lot of annoying things Kirielle did again and again, but complaining about it to Mother was a waste of time. No one in this family was on his side.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” his mother said, noticing his less-than-pleased reaction. “She’s just bored and playing with you. You take things way too seriously, just like your father.”

“I am nothing like my father!” Zorian insisted, raising his voice and glaring at her. This was why he hated eating with other people. He returned to his breakfast with renewed vigor, eager to finish this as soon as possible.

“Of course you’re not,” Mother said airily, before suddenly switching the subject. “Actually, this reminds me of something. Your father and I are going to Koth to visit Daimen.”

Zorian bit the spoon in his mouth to prevent himself from making a snide comment. It was always Daimen this, Daimen that. There were days when Zorian wondered why his parents had three other children when they were clearly so enamored of their eldest son. Really, going to another continent just to visit him? What, were they going to die if they didn’t see him for a year?

“What’s that got to do with me?” Zorian asked.