Green Wild (Thrones of the Firstborn Book 2) by Chrysoula Tzavelas Page B
Authors: Chrysoula Tzavelas
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friend and she couldn’t stomach the thought of directly opposing her. Not without support, anyhow.
The sun barely peeped over the horizon. Restless sleep or not, she’d still managed to sleep for nine solid hours. She hurriedly dressed before slipping into the hall. She wasn’t sure if Tiana and Lisette were in the next room or not—everybody’s schedules had been shifted around by the chaos—but she wasn’t ready to talk to either of them again. She had to talk to the Magister first, just like she said she would.
On her way to the Magister’s office, she passed by a series of tall, thin windows looking west off the mountain. Several long cushioned benches were placed along the windows. Twist stretched out on one of them, his arm flung over his eyes and his ankles crossed.
Kiar stopped dead, scrutinizing him for any clue why he was there.
Without moving his arm, he said, “How are you doing, Kiar?”
Frowning, Kiar said, “I know you have a room of your own. I saw them carry you inside.”
“Cells,” said Twist. “They call them cells, and for a reason, I might add. There are many reasons I’m not one of Niyhan’s Dedicated, but the so-called beds they provide in their cells are one of them.” He lifted his arm from his eyes and patted the bench. “This bench is here for guests like yourself who want to appreciate the sunset. It’s lovely in the mornings. Have you come to join me?” He opened his eyes and looked at her, smiling.
“No,” Kiar said shortly. “You don’t want me around.” It slipped out; she didn’t mean to be so blunt.
His brow furrowed and he sat up. “Don’t I?”
She refused to meet his eyes and didn’t answer.
He sighed. “Releasing you as my apprentice doesn’t mean I—you know what? Let’s talk about this later after you’ve had some time to think about it.” He laid back down and covered his eyes again.
Kiar’s face flamed. “Don’t skip when you’re that tired ever again,” she told his recumbent form, then hurried away before he could answer.
She went to the Magister’s office, not expecting to find much except the bright rays of dawn illuminating an empty desk. Even though it was decorated differently than the Chancellor’s office at home, with books and mementos of Niyhan rather than journals of genealogy and fashion, it was still the office of an administrator of an important organization. The Chancellor had a padded chair that revolved, with a cushioned back, while the Magister’s chair was straight-backed wood, with a single cushion for the seat. But they both had the exact same desk. And they were both unexpectedly busy at odd hours.
“You’re awake,” she said in surprise, standing to one side in the double archway as a monk scurried out. A half-dozen other assistants thronged around him. “Don’t you need sleep?”
“I take many naps, my Lady,” said the Magister with a smile, as he signed something and gave it to another assistant. “Can I help you? I hope the fiends aren’t causing problems again.” When she hesitated, trying to decide whether to start with the threats she’d seen in the other world, or Vassay, he beckoned her over to the desk.
Kiar approached his desk. The assistants barely glanced up, murmuring to each other about whatever they were orchestrating.
“Your Excellency, I’m concerned about the safety of the Citadel. I saw strange things yesterday. I don’t think the Blighter is done with it.”
The Magister shook his head. “They never are. But we’ll recover. Our stores run deep, and our craftsmen are skilled.”
Kiar spread her hands. “When I interacted with the fiends earlier, I saw into what he was planning. There are armies. And Mousame is just the first of his planned fortresses.”
Raising feathery eyebrows high, the Magister said, “You don’t say. The fiends?” His eyebrows lowered again. “But we’re taking steps to make sure what happened in Mousame cannot happen here. An
The sun barely peeped over the horizon. Restless sleep or not, she’d still managed to sleep for nine solid hours. She hurriedly dressed before slipping into the hall. She wasn’t sure if Tiana and Lisette were in the next room or not—everybody’s schedules had been shifted around by the chaos—but she wasn’t ready to talk to either of them again. She had to talk to the Magister first, just like she said she would.
On her way to the Magister’s office, she passed by a series of tall, thin windows looking west off the mountain. Several long cushioned benches were placed along the windows. Twist stretched out on one of them, his arm flung over his eyes and his ankles crossed.
Kiar stopped dead, scrutinizing him for any clue why he was there.
Without moving his arm, he said, “How are you doing, Kiar?”
Frowning, Kiar said, “I know you have a room of your own. I saw them carry you inside.”
“Cells,” said Twist. “They call them cells, and for a reason, I might add. There are many reasons I’m not one of Niyhan’s Dedicated, but the so-called beds they provide in their cells are one of them.” He lifted his arm from his eyes and patted the bench. “This bench is here for guests like yourself who want to appreciate the sunset. It’s lovely in the mornings. Have you come to join me?” He opened his eyes and looked at her, smiling.
“No,” Kiar said shortly. “You don’t want me around.” It slipped out; she didn’t mean to be so blunt.
His brow furrowed and he sat up. “Don’t I?”
She refused to meet his eyes and didn’t answer.
He sighed. “Releasing you as my apprentice doesn’t mean I—you know what? Let’s talk about this later after you’ve had some time to think about it.” He laid back down and covered his eyes again.
Kiar’s face flamed. “Don’t skip when you’re that tired ever again,” she told his recumbent form, then hurried away before he could answer.
She went to the Magister’s office, not expecting to find much except the bright rays of dawn illuminating an empty desk. Even though it was decorated differently than the Chancellor’s office at home, with books and mementos of Niyhan rather than journals of genealogy and fashion, it was still the office of an administrator of an important organization. The Chancellor had a padded chair that revolved, with a cushioned back, while the Magister’s chair was straight-backed wood, with a single cushion for the seat. But they both had the exact same desk. And they were both unexpectedly busy at odd hours.
“You’re awake,” she said in surprise, standing to one side in the double archway as a monk scurried out. A half-dozen other assistants thronged around him. “Don’t you need sleep?”
“I take many naps, my Lady,” said the Magister with a smile, as he signed something and gave it to another assistant. “Can I help you? I hope the fiends aren’t causing problems again.” When she hesitated, trying to decide whether to start with the threats she’d seen in the other world, or Vassay, he beckoned her over to the desk.
Kiar approached his desk. The assistants barely glanced up, murmuring to each other about whatever they were orchestrating.
“Your Excellency, I’m concerned about the safety of the Citadel. I saw strange things yesterday. I don’t think the Blighter is done with it.”
The Magister shook his head. “They never are. But we’ll recover. Our stores run deep, and our craftsmen are skilled.”
Kiar spread her hands. “When I interacted with the fiends earlier, I saw into what he was planning. There are armies. And Mousame is just the first of his planned fortresses.”
Raising feathery eyebrows high, the Magister said, “You don’t say. The fiends?” His eyebrows lowered again. “But we’re taking steps to make sure what happened in Mousame cannot happen here. An
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