“In your dreams,” she informed him. “But you’re allowed to be wrong on your birthday. I can do a birthday pie.”
Cherry. A cherry drudd pie. She knew Aevrin would like that. And maybe she’d serve it with plain soft custard, just to make a point, and make him laugh.
“I knew Cassia was a smart girl,” Sath said. “I dunno how my own son doesn’t like cake.”
“Pieisbetter,” Gramma Prisca said.
“Pie doesn’t have icing,” Sath informed his mother.
“Icing is just for prettiness,” Gramma Prisca scoffed. “You can’t beat a good pie.”
“Is nothing sacred in this world anymore?” Sath muttered.
“I like drudd and I like ale,” Mavek said loudly. “I don’t waste my time arguing over which is better. They’rebothbetter.”
“You alright, Sorven?” Gramma Prisca asked. “You’re being awfully quiet.”
The eighteen year old was poking at the remains of his plate. He blinked and straightened at Prisca’s words; clearly he hadn’t been listening.
“Uh… yeah. I’m fine.”
“You’ve been acting off for days,” Prisca informed him. “You feeling down?”
Sorven shook his head, but Sath frowned, not appeased.
“Your Gramma’s right. What’s wrong? You spent half the day at the general store today picking up that new corral gate. Is it a girl? Or a boy?”
“Let him be,” Aevrin suggested, his voice quiet. “He’ll talk when he wants.”
“No, I…” Sorven drew a deep breath, and then looked up, meeting first his Gramma’s eyes, then his father’s. “I wasn’t at Dawn Ridge the whole time. I met a recruiter in Lareo.”
“A recruiter? What recruiter?” Sath asked, his voice sharp.
Sorven set down his cutlery and sat up straight. Everyone watched him, nervous and expectant.
“I’m joining the army.”
It was so quiet in the room you could have heard a pin drop. Then Gramma Prisca set her spoon down, clinking on her plate.
“You can’t do that,” Sath snapped.
“Why not?”
“It’s dangerous,” Sath told Sorven.
“So is ranching. So is exhibiting.”
“That’s not the same as going south and facing fiends and Horrors from beyond—” Sath started harshly, then shut up fast, seeming to remember that Cassia’s own brother was there.
“I thought you’d be proud,” Sorven said grimly. “But I shoulda known—I’m not allowed. You’d only be proud if one ofthemdid it,” he said, jerking his head to indicate Aevrin and Mavek. “I’m sick of being treated like a baby.”
“You are a baby,” Mavek informed him.
“I’m 18. I’m a grown man,” Sorven informed him. “And I’m gonna start acting like it. I need to do this.”
“Shooting at demons doesn’t make you a man,” Gramma Prisca informed Sorven seriously. “Are you sure about this? You’ve thought it through?”
“Yup,” Sorven said, his voice clipped and a little higher than usual.
