“I like working,” she said, scraping away again. “It clears the head.”
“Didn’t you just tell me that I wouldn’t like having to labor? My face furrowed before its time, or something poetic like that?”
She hesitated, then laughed. “Clever boy.”
“Cold boy,” he grumbled, shivering.
“I work because I want to. We can’t spend those spheres – they’re for your education – and so my working is better than forcing your father to charge for his healings.”
“Maybe they’d respect us more if we did charge.”
“Oh, they respect us. No, I don’t think that is the problem.” She looked down at Kal. “You know that we’re second nahn.”
“Sure,” Kal said, shrugging.
“An accomplished young surgeon of the right rank could draw the attention of a poorer noble family, one who wished money and acclaim. It happens in the larger cities.”
Kal glanced up at the mansion again. “That’s why you encouraged me to play with Laral so much. You wanted to marry me off to her, didn’t you?”
“It was a possibility,” his mother said, returning to her work.
He honestly wasn’t certain how he felt about that. The last few months had been strange for Kal. His father had forced him into his studies, but in secret he’d spent his time with the staff. Two possible paths. Both enticing. Kal did like learning, and he longed for the ability to help people, bind their wounds, make them better. He saw true nobility in what his father did.
But it seemed to Kal that if he could fight, he could do something even more noble. Protect their lands, like the great lighteyed heroes of the stories. And there was the way he felt when holding a weapon.
Two paths. Opposites, in many ways. He could only choose one.
His mother kept chipping away at the eaves, and – with a sigh – Kal fetched a second stepladder and set of tools from the workroom, then joined her. He was tall for his age, but he still had to stand high on the ladder. He caught his mother smiling as he worked, no doubt pleased at having raised such a helpful young man. In reality, Kal just wanted the chance to pound on something.
How would he feel, marrying someone like Laral? He’d never be her equal. Their children would have a chance of being lighteyed or darkeyed, so even his children might outrank him. He knew he’d feel terribly out of place. That was another aspect of becoming a surgeon. If he chose that path, he would be choosing the life of his father. Choosing to set himself apart, to be isolated.
If he went to war, however, he would have a place. Maybe he could even do the nearly unthinkable, win a Shardblade and become a true lighteyes. Then he could marry Laral and not have to be her inferior. Was that why she’d always encouraged him to become a soldier? Had she been thinking about these kinds of things, even back then? Back then, these kinds of decisions – marriage, his future – had seemed impossibly far-off to Kal.
He felt so young. Did he really have to consider these questions? It would still be another few years before the surgeons of Kharbranth would let him take their tests. But if he were going to become a soldier instead, he’d have to join the army before that happened. How would his father react if Kal just up and went with the recruiters? Kal wasn’t certain he’d be able to face Lirin’s disappointed eyes.
As if in response to his thoughts, Lirin’s voice called from nearby. “Hesina!”
Kal’s mother turned, smiling and tucking a stray lock of dark hair back into her kerchief. Kal’s father rushed down the street, his face anxious. Kal felt a sudden jolt of worry. Who was wounded? Why hadn’t Lirin sent for him?
“What is it?” Kal’s mother asked, climbing down.
“He’s here, Hesina,” Kal’s father said.
“About time.”
“Who?” Kal asked, jumping down from the stepladder. “Who’s here?”
“The new citylord, son,” Lirin said, his breath puffing in the cold air. “His name is Brightlord Roshone. No time to change, I’m afraid. Not if we want to catch his first speech. Come on!”
The three of them hurried away, Kal’s thoughts and worries banished in the face of the chance to meet a new lighteyes.
“He didn’t send word ahead,” Lirin said under his breath.
“That could be a good sign,” Hesina replied. “Maybe he doesn’t feel he needs everyone to dote on him.”
“That, or he’s inconsiderate. Stormfather, I hate getting a new Landed. Always makes me feel like I’m throwing a handful of stones into a game of breakneck. Will we throw the queen or the tower?”
“We shall see soon enough,” Hesina said, glancing at Kal. “Don’t let your father’s words unnerve you. He always gets pessimistic at times like this.”
“I do not,” Lirin said.
She gave him a look.
“Name one other time.”
“Meeting my parents.”
Kal’s father pulled up short, blinking. “Stormwinds,” he muttered, “let’s hope this doesn’t go half as poorly as that.”
Kal listened with curiosity. He’d never met his mother’s parents; they weren’t often spoken of. Soon, the three of them reached the south side of town. A crowd was gathered, and Tien was already there, waiting. He waved in his excitable way, jumping up and down.
“Wish I had half that boy’s energy,” Lirin said.
“I’ve got a place for us picked out!” Tien called eagerly, pointing. “By the rain barrels! Come on! We’re going to miss it!”
Tien scurried over, climbing atop the barrels. Several of the town’s other boys noticed him, and they nudged one another, one making some comment Kal couldn’t hear. It set the others laughing at Tien, and that immediately made Kal furious. Tien didn’t deserve mockery just because he was a little small for his age.
This wasn’t a good time to confront the other boys, though, so Kal sullenly joined his parents beside the barrels. Tien smiled at him, standing atop his barrel. He’d piled a few of his favorite rocks near him, stones of different colors and shapes. There were rocks all around them, and yet Tien was the only person he knew who found wonder in them. After a moment’s consideration, Kal climbed atop a barrel – careful not to disturb any of Tien’s rocks – so he too could get a better view of the citylord’s procession.
It was enormous. There must have been a dozen wagons in that line, following a fine black carriage pulled by four sleek black horses. Kal gawked despite himself. Wistiow had only owned one horse, and it had seemed as old as he was.
Could one man, even a lighteyes, own that much furniture? Where would he put it all? And there were people too. Dozens of them, riding in the wagons, walking in groups. There were also a dozen soldiers in gleaming breastplates and leather skirts. This lighteyes even had his own honor guard.
Eventually the procession reached the turn-off to Hearthstone. A man riding a horse led the carriage and its soldiers forward to the town while most of the wagons continued up to the manor. Kal grew increasingly excited as the carriage rolled slowly into place. Would he finally get to see a real, lighteyed hero? The word around town claimed it was likely that the new citylord would be someone King Gavilar or Highprince Sadeas had promoted because he’d distinguished himself in the wars to unite Alethkar.
The carriage turned sideways so that the door faced the crowd. The horses snorted and stomped the ground, and the carriage driver hopped down and quickly opened the door. A middle-aged man with a short, grey-streaked beard stepped out. He wore a ruffled violet coat, tailored so that it was short at the front – reaching only to his waist – but long at the back. Beneath it, he wore a golden takama, a long, straight skirt that went down to his calves.
A takama. Few wore them anymore, but old soldiers in town spoke of the days when they’d been popular as warrior’s garb. Kal hadn’t expected the takama to look so much like a woman’s skirt, but still, it was a good sign. Roshone himself seemed a little too old, a little too flabby, to be a true soldier. But he wore a sword.