That made no sense. Impressive though the boy might be, there still had to be more to it. Clearly, someone high up in the family had been keeping watch on Thurfian’s mission today. That same someone had apparently also been following Vurawn’s life and had already decided that taking him was in the Mitth’s best interests.

So if the decision had already been made, why had Thurfian been sent to do an interview in the first place? Surely his recommendation didn’t hold that much weight with the homestead.

Of course it didn’t. Thurfian had been sent here to help cover the fact that Vurawn had already been selected for rematching. Pure politics, because with the Nine Families, it was always about politics.

He frowned, his thoughts belatedly catching up with him. He hadn’t reacted in any way when he received the message—he’d been an Aristocra and political creature long enough to know how to keep emotions like surprise out of his face and voice. Yet somehow Vurawn had recognized that the message had been disturbing enough to inquire about it.

He eyed the boy again. That kind of observational skill wasn’t common. Maybe there was more there than he’d realized. Some spark that would someday bring honor and glory to himself and his family.

Apparently someone at the homestead thought so, too, and that someone had determined that the family on the receiving end of that glory would be the Mitth.

There was still the question of whether or not the boy would be sent to the Taharim Academy. But with Vurawn’s unidentified benefactor pulling the strings, Thurfian expected that would also be a foregone conclusion.

He scowled at the landscape racing past beneath them. He didn’t like being manipulated. He very much didn’t like proper and time-honored procedures being thrown out the window on someone’s whim.

But he was an Aristocra of the Mitth, and it wasn’t his job to approve or disapprove of his family’s decisions. His job was merely to do the tasks he was given.

Perhaps someday that would change.

“No, no trouble,” he said. “I just received word that you’ve been accepted.”

Vurawn turned widened eyes on him. “Already?”

“Yes,” Thurfian confirmed, secretly enjoying the other’s confusion. So he could be surprised. And at least he knew enough politics to recognize the unusual nature of the situation. “We’ll presumably go through the ceremony when we reach the compound.”

“As a merit adoptive, I assume?”

So the kid also knew something about the Ruling Families. “That’s where everyone starts,” Thurfian told him. “If and when you go through the Trials, you’ll move up to Trial-born.”

“And then ranking distant,” Vurawn said thoughtfully.

Thurfian huffed out a silent breath. That, at least, would never happen. Not to someone from such an insignificant family. “Perhaps. For now, just start getting used to the name Mitth’raw’nuru.”