The ride was smooth, Terian noted as he ran a gauntleted finger over the sharp points of his helm. He held it in hand, watching tentatively as the carriage crawled up the drive toward a portico that was growing closer outside his window. It was an affectation only the wealthy had; a protection against the drips that came inside a cave. The smell of food and perfumes wafted through his window and happy chatter greeted his ears as he traced his fingers over the points of the helm. He sighed deeply, draining his lungs and leaving himself tired. His armor felt as if it weighed tons, the dread within him magnifying its heaviness by factors. He pulled his finger back from the sharp points of the armor, unable to take his eyes off the helm he had worn for more than half his life. Is it really worth it? He shifted his gaze out the window as the carriage shuddered to a halt. Is any of this—these sacrifices, these impositions—worth it? What does it truly buy me?
What do You think about Thy Father's Shadow (Book 4.5)?
