Nezil Basodo woke up to discover that it was still pitch-black in his bedroom. Or close enough to it. Still night. Which was a pain in the a*s because he was anything but tired. Lamisso’s gentle snoring filled his mind with ideas.
He waved his hand over the nightstand, activating a small, spherical lamp. The sudden burst of light made Lamisso stir and murmur something incoherent, but she went back to sleep in short order, too tired to complain.
His bedroom was tastefully decorated; framed photographs were hung on the pale, gray walls, each one capturing a moment of exquisite beauty. A sunrise, a field of stars as seen through a powerful telescope, the blossoming of a pink diadra flower in spring. He had paid good money for all of them and for everything else besides.
diadraThe gilded le
