As she joined The Exchange’s exhausted day shift and passed its night shift, Mei tucked her fingers into her cloak and listened to muttered tips about upcoming workloads and warnings about which foremen were on duty. Both shifts were no longer surprised to see her and her guard uniform, although she still caught the occasional raised eyebrow. After entering the boardinghouse, Mei exited the stream of people and entered the common room, where the heat of the ovens could return feeling to her limbs.
“Oh, Mei!” Ms. Schofield waved to her from next to a huge bubbling pot, which held dinner for the day shift and breakfast for the night. “You have a package.”`
Frowning, Mei went over to her. “What kind of package?” She sniffed. They were having sausages and cabbage today.
“A posh one in a patterned crate.” Schofield flashed her eyebrows. “From that boss of yours?”
Mei smiled and shook her head. “No, not from him. From a friend. Nobody touched it?”
Schofield scowled. “Just that brother of yours.” She caught Mei rubbing her hands together. “Cups, girl, you look like a fish. Here.” She pulled a steel mug out from under her chair and poured a generous helping of the pot’s contents into it. “Eat up. I’ve seen starved dogs with more meat to them.”
Mei accepted the stew with a bow. “Thank you.”
“Always so polite.” Schofield sat back. “You’re welcome. Go open that present.”
Mei bowed again and rushed away. Holding the mug in both hands, she navigated her way up the stairs, down the corridor, and shouldered open the door to her and Huan’s room.
She looked around.
No package.
Her stomach fluttering, she searched everywhere, under the bunks, even behind them, but didn’t find it anywhere. She did find signs that her brother had been here though: his uniform was in a pile in its usual corner, his sword lay in its sheath on his bunk, and the strange wooden box was gone. Maybe Huan had found her package, had had to leave, and had taken it with him in order to keep it safe. That sounded possible, but odd. Surely, leaving the package in the room would have been easier than carrying it around outside.
Mei’s stomach growled.
Right. Food first. Find Fran’s package later.
After hanging up her cloak and doublet to dry, Mei sat down on the bunk and used her dagger to eat the cabbage and sausage, which reminded her of a spicy far west Tuqu delicacy her father had brought home from the market one day. No one else, not her mother, brother, or father, could finish theirs, but she’d loved every bite. This version was sweet, not spicy, but the heartiness of the sausages lifted the rather bland cabbage. Mei sniffed as she ate. Part of her still felt tender, like a scab had been ripped off her emotions, but she didn’t regret sharing her past with her friends. Those hugs had been as filling as these sausages.
After emptying the mug of stew, Mei put it on the floor, pulled her writing implements out of her satchel, then arranged them on her lap. She did have her usual writing assignment from Maggie and Fran, but Dwayne’s suggestion from this morning had sounded interesting: a letter to her parents.
Her first attempt went:
> “To Mother Li and Father Li, hand cannon maker and hunter of the south east area.”
Mei blinked at the words then crossed them out. Aside from the fact that she didn’t know the right words in Souran, “area” was a poor substitute for what she meant; it sounded too stiff and formal. A simple greeting was better.
> Hello, Mother, Father. I am well. So is Huan.
The door opened, and Huan strode in with two crates under his right arm.
“There you are. Here.” He shoved Mei’s writing off her lap and placed a crate onto it. “This is what you’ll be wearing to dinner tonight.”
Mei opened the plain wooden crate and looked inside. Her heart fell. “Where did you get this?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Huan cracked open his own crate and pulled a white shirt and a berry-red suit out of it. “That should catch eyes.” After dropping his new knives into the wooden, he stripped and put on the shirt, using the window’s reflection to check how they fit. “You have to stand out.”
Speechless, Mei reached into the crate and pulled out petticoats, stockings, violet shoes, a corset with panniers hanging off the hips, and a violet and white striped dress with a high ruffled neckline. This was not the dress Fran had sent Mei.
“It’s definitely flashy.” Huan sat down next to her to put on his red breeches. “You like it?”
Mei’s voice was small. “There was a package for me.”
“Oh, yeah, I saw.” Huan stood up to admire himself in the window. “Come on, get dressed. We can’t be late to-”
“What happened to it?” The stripes shook in Mei’s vision. “Where is it?”
“I traded it,” Huan patted the white and purple thing in her lap, “for this.”
“You… traded it.”
Huan kept talking, but Mei didn’t hear. Instead, she pressed her lips together to hold in the disappointment squeezing her heart. While this dress was kind of pretty - she certainly liked it better than Maggie’s - it wasn’t her and he didn’t even-
No, Huan had her best interests at heart. He was her brother. He was looking out for her. She had to believe that.
“Besides,” continued Huan, “Sourans don’t care about who you are, just whether or not you have money or status or beauty, and this dress will show that you have at least two of those things.” He patted her hand. “You’ll look amazing, little sister, and...” He reached over to his crate and pulled out a flat wooden case. “This will help.” He laid it on her lap and opened it.
It was a makeup palette, complete with brushes, paints, tinted powders, and colored pencils.
“Apparently,” said Huan, “nQe mages are actually good for something. A set like this in the Empire would be worth ten times its weight in gold. Here, it cost me barely eight knights. I chose the best colors for you.”
Mei met his eyes. “You traded away my gift.”
“For a steal.” Shrugging on the suit jacket, Huan stood up to check himself in the window again. “Now, get dressed. We don’t have much time to do makeup.”
“Okay.” Mei closed the kit and stood up with the dress pressed to her chest. She pointed to the door. “Out.”
“What, why? I’m your brother. I’ve seen-”
“Out.”
Huan ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I’m your brother. There’s no reason to…” He caught Mei’s expression and backed away. “Fine, fine. I’ll be right outside.” After grabbing his shoes, he left.
Mei let out a breath and then got to work. Leaving her shirt and breeches carefully folded on her pillow, she laid out the dress and its associated parts out on the rest of her bunk. She’d watched Maggie do this for the welcome event they’d attended when they’d first arrived in Bradford and hadn’t forgotten any of the details. Mei put on the shift and stockings first and then the petticoats and then covered them both with the corset. While she struggled with the panniers - she’d seen Magdala put them on but hadn’t asked what they were - she did manage to get them attached. Finally, she slipped on the actual dress and stepped into the violet shoes. Only then did she glance at herself in the window.
The dress was fine, but Mei didn’t look like she belonged in it. Her hair was still in its now frayed braid, and she looked tired and upset and just done. She’d “catch eyes” all right.
There was a knock on the door.
Mei tensed. “I’m not ready,” she said in Tuquese.
“It’s me, dear,” called out Schofield. “I just came to get my mug back.”
“Oh.” Mei collected herself. “Come in.”
The door opened. Huan stuck his head in. “I-”
Mei shook her head. “Out.”
“A lady has to have her privacy.” Schofield shoved Huan out of the way and entered the room, closing the door behind her. “Cups, you look like a nob. One of the nice ones, of course.”
“Thank you.” Swallowing her embarrassment, Mei retrieved the mug from under her bunk. “Here.”
Ms. Schofield took it with a wink. “You’ll make some pretty lad or lass very happy.” She looked the dress up and down. “I did expect something more… daring though. I’m sure I’ve seen that over at the shops in Boscage.”
Mei tried a smile. “My brother got this for me.”
“Oh, really?” The smile drained from Ms. Schofield’s eyes. “How nice of him.”
Huan stuck his head in again. “Are you ready now?”
Mei winced. She had to be. “Ready.”
“Then I’ll be going.” Ms. Schofield patted Mei on the hand. “Try to have fun, dear.” Then she was gone.
Huan replaced her. “That took too long. We have to hurry.” He sat down next to her and took the open makeup kit. “I’ll have to do a simple look.” He pulled out a brush and ran it along one of the powders. “Let’s accent those eyes.”
As Huan fussed over her face with brush and pencil, Mei considered other people’s eyes, which she’d never tried to catch before. She didn’t know how. Her Tower guard uniform drew attention, as did her rifle, but no one really looked at her. Mei had seen Huan catch people’s attention of course, usually some boy with strong hands and big shoulders, but it had all seemed abstract at the time, and this dress made her feel like a flower, waiting for bees.
“Is this freedom?”
“It’s a small price to pay for it.” Huan’s pencil flicked out from the corner of her eye. “And after tonight, we’ll have a little breathing room.” He dipped a brush in lavender paint and brought it to her lips.
Mei jerked back. “What is your price?”
Huan frowned. “You don’t need to worry about that.” He brought the brush to Mei’s lips and covered them in paint. “There, done. Now…” He pulled her to her feet and turned her to face the window. “Isn’t that better?”
A noblewoman with high cheekbones, cat-like eyes, and lavender lips glowered back at Mei from the window. When Mei straightened her back, the noble rose to her full posture, a commanding stance that would cow a room. The woman in the window was impressive, intimidating, and not Mei.
The door to their room cracked open. “Mr. Ma, sir?” A small rain-streaked face blinked at them. “Your carriage is here, sir.”
“Good.” Huan tossed a coin to the child, who scampered away.
“One last touch.” Huan reached into his crate, and pulled out a deep plum velvet cloak. After sweeping it onto Mei’s shoulders, he stepped back to admire the effect. “Perfect. Shall we?” He offered her his arm. “We’ll do your hair on the way.”
Mei pulled the cloak tight around herself. She still wasn’t sure about this dress or tonight, but she wasn’t going for herself or for Huan’s ambitions. This was for Maggie and Dwayne.
She nodded. “Let’s go.”
***
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Thank you, Mr. Vogt. Welcome to Tarpan.” Magdala’s face ached with her smile. Where were Mei and Dwayne? They should have been here by now.
“No, thank you, young Gallus.” The High Judiciary’s representative bowed his head. “In the future, I hope to have an opportunity to ask you about your experiences in Vanuria.”
“It was quite the show, I’m told,” said the water Qe mage on Mr. Vogt’s arm, whose name Magdala couldn’t remember at just this moment. He was one of her mother’s classmates. “You and your mother’s personal standings have been enhanced quite a bit because of it. Welcome back, young Gallus.” He raised his glass.
Magdala curtsied. “Glad to be back,” the man’s name came back to her, “Mr. Ethans. I believe they’ve brought the next round of refreshments.” She gestured to the far end of a table that was placed along the wall across from the fireplace. “I recommend the tange pastries. They come to us courtesy of the Lucchesi family.”
Mr. Vogt’s eyes lit up. “Intriguing. Let’s try those.” He nodded a farewell and led his associate over to the table.
Magdala’s smile lasted just long enough for them to reach the table before she dropped it and retreated into the shadow of the parlor’s enormous fireplace. Once she was out of sight, she slumped against the wall. She hadn’t missed doing all this - talking with family she hadn’t seen in years, entertaining Privy Council proxies, maintaining an even, pleasant demeanor all night - but her mother expected her to rise to the occasion. To do that, Magdala needed these precious breaks out of the spotlight, or else she wouldn’t last the night. As she sipped water from a hidden glass and waited for her social capacity to refill, she looked over the dinner party.
From here, Magdala could discern the division between the people her mother had invited and the ones her father had. The former - who were comprised of mages of all classes and disciplines - were lingered near the refreshments and the dozen shelves laden with books on thaumaturgical law, history, and ethics. The latter - mostly current and former military officers - drifted to her side of the room with the warm fireplace and her father’s large collection of sabers, longswords, falchions, and other bladed weapons from around Markosia.
Tonight, as daughter of both sage and soldier, Magdala had to straddle that line and debate theoretical thaumaturgy with her mother’s old classmates, comment on the martial prowess of her father’s training partners, all while evading questions about her marital status. It was a dance that she knew all the steps to, but she couldn’t focus, not with her mind drifting to her time training with Mei and studying with Dwayne.
That last was especially distracting of late.
“You’re doing very well.” Her father joined her next to the fireplace, his badge of office glinting in the flames. “Yet again, I must thank Francesca for that wonderful dress.”
Lord Commander Gallus was dressed in formal military wear, a pale wheat suit over cardinal trousers, and next to him, Magdala felt like a yellow and red cake.
“And I must curse her for being too busy to be here,” replied Magdala. Francesca’s family, the Lucchesis, took the eight days of trading between the Autumn Session and the Harvest Ball very seriously. “She actually enjoys this stuff. At least, Dwayne would-”
“You spend too much time with that boy,” her father said stiffly.
“I do not! Ahem. Enjoy the food.” Magdala waved on a curious onlooker. “I do not. I’m just helping him with his experiments, which will prove my lord uncle’s theory and improve our family’s standing.”
Her father shook his head. “Surely, you don’t need to be present to help him. You could send those ‘shunts’ of yours via courier. I mean, after taking measurements, I don’t have to visit the armorer everyday.”
Magdala raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you do that anyway?”
Her father gave her a look. “Because I enjoy his company. Do you enjoy Dwayne’s?”
Before she could answer, an announcement cut through the reception‘s hubbub. “Dwayne Kalan, heir to the Guardian of the Wall, apprentice to the Royal Sorcerer, and Head Clerk of the Royal Sorcerer’s Office!”
The reception went silent, and all focus shifted to the room’s entrance, where a boy with dark brown skin and a proud orb of black hair stood tall in Kalan cerulean and sable like he’d been born to it. Dwayne allowed the room a moment to behold him and then bowed, bending forward with one long fingered hand resting on his stomach, a perfect show of deference that sparked dozens of whispers.
“My daughter spotted him on campus last week.”
“It was quite the ploy by Lord Kalan.”
“But is it really that surprising? Remember who he was courting five years ago.”
Dwayne straightened up and searched the room. When he found Magdala, he grinned and she grinned back. She moved to meet him.
“No,” her father’s hand closed around her elbow, “not tonight.” He spun her around to face him. “Tonight, he is simply your cousin, nothing more. Besides, someone else has decided to be his escort tonight.”
Magdala snuck a look over her shoulder and winced. “Gran? You set Gran on him.”
Her father laughed. “Like I said, she decided. She wants to know why you and your lord uncle are so fascinated by him.”
Magdala’s eyes narrowed. “What are you two planning? A betrothal?”
Her father’s hands came up. “No, nothing like that. Iona made it extremely clear that your education comes first. Although…” He gave her a conspiratorial look. “There have been offers…”
Magdala shook her head. “I…” What was a good excuse? “I just don’t have time for courting right now.”
“I believe you.” Her father’s gaze drifted into the past. “Courting your mother while she was an apprentice was a trial and a half.”
“The only thing harder was having children.” Her mother joined them in her teal one piece suit, her bare shoulders covered by an azure scarf. “Gerald, were you ‘flanking’ the topic?”
“Flanking?” Magdala glanced at her father. “You were the advance party?”
He grinned. “Quite so.”
“Which makes me the main force, I suppose,” said her mother.
“Always, my love.”
Her mother accepted a kiss from her father. “In that case, I’ll ‘charge’ in. Magdala, my child, it’s time you chose a college.”
Magdala nearly dropped her glass. “What?”
***
After his carriage came to a stop at the end of Tarpan’s long winding drive, Dwayne tried to open the door, but his hands were shaking so much that he fumbled the handle. Grimacing, his eyes slid to the leather bracer poking out of the rucksack in Rodion’s lap.
His steward tucked the bracer away. “You’ll be fine, my lord.”
Dwayne swallowed. “But-”
“You know the risk of discovery is too great.”
“But what if they ask me to do Qe magic right then and there?”
“My lord.” Rodion placed a hand on Dwayne’s shoulder. “They know that you can cast Qe magic because you’ve shown their children and their teachers, and Qe mages pride themselves on being the most rational mages in Markosia. What would be more rational? That you needed an external tool to produce Qe magic? Or that you were a Qe mage?”
Nevermind that the latter meant a lie of omission. “But…I…”
“Go or…” The steward leaned in. “I’ll use your full title, and only your full title, for a whole week.”
Dwayne snorted. “I’ve allowed you the strangest tortures.”
Rodion’s lips pressed together for just a moment. “Quite.” He pushed open the carriage door. “Just remember what you read in that Armsford book and you’ll be fine.”
“Right.” Dwayne took a deep breath. “Here I go.”
Raising the hood of his cloak against the drizzle, Dwayne stepped out of the carriage, his shoes hitting the drive with a strange tapping sound. Unlike the road to the Tower, Tarpan’s drive wasn’t badly maintained dirt and cobbles but was instead a smooth pale gray material, not unlike the face of the moon. The drive curved towards Tarpan’s main building, a three-story manor with pale yellow walls, windows a carriage could ride through, and dozens of columns topped with friezes of stampeding horses. It was old and full of history, a contrast to the drive that led to it, but together, they summed up the Gallus family: history, money, and a willingness to change.
Dwayne paused before walking up the stairs. Inside that building was a mob of people waiting to scrutinize him, question him, challenge him on his parentage, his intelligence, and his ability to do magic, real magic, the kind granted by Cueller to three travelers seven hundred and thirty-two years ago. By entering that building, he’d leave the quiet of his own counsel and enter the cacophonic gaze of Society, but Dwayne had committed to this course of action back at Walcrest. He wasn’t going to back down now.
With a straight back and a high head, he ascended the stairs onto Tarpan’s threshold, where two soldiers stood guard in shiny breastplates and shinier helmets.
The guards brought themselves to attention, their grips tightening on their pikes.
The one on the left, barely hiding a sneer, asked, “You are?”
Slow breaths. Smile. “Dwayne Kalan, heir to the Guardian of the Wall, apprentice to the Royal Sorcerer,” might as well get accustomed to the whole list, “and Head Clerk of the Royal Sorcerer’s Office.” If he had to do the whole list every time someone challenged him, this was going to get very tedious.
The guard’s lip curled. “Yeah, ri-”
“Show respect, private.” The other guard slammed the butt of her pike into the ground. She bowed. “Milord, Lord Commander Gallus is expecting you.”
As her partner quickly followed suit, Dwayne relaxed. “Thank you,” he glanced at her stripes, “Corporal.”
The soldier’s cheeks reddened. “It’s just orders, milord.” She knocked on the door.
Thank heavens, Magdala had drilled military ranks into him. “Still, thanks.”
The door opened, releasing a wave of warmth and conversation into the cool night air, and a bewigged butler in a gold and red suit appeared to wave Dwayne into the foyer.
“Milord.” The door closed on the night. “Allow us to take your cloak.”
“Us?”
A pair of hands swept Dwayne’s cloak off his shoulders as the butler continued. “Dinner shall begin momentarily, milord. Would you like to attend the reception in the parlor?” An outstretched hand indicated a room across the checkered floor to Dwayne’s left.
Dwayne gulped and, once again, considered backing out, but whatever was in there, it was less than Lady Iona Gallus’s wrath. “Yes, I would. Thank you.”
When Dwayne entered the parlor, a servant took one look at him and then turned to the other guests. “Dwayne Kalan, heir to the Guardian of the Wall, apprentice to the Royal Sorcerer, and Head Clerk of the Royal Sorcerer’s Office!”
Conversation stilled and dozens of eyes turned to focus on Dwayne. He now stood alone in front of a fantastic tableau: ruffled dresses of pink, white, and greenish-blue; high-collared suits of burnt orange and dark red; wigs rife with ecstatic piles of curls and waves. These were nobles, merchants, and, most importantly, members of Magdala’s family. Faced with all that glamour, Dwayne’s new suit felt threadbare, his skin dark as pitch, his carefully shaped hair outrageous. If only he’d tried to fit in, worn a wig, powdered his face, bought the latest fashions, then maybe he’d…
No, that wouldn’t hide the simple fact that he’d been born Wesen. All he could do now was bow slowly and deeply, his hand tucked into his jacket just like Armsford had described.
When he rose, conversation filled the parlor once again.
No longer the focus of everyone’s attention, Dwayne searched the reception for friends and allies. It looked like Mei and Huan hadn’t arrived yet, but there was Magdala next to her father and the parlor’s enormous fireplace. In her pretty yellow dress with red detailing, he could hardly believe that she was the same person who’d burned a hole in a tavern table back in Anders. Back then, she’d been a burden, an imposition sent from far away Bradford to study magic under her lord uncle, but, here at Tarpan, it was Dwayne that was the burden, sent from far way Walcrest to study society under the Gallus family.
Magdala’s eyes met Dwayne’s and they both grinned, but, before Dwayne could join her, a hand, trembling and light, slipped itself into the crook of his elbow.
“Let’s take a look at you.”
He was pulled around to face an old woman in a simple red and gold dress.
“So,” she subjected him to inspection, “you’re Dwayne Kalan.”
“I apologize.” Red and gold were the Gallus family colors. Obviously, she was a family member. Dwayne bowed and rose with a pleasant expression on his face. “You have me at a disadvantage, milady.”
The old woman chuckled. “Never admit that at one of these things or you’ll be telling everyone that, young Kalan.” She patted his chest. “You do make such an impression. I can see why Iona wanted to present you to society.” She caught Dwayne’s expression. “You don’t know who I am, do you? I’ll give you a hint. I put lords in diapers.”
Which meant that she was either a nurse or… “Lady Stefanie Gallus, it is an honor to meet you.”
Grandmother Gallus gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Oh, well done, boy!”
Dwayne’s smile nearly slipped. “Learning genealogy is hardly harder than learning magic.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it. Let’s go for a walkabout.” She pulled him towards the center of the parlor and away from Magdala. Which was probably the point. “Now, of course I’ve attended the occasional magical demonstration, but whenever dear Iona says things like ‘shifts in perspective have a profound effect on the results’ I confess I find myself reaching for the nearest pillow.” She nodded at Lady Gallus, who was talking to a bulky, nervous young woman in a bright orange dress. “I swear it must be a purely physical thing between her and my boy.”
Dwayne’s smile slipped. “A… physical thing?”
“Oh, you’ve been taught prudishness! That’s a pity. Oh, Dru.” She pulled Dwayne to a stop. “Meet Iona’s new nephew.”
An auburn-haired woman and a portly man stopped their conversation and turned to them. Dwayne bowed, recognizing Lady Drusilla Vander and her husband Marcel, Magdala’s aunt and uncle.
Lady Vander sniffed. “Are you sure, Mother?” Her eyes flicked down. “My lord brother-in-law hasn’t seen fit to give him a seal ring or to attend his debut.”
That again. Dwayne hid his clenched hand behind his back and forced a pleasant expression back onto his face. “Good evening. Unfortunately, Lord Kalan is busy with Walton’s clean up after the attack on-”
“Surely,” Lady Vander drew herself up to her full height, a head under Dwayne’s own, “he’s taken the time to teach you some manners, young Kalan.”
Grandma Gallus’s hand were gripping Dwayne’s elbow hard, a clear indication that he’d screwed up. A quick review of Armsford revealed the error. “Lady Vander, apologies.” He still hadn’t quite figured out the timing of when he was supposed to use titles. “His lessons on the subject had been quite thorough.” Armsford’s had been at least. “It’s my slip up, not his.”
Lady Vander lifted her nose. “Why someone like you was elevated is beyond me.”
Grandma Gallus gave her daughter a light slap on the arm. “Don’t play dumb, Dru. This boy is not just an ex-slave. He’s the first Wesen to ever perform Qe magic, and I’m sure you’ve read the official report out of Gary’s garrison. This boy is a Cups-poured Souran hero.”
Dwayne just managed to hide his astonishment. “I mainly assisted.”
Lady Vander gave her mother a look. “I expect that Gary and that wife of his did most of the work. Still, good job.” Those last words sounded begrudging. “Regardless, my lord brother-in-law had better make his status clear and soon. Marcel,” she turned to her husband, “I’m thirsty.”
Her husband’s hands were already full with drink, but he said, “Let’s get you a drink then, dear,” and let her lead him away.
When they were out of sight, Dwayne unclenched his fist. “Thank you, Lady Gallus.”
The old woman grinned. “Oh, don’t thank me. That was just the latest skirmish between her and I over the future of our family. She doesn’t think much of mages or of foreigners.”
“And, as I am both, she’d prefer me gone?”
“She fears a union between you and Magdala.” Grandma Gallus’s settled on Dwayne. “Are her fears valid?”
The parlor suddenly got warmer. “I’m, uh, not really thinking about that. I’m currently focusing on magic and stuff.”
Grandma Gallus watched him for a bit longer and then grinned. “I’ve heard good things about your work at the Magisterium. Between that and your successful suppression of your savage and lascivious nature, you’ve done more than well.”
Dwayne’s hand clenched. “It’s easy to suppress one’s nature. I’m Souran now, right?”
Grandma Gallus laughed. “Spoken like a true Qe mage! A ‘shift in perspective’ indeed. Well, onwards. Those merchants wolfing down those delightful pastries do business with the Gallus Western estates.”
As he was steered towards another knot of people, Dwayne struggled to shove his anger back down. Savage wasn’t new, but lascivious… If they expected him to go around doing Markosia-knows-what to their children, that was one more reason why the other students in his classes avoided him.
The irony was that he was already practiced in keeping such primal needs suppressed. On the plantation, one could be beaten for indulging.
He couldn’t let that break him though. By the time Grandma Gallus was done introducing him to the merchants, he’d already reassembled his mask of pleasant attention. “Good evening, Mr. diVida. You say you deal in grain? Tell me more, please.”