Eridan’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Did you know about the Tai’Lehrians? Is that why you didn’t want to be the Grandmaster when Kato died? So that Tethru takes the fall if the worst comes to the worst?”
Castien’s face was inscrutable. But he didn’t deny it, so Eridan took it as confirmation. He shook his head to himself, marveling at how his Master was always two steps ahead of everyone. It was a quality that had always annoyed Eridan a little. He always felt terribly transparent, while it was incredibly difficult to get a read on his Master.
“But how did you know about it before everyone else?” Eridan said. “We hadn’t yet gotten those reports about Tai’Lehr when Grandmaster Kato died.”
Although Castien’s face remained unreadable, some emotion flared in their bond, too quickly for Eridan to recognize it. “I have my own sources.”
Eridan shot him an exasperated look. “Don’t you trust me, Master?”
Castien’s posture was very straight, his eyes fixed on the mountains. “As much as I trust anyone,” he said.
Eridan pouted.
“Stop putting on that face,” Castien said.
“You aren’t even looking at me, Master. How do you know what face I’m putting on?”
Castien didn’t deign to reply.
Eridan scowled, his fingers playing with his thaal absent-mindedly. He had learned to navigate other telepaths’ minds without the grounding help of his thaal a while ago; the gemstone was more of a comfort thing at this point. Sometimes, when Castien was particularly distant and their bond was too quiet, Eridan just needed a reminder that his Master had chosen him, chosen him out of hundreds of initiates.
But did that really mean anything?
***
Eridan’s mood lifted a little when they arrived at his Master’s mansion. He followed Castien into the house, immediately at ease in the familiar surroundings.
This was home. Or at least the closest thing to a home Eridan had ever had. Well, it was likely he’d had a real home before he’d been given away to the Order, but his memories of his early childhood were nearly nonexistent. Eridan thought he remembered a beautiful woman with golden hair, who kissed him goodnight and called him “my little angel.” He also thought he remembered an older boy, a brother, but memories of him were even more confusing.
Anyway, it didn’t matter. Those people had given him up. The Order was the only home he had ever had.
Not the Order, his inner voice corrected him snidely. Your Master.
Pushing the uncomfortable thought out of his mind, Eridan looked around the living room. He hadn’t been here in over a month. Castien lately insisted that when he was away, Eridan should stay in the house Castien had bought for him in the Apprentices’ district, but Eridan still couldn’t think of that house as home. Granted, it probably didn’t help that he barely spent any time there, preferring his Master’s mansion. To his surprise, Castien didn’t seem to object to his presence, only ordering Eridan to go to his own house in his absence.
Eridan wandered out onto the terrace. He tried not to look down. He wasn’t very good with heights, and the cliff the house was imbedded in was almost a straight-up, rock wall tarsecs high. The view was awe-inspiring, the setting sun coloring the clouds and the sea golden and pink. Eridan knew it was the best view in Hronthar, his Master’s house the only one besides the castle that offered such a view. He suddenly wondered how much this mansion had cost Castien. That said, Eridan doubted the beautiful view was the reason his Master had acquired it: owning the best house in District Four was likely a power play of some sort.
Eridan smiled softly, thinking about how the rest of the world viewed mind adepts of the Order. Everyone thought the “monks” lived in austere conditions and didn’t care for material things or power. Granted, it was the way of thinking that was carefully cultivated by the Order, but it was still amusing how clueless the rest of the planet was. Castien alone owned numerous estates and companies on and off Calluvia, and he knew other Masters did, too.
“Tell me why you lost control of yourself,” Castien said, coming to stand next to him. He looked not at the sun disappearing into the horizon, but at the water far below them. His Master wasn’t afraid of heights—he wasn’t afraid of anything, as far as Eridan was aware. He was so damn perfect. Perfectly in control. Sometimes it