It was a blur of housework and training. Tito was quick to learn fighting stances and attacks. He didn’t seem to need the endless practice that Caden had needed. Like Caden’s brothers, Tito had natural ability, and the clear skies and bright sun gave them hope. Sparring with broom and mop, however, was not the same as the clink of metal on metal from the sharp blades of swords or the thump, thump of sturdy Korvan battle staffs. By Monday morning the hope and clear skies of the weekend had given way to anxiety and heavy clouds. It was difficult to tell dawn from day. Caden stood on the porch and looked at the sky. “A bad omen,” Brynne said. She was dressed in jeans and a fuzzy white sweater. Her coat was the color of pressed steel and fitted to her. Everything she wore looked rich, yet her clothes came from the same sale racks as the too-long jeans and too-big turquoise sweater he wore. It was a frivolous waste of magic. “You should save your energy for something other than fashion,”
