The fact was, the boy didn't know how to read at all--as such, extra lessons were needed--more money that shouldn't exist was spent for the sleazy instructor to teach the boy what should be the bare minimum teachings of the nation.
As the days passed, a glimmer returned to his eyes as the stimulation of learning did its work, but rarely did his sister ever watch over him as the man instructed him. In fact, she never stood in the same room as the highborn mage.
It was a fact he brushed off, but still, it somewhat bothered him.
"Karsten...that's your name?"
Avdima asked as he sounded out the symbols dyed in ink across the parchment.
"Yes; very good, Avdima."
Though the praise came from the man's dry lips, the ginger-bearded mage was distracted by something else; leaning back in the fragile wooden chair as his sleazy, blue eyes watched the door to the sister of Avdima's room.
