5 Years Ago
I did not go to Elder Torin in secret.
I went in the open, my head high, my spine straight, the wristband heavy against my skin like a living thing. If he wished to pretend I was still a child, he could summon and dismiss; I would remind him otherwise. I wondered how my parents would have left me in his care because he acted as if he were jealous of my status.
His chambers smelled of old smoke and bitter herbs. The walls were lined with carved runes and relics from wars long before my birth, trophies of power he liked to believe still belonged to him. Torin stood by the floor of the fireplace when I entered, his back to me, hands clasped behind him, as if he had already decided the shape of the conversation.
“You came,” he said without turning.
“I always do,” I replied. “E
