Julian's grip tightened instinctively on Lucius's small hand. He didn't like this.
He looked down at Lucius, searching the boy's face for the familiar tells—the slight tilt of the head, the way his brows pinched when he was overwhelmed.
But Lucius wasn't overwhelmed. His eyes were wide, glowing with a dangerous kind of wonder. To a child who lived in a small corner of the world, what they were doing, the chant they were singing, all of it felt like an adventure. And he was thrilled.
He didn't have his slate to write a request, but he didn't need it. The way he leaned his weight toward the priests, his fingers tracing a small circle on Julian's palm, spoke volumes.
Master Julian, can we? I want to know what the 'sun' feels like.
"Lucius, we were going to the frozen fountain, remember?" Julian said, his voice low, trying to pull the boy's attention back. "The water looks like glass, and you like staring at your reflection on it, remember?"
