Tags:
Romance,
Fantasy,
Magic,
YA),
Mystery,
Young Adult,
female protagonist,
Raconteur House,
Honor Raconteur,
multiple pov,
Artifactor
to describe ten years. Only one day. My days were an endless repeat of the same routine. Stay in my room and never being allowed to leave it. A maid came in to clean and bring me my meals. I could request anything of the kitchens and they would make it for me. I could request any book from the palace library and they would send it to me. They gave me any diversion I wanted, as long as it didn’t involve weapons, in order to keep me quietly out of the way. I was not allowed visitors unless a Councilman served as an escort.” He laughed bitterly. “And they only brought sham magicians to me. No one else. For the past ten years, I ate and slept and read and tried not to lose my sanity.”
Sevana listened intently without speaking, mentally tallying up a list as he spoke. So in other words, this poor man-child had no experience with crowds, people, or day-to-day activities. He had extensive knowledge through books but no experience. No wonder she found his common sense lacking. When he finished, she nodded and said softly, “I see.”
The simple recitation of the past decade made a chill go up her spine. His living conditions might have been better than being in a dungeon—it sounded like house arrest to her—but it couldn’t have been better designed to weaken the would-be king. He had absolutely none of the skills that he needed to ascend the throne. A king especially had to be good with crowds of people, with speaking, and have experience in reading others. Sevana would lay good odds that he would be terrible at all of that.
Well, she couldn’t say she was an expert in any of that either. (Mostly due to a complete lack of interest in humanity.) But she knew of a person that was. Kip could charm a snake out of its own skin and the snake would thank him for it. She’d sic Kip on Bel later, but for now, she should address the princeling’s wandering issue.
“Come talk to me in the morning and I’ll give you a charm that should protect you enough to stay near the mountain without trouble. But don’t leave the area. You don’t know of the dangers around you and you don’t have a clue on how to handle a crisis if it does come your way. Besides, if something happens, Big can offer you protection.”
He gave a reluctant nod. “I understand. Then, for now, I’ll retreat to my quarters.”
A week passed in a blur of activity. Bellomi’s days for the past decade had revolved around books and food and sleep—never anything more than that. So to suddenly be handed sword training and studies of a different nature not only felt invigorating but satisfying. He finally had something productive to do instead of just killing time.
The two humans in the cave fell into a sort of routine by the fifth day. Bellomi would get up early in the morning, pick up his swords, and train for two hours or so. (No matter what he had promised himself about five hours, he simply didn’t have the stamina for it. If not for Big showing him the supply cabinet for pain potions, he wouldn’t have been able to lift his arms at all.) Then he would stop for breakfast, which Sevana generally cooked. He didn’t know why it surprised him that she could cook, and quite well. It just did. Probably because she didn’t strike him being particularly domestic, with her poor housekeeping skills.
But over breakfast she would give him his studies for the day—covering topics from economics, history, trade, politics or languages—and then wander off to her workroom with an abstracted look on her face.
Somewhere in the middle of the day, she’d fetch him and run him through more diagnostics, muttering to herself as she took notes. Then she’d shoo him off and he’d either go back to studying or sword practice as the mood struck him.
The evenings were his favorite part of the day. Then Sevana would put her work away for a while and sit down with him and test him on what he had learned that day. If she felt like he didn’t get a concept fully,
Learning to Kill: Stories