I nodded. He held my gaze for a moment, apparently to convey how very much he meant it. Then he rose and retrieved a folder and a book from his desk.

“We shall meet again at the same time tomorrow,” he said, “and every day thereafter. In the meanwhile, please read the document in this folder. You will return it to me tomorrow. You may write on it, but do not copy it or take separate notes.”

I nodded and accepted the folder. It was slender. There couldn’t be more than a few pages in it.

“This,” he said, holding up the book, “is a textbook of Baasha, the common language of the S-Em. You will comprehend the first chapter before our next meeting. Please keep this book and any notes you make out of sight. Most Nolanders do not have the opportunity to pursue this line of study.”

I accepted the book with some trepidation. I’d taken French in high school and loved it, but the idea of being given an “opportunity” others didn’t get made me nervous. I took it to mean I’d end up doing things they didn’t have to do.

“Lunch is served in the dining room between 11:30 and 1:30,” Cordus continued. “I have asked Miss Hegstrom to accompany you to that meal today and to give you a tour of the estate afterwards. I hope you will learn your way around quickly.”

I nodded and stood and, after a hesitation, thanked him for his time. It seemed the polite thing to do, even though the lessons were clearly compulsory. He nodded graciously, accepting my thanks, and I left, relieved to have gotten through the first lesson without pissing him off or becoming another unwilling notch on his bedpost.

“Can you ride?” Gwen asked.

She and I were leaning on the top rail of a white wooden fence, watching a handful of horses graze.

“Yeah, sort of. I mean, I’ve never had lessons or anything, but my best friend grew up on a farm. They had horses, and we used to ride them a lot. Mostly just bareback around the farm.”

I turned back to watch the horses.

“I really like them. They smell good.”

Gwen looked at me like I had a screw loose, and I blushed, suddenly feeling like an eight-year-old with a bedroom full of unicorn posters and My Little Ponies.

“Well, different strokes, I guess,” she said. “I’ve had to do stable duty before. What comes out of the back of them sure doesn’t smell good.”

I wouldn’t mind doing stable duty — I thought horse shit was pretty innocuous. But I didn’t say so.