Consciousness hit Soren like a physical blow. He opened his eyes to find himself sprawled in the dust of the training yard, his body a map of pain with no safe territories. Overhead, the sky had taken on the deep purple of early evening, though he had no memory of the sun's descent.
"Get up," a voice commanded from somewhere above him. "Lord Ayren waits, and he's not known for patience."
Soren blinked, trying to bring the world into focus. A page stood over him, nose wrinkled with distaste at the sight of his blood-smeared, sweat-soaked form. The boy couldn't have been more than twelve, yet he managed to look down at Soren as if examining something scraped from the bottom of a boot.
"Did you hear me?" the page pressed. "Lord Ayren. Waiting. Now."
The shard against Soren's chest pulsed once, the first sign of Valenna's presence since Kaelor's demonstration had driven him to his knees. Her voice whispered through his mind, cool and distant as winter stars.
