Theo decided after his first, that he did not like tutors.
This one, in particular annoyed him exponentially.
Master Iven arrived on a gray morning with a single trunk, a thin coat that had once been fine, and a look that suggested he had not expected to be teaching in a half-empty mansion at the edge of relevance.
He bowed properly to Lord Oaten. He nodded politely to Lyra. He looked at Theo for three seconds too long.
"Hm," he said.
Theo didn't know what that meant, but he immediately disliked it.
Lessons began that same afternoon.
They were held in a side room that used to be a sitting parlor, its windows tall and drafty, its shelves half-cleared of books that had been sold or moved elsewhere. A single table stood in the center. Two chairs. Ink, parchment, and a stack of books that looked heavier than Theo expected.
Master Iven gestured. "Sit."
Theo gave a side eye then sat.
"We'll begin with reading," the tutor said. "Out loud."
Theo nodded and took the book.
He froze.
Not because he couldn't read.
Because he could.
And the book was… wrong.
The letters were familiar, but arranged strangely—older spellings, archaic turns of phrase. Words that bent in ways modern writing didn't. Theo stumbled over the first sentence, corrected himself, stumbled again.
Master Iven's brow creased.
"You've read before," he said.
"Yes," Theo answered.
"Where?"
Theo hesitated. "Around."
That answer earned him a look.
"Read," Master Iven repeated.
Theo did. Slowly at first, then faster as his eyes adjusted. His voice steadied. He found the rhythm. By the third paragraph, he was no longer thinking about the letters—just the meaning.
Master Iven stopped him abruptly.
"You're guessing," he said.
Theo blinked. "No."
"You are," the tutor insisted. "You're predicting the words instead of reading them."
Theo frowned. "They make sense."
"That's not the point."
Theo didn't argue, but something in his chest tightened.
The lesson continued like that.
Reading turned into writing. Writing into numbers.
Theo relaxed when they reached arithmetic.
Not because it was easy—but because it was honest.
Numbers didn't change their meaning depending on tone or history. They didn't care if you respected them. They either worked or they didn't.
Master Iven set a series of problems in front of him.
Theo solved them.
Quickly.
Then again.
Master Iven paused.
"Show your work," he said.
Theo stared at the page. "I did."
"No," the tutor said. "You wrote the answer."
"That's the work."
Master Iven sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Explain how you arrived at it."
Theo opened his mouth—and stopped.
He knew how he'd gotten there. He just… hadn't used steps. He'd seen the relationship immediately. The way quantities balanced. The way excess carried over.
"It's obvious," Theo said, then winced. That had sounded wrong.
Master Iven straightened. "Nothing is obvious. Especially not to someone else."
Theo stared at the numbers again, trying to break his thoughts into pieces small enough to explain. It felt like trying to describe how bread smelled before it baked.
"I… adjusted," he said slowly. "Because if you take too much here, you have to reduce there or it won't hold."
Master Iven went still.
"…That's not how you're meant to think about it," he said.
"But it works."
"Yes," the tutor admitted reluctantly. "It does."
They stopped early that day.
Theo left with ink-stained fingers and a headache that felt different from hunger or exhaustion. This one sat behind his eyes, dull and persistent.
That night, he helped Hollis in silence.
He carried wood. Counted loaves. Watched hands work dough into shape.
The motions made sense.
The next lesson was worse.
History.
Names, dates, treaties, alliances that no longer mattered because the houses involved no longer existed. Theo tried to care. He really did. But his attention slipped, snagging on details that felt irrelevant.
Master Iven noticed immediately.
"You're drifting," he said sharply.
Theo blinked. "I'm listening."
"Then tell me why this war mattered."
Theo considered. "Because it changed who controlled grain routes."
Master Iven paused.
"That's… part of it," he said.
"And food prices," Theo added. "And which towns survived the winter."
"…Yes," Master Iven said slowly. "But that's not the lesson."
Theo frowned. "Then what is?"
"The politics," Master Iven said.
Theo didn't say what he was thinking.
That politics didn't feed people.
By the third week, patterns emerged.
Theo struggled with memorization. Excelled at application. Frustrated Master Iven by asking why before accepting how. Skipped steps. Jumped conclusions. Got answers right for reasons that made no sense to anyone else.
Master Iven, to his credit, did not give up.
"You don't learn like other children," he said one afternoon, not unkindly. "That's not a flaw. But it is a problem."
Theo nodded. "I can try to change."
"No," the tutor said quickly. "Don't."
Theo looked up, startled.
"Change how you explain," Master Iven clarified. "Not how you think."
That was harder.
Theo tried.
He practiced breaking his thoughts apart. Writing intermediate steps. Slowing down even when his mind raced ahead. It felt like intentionally dulling a blade.
Some nights, he lay awake, hands twitching beneath the blanket.
Not from wanting to bake.
From wanting to do something.
Anything to help his family.
Weeks passed.
Master Iven adjusted.
He brought real-world problems instead of abstractions. Trade scenarios. Supply calculations. Hypothetical shortages.
Theo came alive.
"If flour is scarce, you don't increase price immediately," Theo said once. "You reduce portions first. People notice price changes faster than size changes."
Master Iven stared at him.
"…Who taught you that?"
"No one," Theo said. "I just noticed."
Later, Master Iven began writing a letter to Theo father.
Theo, seeing Master Iven step waywent to have a look at what he was writing.
Theo wasn't meant to see it.
But curious as he was he did anyway.
The boy does not think like a scholar. He thinks like a craftsman. Patterns, ratios, consequences. If you want him educated, do not bury him in theory. Teach him systems.
Theo folded the letter carefully and put it back.
He made a promise to himself not to tell anyone he'd read it.
That night, he stood in the kitchen doorway longer than usual.
Hollis glanced at him. "Are the Lessons hard?"
Theo nodded.
Hollis grunted. "Good."
Theo smiled faintly.
His hands still itched.
But now, for the first time, his mind did too.