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Matabar. Chapter 31 - Old names
🕑 Added 2025-01-18 18:31:00 +0000 UTCWhen she’d entered the room, she had expected to see someone far different from what her eyes actually beheld. By the bed, sitting right on the floor, wearing what were clearly old, worn-out clothes — complete with a cowboy scarf around his neck, a faded leather jacket, and tall boots — was a young man. He wasn’t quite a boy, but neither did he resemble a fully-grown man yet.
Despite his impressive height and broad shoulders, his amber eyes still sparkled with that naive, childlike gleam that had yet to be extinguished by the harshness of adulthood. And yet, the thin scars on his knotted fingers and the faint ones hidden among the freckles that had thinned out since they’d last met hinted at a difficult past.
She couldn’t really say that the beautiful boy she’d met almost six years ago in that snow-covered forest had disappeared completely. No, not at all. And just as she had thought would happen back then, the boy had grown into a striking young man, one whose face could make even her heart skip a beat. His black, uncut hair fell onto high cheekbones, slightly softening the perfect features of a visage that seemed to have been sculpted by a gifted artist, not simply created naturally by the hands of the Face of Light.
But back then, in the forest, he had still been a boy. Sincere, kind, a bit amusing, and far too naive for his own good. And now...
He looked at her. First with silent confusion, then recognition, followed by understanding, and at last...
She clenched the amulet hidden behind her back. Just two steps away, beyond the door, Davenport and Urnosov were waiting for her signal. All she had to do was break the small, enchanted branch, and they would burst in, ruining all her husband’s plans.
But the boy — no, the young man — did nothing. His clear, deep amber eyes didn’t flare with anger, but instead shone with a sharp pain that made her own heart ache.
“Okt...” He whispered in a low, rough voice that suited his looks perfectly. “Okt... Oktana Anorsky... Anorsky...”
He kept whispering those words, and her heart bled, but there was nothing to be done. Not now, and not back then. Six years ago...
***
A memory flashed before Ardan’s eyes, reminding him of something he had paid no attention to at the time. It had been a headline in a newspaper that had served as a home for one of Neviy’s particularly large pastries.
“The miraculous recovery of the daughter of the heir to the throne, the Great Prince Pavel, and Duchess Anorsky, is it magic or science? A journalistic investigation by Taisia Shpritz seventeen months after the event…”
Amid the languid comfort of his life in Evergale, a year and a half later, he hadn’t even realized why the surname in the headline had seemed so familiar to him.
Now everything made sense. That night, when he had led someone through the secret paths into the Kingdom of the Fae, he had revealed so much that even the most inattentive investigators would have had more than enough clues to piece things together.
This was why Yonatan and his squad had spent so much time searching for Ardan and his family. Okta... Duchess Anorsky hadn’t known where exactly she had met the snow leopard boy. And the Alcade, which stretched almost from one end of the Empire to the other, was far too vast to simply guess the location.
Cassara had been right when she’d said that a secret remained a secret only as long as one person knew it. And Anna… No, Ardi wouldn’t lie and say that he had never doubted her.
He had. More than once. Especially on those gloomy evenings in the steppe, when every gust of wind had seemed to carry whispers about the land he’d once called home.
But he had been wrong. Mistaken.
Just like on that night when he’d decided to help a stranger.
And for that, his entire family had paid the price.
“Ardi, I-”
“Why…” Ardan could only whisper, his hands hanging limply at his sides. The pencil slipped from his numb fingers and rolled across the floor toward the duchess’ expensive shoes. “I helped you, Okta... I helped save your daughter... Why didn’t you help me save my family?”
He watched as Duchess Anorsky carefully approached him, step by step, as if dealing with a wounded animal. And something dark within the young man, something thick and sticky like fresh tar, wanted to lash out, bare its claws, and tear into her throat, but he resisted the urge.
His sense of smell, though no longer as sharp as before, had still picked up the scents of two men hiding behind the door. One was a mage, and the other a soldier.
Dressed in a long, fitted gown embroidered with precious stones, adorned with elegant rings, a delicate necklace, and sunray-shaped earrings, she sat down beside him on the floor. She smelled pleasant, like rare garden flowers.
Even just one of her adornments could have provided a decent life for a common citizen of Evergale for several years, but to her, all that shining magnificence was nothing more than a trinket, a bauble.
Cassara had been right about that, too. You should never get involved with those in power.
“When I returned with the cure,” her dark hair lay across her finely-sculpted shoulders, and her face bore a few new wrinkles that hadn’t been there before, but overall, she looked much the same as she had during their first meeting. “I had no way to hide where it came from or how I obtained it. My husband, Ardi, is not just my husband; he is also the future ruler of the Empire. And his daughter, until we have a son, is the rightful heir to the throne. Even if I had wanted to keep something secret… The lie wouldn’t have lasted long.”
He could feel the sincerity in her voice, and even his limited knowledge of the political life in Metropolis, and the country as a whole, was enough to make him understand. But that didn’t lessen the sting.
And the worst part was that Ardan couldn’t even say why it hurt so much. Was it because the person he’d helped had ultimately betrayed him? Or was it because the death of his great-grandfather and the separation from his family hadn’t been the fault of the Cloaks who’d just been following orders, but rather, his own?
It was him, Ardan Egobar, an adult hunter, who had made the decision that had led to a disaster for his family. He, and no one else.
“That’s why the Great Prince Pavel was so convinced that my great-grandfather was still alive,” Ardi whispered, recalling Cassara’s words. “And that’s why he sent Yonatan and the others to the Alcade...”
Oktana nodded, though even without her confirmation, Ardi had already figured it out.
“I tried to bargain with my husband for both Aror’s life and yours, Ardi, but…” She sighed and shook her head. “Neither the nobility nor the people would have supported such a decision. There was too much blood on Aror Egobar’s hands for the people to ever accept him being pardoned.”
Ardan said nothing. There was nothing left to say. His great-grandfather, who had loved to curse and share tales of the past with him, had turned out to be an accomplice of the Dark Lord. And Ardi was educated enough to understand what those words truly meant.
Regardless of whatever goals the Dark Lord had pursued, he had spilled so much blood in the process that it had nearly cost the Empire its very existence. The Dark Lord’s rebellion hadn’t just been a civil war, it had been accompanied by military interventions from almost every nation on the planet. All of them had tried to prey on the weakened country. And his great-grandfather had played a pivotal role in that carnival of death.
Just as his father, Hector Egobar, had spent ten years among the Shanti’Ra, known throughout the Foothill Province for their cruelty toward humans.
Perhaps such thoughts should have soothed the young man’s pain, but instead, they only fanned the flames burning inside him. After all, he had known them as something entirely different. Not monsters or fiends.
They’d been kind, funny, caring, and... the dearest people in the world to him. Those who had loved him. Genuinely. Unconditionally.
“But in recognition of your help, I was able to secure good conditions for your family and-”
“That’s a lie,” Ardi interrupted her, not caring that he wasn’t just talking to “Okta,” but to a duchess from a powerful family of Star Magicians (his habit of noticing even the smallest details had instantly revealed that Oktana herself didn’t possess any Ley Stars), and not just any duchess, but a future Empress-Consort. “Doctors for my brother, school for Kena, work for Kelly, and a pension for my mother… You knew about all of my family’s needs, which means you knew all about their problems. That could only be possible if you had gathered all the necessary information beforehand.”
He stared at the floor, not caring about Oktana’s reaction. To be honest, at that moment, he wasn’t concerned about anything at all. Ardi was simply trying to breathe, to keep from letting the thorny lump in his throat take control.
“You’re right, Ardi,” in the reflection of the polished floor, he saw Oktana’s hand reach for his shoulder, but it froze midway through the air. “Yonatan contacted me as soon as he received the first bits of information about you, and after that, I was able to convince my husband to help your family in exchange for saving our daughter.”
Ardan only chuckled bitterly and sadly. “You helped my family with words?” He whispered, emphasizing that last word.
This time, Oktana didn’t respond immediately. When she finally spoke, the warmth and softness in her voice was gone, replaced by a small, sharp, cold edge.
“If you truly believe, Ardi, that I have no honor and wasn’t prepared to repay the one who saved my child, and that I was only fulfilling part of my deal with the Sidhe, then-”
“Then what?” Ardan snapped, feeling his teeth baring themselves unconsciously.
He looked into her composed face and into her eyes, where he saw anger at first, and then pain. A pain that mirrored his own.
The duchess turned away.
“I wish things could have been different, Ardi,” she whispered in a low, soft voice. “May the Eternal Angels bear witness to my words, I would have loved to welcome your entire family into my home. To meet your mother and father, and thank them for raising such a son. I wanted to repay the favor for what, in my eyes, was a true act of heroism. But we live in a very different world, Ardi. And in this world, we must accept that there is no such thing as purely black or white.”
They fell silent. This time, the quiet reigned for a long while. The minutes stretched on, and the ticking of the clock marked the passage of their deep, suffocating silence.
The duchess was still sitting beside him on the floor.
“I’d like to leave this house,” Ardan finally said.
Oktana flinched as if slapped, but quickly regained her icy composure.
“Only after my husband’s coronation,” she replied in a tone that brooked no argument. “You’ll have to wait two weeks.”
“So, I’m a prisoner,” Ardan chuckled.
Oktana gave him a strange look.
“If that’s truly what you think, Ardi, then you’re much more foolish than I ever imagined,” she said, not without genuine surprise. “Or do you actually believe that all of those in power are thrilled that Pavel is going to pardon the descendant of the Dark Lord’s right hand and strengthen the peace between humans and the Firstborn? For your information, those in favor of such a thing are in the minority. Far more of them would benefit from continuing and escalating the conflict between our races.”
Ardan recalled every detail of his journey through the steppes. Oktana’s words only confirmed his suspicions. Someone had indeed been trying to hinder the crown’s plans and stop the operatives of the Second Chancery.
“I’ve already learned what helping the crown leads to,” Ardan almost growled. “So, I’d rather deal with my problems on my own than end up in your debt.”
Surprisingly, Oktana responded to his insolence with only a light, friendly smile.
“You remind me of my daughter, Ardi,” she said with a soft, unoffended laugh. “You speak without thinking, in the heat of the moment, just to defy, just to try and sting your opponent. Don’t forget, young man, that Aror Egobar was a war criminal. And your father, Hector Egobar, was a former bandit. The fact that he forged documents in order to join the army, and all the medals he earned at the Fatian border, don’t change-”
“Medals?” Ardi interrupted, turning sharply toward the duchess. “My father was just a ranger. Why would he get medals?”
Oktana’s eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline.
“Hector Egobar, during his time in the army, where he was known under the name Hec Abar, was a major, a senior officer of the Third Army’s independent reconnaissance and sabotage corps, the commander of the Sixth Division, a full Knight of the Order of Valor, and a recipient of the Orders of St. Georgin of the Second Degree and the White Phoenix of the Second and Third Degrees. Not to mention all his other numerous medals and distinctions.”
Ardan barely remembered his military history lessons, considering he had never been particularly interested in them, and they had also taken place about four years ago. But something told him that all those Orders weren’t given out without serious cause.
And yet, he had never seen anything like what Oktana had just mentioned, and-
“His uniform is displayed in the War Glory Museum,” Oktana continued. “He faked his death when he could no longer pass for a human. Matabar age much slower than we do. But what I’ve just told you, Ardi, should remain our little secret. Hec Abar is a well-known figure in military circles, and the crown wouldn’t want it becoming public knowledge that such Orders and awards were given to-”
“A Matabar,” Ardan interjected.
The duchess smiled again, just like before.
“Young bloods must all be the same,” she mused before continuing. “Not a Matabar, Ardi, but the grandson of a war criminal, and once a bandit himself. Let the legend of Hec Abar remain as it is.”
Ardan considered using the Witch’s Gaze on her but then felt a slight prickling at the back of his neck. It was probably not the best idea considering the fact that there was a Five-Star Mage standing outside the door.
“After everything you’ve just said, you decided to trust me with a secret?”
Oktana nodded.
“Whatever you may think, Ardi, I understand you all too well. You and your pain. And I don’t want you to see me as your enemy. I’ve done everything I could to repay you with kindness and give you a chance to live up to your ancestors’ legacy. Isn’t that the path of the Matabar? You honor your ancestors, your patron spirits, and the Sleeping Spirits?”
“All Firstborn honor the Sleeping Spirits,” Ardi corrected her reflexively, which elicited another smile from Oktana.
“I hope you believe me when I say that you are not a prisoner here. Neither you nor your family. Let this secret bind us. I think the journalists would be delighted to stir up a scandal involving one of the heroes of the Fatian border.”
Ardan turned away and looked out the window. Outside, the sky was a low, heavy gray, with granite clouds hugging the horizon, and fat raindrops were falling onto the heads of passersby and the roofs of cars sliding across the cobblestones.
“Most people would never believe me.”
For the first time since their conversation began, Oktana touched him, lightly brushing his shoulder before using it to push herself to her feet.
“You’re not so foolish after all,” she whispered, and then, more loudly, on her way to the door, she added, “For the next two weeks, you are a guest in our home. Breakfast is at eight, lunch is at two, and dinner is at six. You have full access to our library and the basement, where you’ll find the Star Magic training grounds. But, and I hope you’ll forgive me for this, you won’t be allowed to leave until after the coronation. After that, once you enroll at the Imperial Magical University, our paths will part, which, from what I understand, will make you rather happy.”
With those parting words, the duchess was almost out the door when a whisper from the young man reached her.
“All these years, I thought that I made the right decision when I didn’t take you to my teacher,” he said with a crack in his voice and sorrow in his eyes. “And now... Now I don’t know what to think.”
Oktana froze and remained silent for several long, heavy seconds.
“Welcome to the adult world of humans, Ard Egobar,” she said finally, and closing the door behind her, she left him alone.
For a while, Ardi stared at the door, as if expecting it to reopen and reveal the answer to the question that had haunted him for almost six years.
Who was he?
Was he a descendant of the Matabar, a race of Firstborn who had tried to destroy the Empire, or a descendant of the native Galessians, who had built that very same Empire?
The son of a bandit and the great-grandson of a war criminal, or the son of a hero and the great-grandson of a mage from the distant past?
A hunter or a mage?
But the door remained closed, and the answer hidden behind it never came. Not that there was any light to reveal it.
Though it should have been long past dawn, the gray gloom outside still reigned. The sky stretched out like a broad, suffocating shroud, painted in so many shades of gray that Ardan doubted he’d ever seen such a sight in the mountains of the Alcade.
The low, stone-like sky weighed down on the city dwellers, forcing them to bend their backs beneath its relentless pressure.
Rain drummed against the windows, leaving behind winding trails of water that formed melancholy patterns.
Ardi stared at his own reflection in the rain-slicked streets, illuminated only by the occasional flash of car lights — or as Mart had called them, “headlights.”
Getting to his feet, he crossed the room, picked up his pencil from the floor, and collapsed onto the bed. Above him, a canopy swayed gently, suggesting that fresh air was somehow entering the room.
That annoying habit he had of noticing details...
Before he realized it, Ardan had drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
In the morning, he woke up to an unfamiliar scent. It wasn’t unpleasant, more like the opposite. It smelled heavy, but at the same time, it was intoxicating, like a meadow full of wildflowers crushed together and heated in a small vessel.
Rubbing his eyes, Ardan turned toward the source of the smell and saw the open bathroom door, which had steam billowing out of it. And it was the steam that carried the heavy floral aroma.
Realizing that he’d fallen asleep fully clothed, the young man sniffed his underarm and, grimacing, quickly stripped off everything until he stood as naked as the day he’d been born.
Stretching and cracking his joints, he padded barefoot across the cold floor and entered the open bathroom...
“Oh, Eternal Angels!”
And then he was immediately forced to do an awkward, clumsy motion reminiscent of girls caught unaware at the lake docks in Evergale by mischievous boys as he tried to cover himself.
Near the wide, deep bathtub, with a brass spout and showerhead hanging above it, stood a young woman. She looked to be about twenty-two. She wore a white apron over a simple, black work dress and a funny little cap that barely contained her thick, chestnut hair.
Their eyes didn’t meet right away, as she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the spot Ardan was currently covering with his hands. She stared and blushed so fiercely that you could’ve probably fried an egg on her red cheeks.
For his part, Ardan felt like he might combust if this went on for much longer — his face was burning with that much embarrassment.
“S-sorry,” he stammered, unsure of where to go in such a large space.
The woman quickly turned away and, with a slightly trembling hand, pointed to a towel hanging from a screen tucked into the far corner of the bathroom.
Right...
A screen...
Crab-walking to the side, Ardan snatched up the blessed fabric and quickly wrapped it around his waist, though he didn’t realize that everything was still perfectly reflected in the enormous mirror beside the woman. His hair might have started to catch fire by now if he had...
“Forgive me, I shouldn’t have barged in on you like that, Mr. Egobar,” the stranger said in a faint murmur. “I knocked, but you were sleeping very soundly, and the lady of the house asked me to prepare your bath so that we can rid the house of the smell of the road.”
“I’m sorry,” Ardan repeated, feeling much more confident now that he was under the protection of the magical towel. “I was tired from my journey and must not have heard you.”
“Surely not,” she agreed.
An awkward pause stretched out, and just as Ardi was about to say something, the woman, likely a servant, spoke first.
“My name is Tatiana.”
“Ard,” he introduced himself.
She was still facing away from him, but their gazes met in that damned mirror.
“Your clothes. I’ll take them to the laundry.”
“But I don’t have anything else to wear.”
“The lady has already taken care of that,” the servant quickly added, then turned to face him. “When you’re done, ring the bell,” she left a simple, tin bell with a long wooden handle on the table by the sink. “And I’ll bring you your daily suit.”
“Daily?”
“The lady has ensured that you have both a casual outfit and a formal one for the celebration, so you don’t have to worry about that at all.”
Ardan was about to remark that he’d only be completely at ease once he stopped parading around half-naked in front of a woman, but he bit his tongue. They were both equally uncomfortable, so there was no point in making it worse.
“May I...”
“What?” She asked.
Ardan, clutching the towel’s knot, gestured toward the bath with his free hand.
“Oh, right,” Tatiana seemed to snap out of her flustered state and, with a shake of her cap, scurried out behind him. “Don’t forget to ring the bell!” She called out as she closed the door behind her.
Now alone with himself and the mirror, Ardan sighed in relief and, with some regret, parted with the magical towel. It had been soft and fluffy, not just a piece of fabric like he was used to.
And as he looked down, his face flushed all over again. It was morning, after all, and he was still a healthy young man with entirely understandable morning reactions.
“Oh, Sleeping Spirits,” Ardan muttered, shaking his head. “What would Mother say if she knew the kind of first impression I make on strangers?”
Not to mention that his grandfather would have given him quite the scolding for such rudeness.
Trying to push those ridiculous thoughts away, Ardi stepped into the bath and allowed himself to sink into the hot water, which was fragrant with the scent of wildflowers.
Next to the faucet, on a wooden rack, he found a rough sponge and a bar of soap — not the brown, animal-fat kind, but a pinkish one that smelled of those same flowers.
“Marvels,” he whispered as he began scrubbing away the grime and the clinging dust of the road.
All the charms of a long journey, where there was no time to freshen up, were now quite literally coming off him in layers. It was a wonder that, after sitting in a cramped car with him, Atura, Davenport and the driver hadn’t suffocated from his stench.
Atura... now it made sense that he had heard that name before. Oktana had introduced herself under her servant’s name on the night of their first meeting.
“Shame it wasn’t our last,” the young man added aloud, spitting out a bit of foam from the herbal toothpaste he was using.
Looking around for a razor, instead of the familiar folding blade, he found a strange tool. It resembled a tiny... hammer. Only, it was flat. And it was clearly of a complex design because when you unscrewed its cover and lifted the upper part, a fine, hair-thin blade with two razor-sharp edges could be seen inside.
Smirking, Ardi screwed the cover back in place, guessed the device’s purpose, and began shaving. Because he was unfamiliar with it, he nicked himself a few times, but before he was even done with his morning stubble, his Matabar blood had already healed the cuts.
Finishing that task, Ardan couldn’t help but recall just how recently he had been in Tatiana’s position during their journey. But unlike him, Katerina had handled the situation with much more confidence.
Sighing, Ardi, now properly wrapped in the towel, rang the bell and... nothing happened. Not after a minute, not even after two.
Realizing that he might not have been heard from the bathroom, he stepped out into the main room and rang the bell again. Then, sticking his arm out into the corridor, he rang it a few more times.
Finally, after about ten minutes, just when he wasn’t sure what else to do — after all, he was standing in the middle of a massive room in nothing but a towel, like some kind of fairy-tale fool — there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he called out.
The door opened slightly, and a moment later, Tatiana appeared, carefully studying her shoes.
Behind her, she wheeled in a metal rack with a tray on wheels, from which hung a black, woolen three-piece suit, a white silk shirt with a high collar, a brown belt, and polished, brown leather shoes with pointed toes.
“Dress and come down for breakfast,” Tatiana said without lifting her gaze.
“But may I-”
“The masters won’t be home until the coronation,” she interrupted, as if already knowing Ardi would ask to eat in his room, since he didn’t want to meet the others. “And after the celebration, this place will probably be empty anyway. They’ll all move into the palace as befits their station...”
Those last words were filled with obvious regret, but quickly catching herself, she gave a small bow and slipped out the door.
Ardan approached the rack and ran his fingers over the fabric. As the son of a seamstress, he was fully aware of the small fortune before him. To afford such a luxury normally, he would have had to work on the Polskih farm without eating, drinking, or sleeping, laboring around the clock for several years, and only then might he have been able to afford something like this.
“Rich folk,” Ardi snorted but, lacking any alternative, began dressing.
To his surprise, the suit fit him perfectly, despite his unusual build. The sleeves were just the right length, the armpits were comfortable, the pants weren’t tight in the crotch area, and the legs were the perfect length as well.
To tailor such a suit without precise measurements was impossible. Even with exact numbers, without fittings...
“Cassara,” Ardan reminded himself.
And the thought of a vampire sneaking around him with a measuring tape while he slept made him chuckle a little.
Smiling to himself, Ardi took a few steps, getting used to the shoes. Because he’d worn his work boots for so long, the stiff soles of the shoes, along with their low, straight heel — not sloped like on cowboy boots — hindered his stride a bit. He was about to step into the hallway when he paused.
Remembering Gleb Davos’ envy and Mart’s stories, the young man took his grimoire and staff with him, but hid Gleb’s book... under the pillow. Not because no one would think to look there, but because he had cleverly placed a pencil on the pillowcase, leaving a small graphite dot on the pristine surface. If you didn’t know it was there, you wouldn’t see it. And now, if someone tried to make it look like nothing had been disturbed, Ardan would know immediately.
Leaving the room, Ardi was once again struck by the variety of decor, from paintings of breathtaking landscapes to suits of armor he had only ever seen in rare history textbooks.
Tatiana had forgotten to mention where the dining room was, so he had to follow his nose, relying on his sense of smell, which, thankfully, didn’t fail him. After a few minutes of wandering through the labyrinthine corridors and staircases, the young man descended to the first floor in the east wing of the mansion.
The dining room — or rather, the dining hall — was no less impressive. The polished stone floors gleamed, blending into the tall stained-glass windows draped in tulle and heavy curtains. In the center, under a pristine white tablecloth, stood a table large enough to seat at least two dozen people.
Its massive size only made the fact that just three people were sitting there more noticeable: Atura, who was sipping hot coffee and reading a book, Davenport, who was smoking a cigar while perusing a newspaper, and Urnosov, who fixed the newcomer with an unpleasant gaze.
A young man who faintly resembled Tatiana flitted around the table. He placed down a few plates and poured a tart berry drink into a glass before bowing silently and disappearing through a discreet door leading, most likely, to the kitchen.
Ardan approached the table and swept his gaze over the gathered individuals before settling it on Atura.
“My lady,” he said as firmly as he could. “How much will my upkeep cost for these two weeks?”
Davenport briefly glanced up from his newspaper, revealing the metal prostheses where his fingers should have been, but then, with a huff, he returned to his reading.
“Around ten exes,” Atura replied, not looking up from her book, a bracelet on her wrist glittering with runes from the Fae language.
It was definitely time to invest in an analyzer.
“Very well,” Ardi nodded and, pulling out two bills from his wallet, placed them on the table.
“You filthy half-breed, do you even realize what-” Urnosov began to hiss, but Atura silenced him with a wave of her hand. It seemed she was in charge in the absence of the duchess.
“The mistress expected you to do something like this,” she waved her hand — still holding a cigarette between her fingers — in a vague gesture. “If you’re so eager to part with your money, you are within your rights to do so. But you are a guest here and-”
Ardan, not caring where or how, noisily dragged the chair away from the table, drowning out the rest of Atura’s sentence with a long, grating screech.
Urnosov’s face flushed with rage, but Atura’s pale visage remained completely calm.
“You really do resemble her,” she whispered so quietly that only a Matabar’s sharp ears could’ve caught it. “Tatiana!”
As if summoned from thin air, Tatiana appeared, bowing slightly to those at the table, and with a deft motion, she scooped up the two bills into her apron pocket before disappearing once more through the same door.
“I’ll pay for the suits later,” Ardan said, sniffing at the porridge.
It smelled like wild game. By the Sleeping Spirits... Pheasant for breakfast...
“Then we’ll put it on your tab, Mr. Egobar: one hundred and twelve exes for the formal suit and another twenty-six for the one you’re wearing now.”
It felt as though his heart had just started sprinting through every corner of his body, determined to escape such an irresponsible and reckless owner.
Skusty would probably have been laughing out loud at his student’s foolishness right now, but Ergar... Ergar would have praised him.
This was the way of hunters.
“I-”
“What’s the scholarship these days, Senior Magister?” Atura asked with feigned curiosity, turning a page in her book.
“Eight exes, forty kso for the standard students,” Urnosov replied smugly. “And ten exes, sixty kso for the advanced ones.”
“So, if we don’t hope for the advanced scholarship, that’s about seventeen months to pay it all off?” Atura mused, not lifting her eyes from her book.
Ardi had already calculated that it would be slightly faster than Atura had estimated — just under sixteen and a half months — but even that...
“If the half-breed even manages to meet the requirements for it,” Urnosov’s grin twisted his chubby face into something resembling an overripe tomato, now looking more like a bloodthirsty snarl.
“I will remind you for the last time, Bogdan,” Davenport’s voice was as cold as steel, “to refrain from such remarks in this house.”
The mage glared at the soldier with such intense hatred that had he been an Aean’Hane instead of a Star Mage, he might have cursed or burned him alive on the spot.
“Thank you, dear,” Atura said, turning another page. “Mr. Egobar, perhaps you should reconsider before-”
“I’ll pay back every last kso,” Ardan interrupted her and, not caring how he looked, shoveled food into his mouth so quickly that he resembled a cowboy consuming his food during a brief stop on the trail. After downing his drink in one gulp, he grabbed his staff and stormed out of the room.
Just before he reached the exit, Davenport’s steely voice followed him out.
“We’re in for a lo-o-o-ong two weeks.”
Ardi couldn’t help but agree.
Standing in the hallway, he tried to calm his wildly racing heart. Yes, Skusty would have definitely called his behavior foolish, but...
Shaking his head, Ardan set off in search of the library. He intended to make the most of the ten exes he’d paid — that was nearly his entire budget, after all.
