“How did the training session go?” Zavier asked. I shrugged. “Was it your idea for him to train me? Or his?” “Mine. He is the best warrior in Turah.” I stared up at him, taking in the straight line of his nose and the band of silver above his brow. Did he always wear it? It seemed nearly set into his skin, like he’d grown into that crown. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You seem…sad.” I shrugged. “Just homesick.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the truth, either. “Zavier.” We both turned as the mustached man I’d spoken to earlier approached. “You’re needed on the Cannon,” he said. Zavier nodded,
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