The grocer I’d been paying for the past few years to keep Demetra’s son shuffled from foot to foot, clearing his throat. “I can’t keep the boy no more. My wife’s gone, my own boys are going to live with their aunt, and she don’t have room for another, and—” “You’re trying to drop this on me now?” I scowled. “I’m marching to Parthia in a fortnight!” “I know.” The grocer cleared his throat. “I like the lad well enough, but I can’t keep him no more.” I looked down at my charge. Seven years old now—I’d hardly recognized him when I stooped through the low door of the grocer’s shop in Mog. A handsome boy, tall for his age, with fair curly hair and an open, eager little face. He looked pale and shuttered now, standing between me and the grocer, head turning between us as our voices batted back and forth. I folded my arms across my breastplate, looking down at him. “Can you fight?” “No,” he whispered. “Shoot a bow?” “No.” “Use a knife?”
What do You think about Empress Of The Seven Hills?
