Exhausting as it might be, at least the view was worth it. The dogwood trees were beautiful as their leaves bloomed with the arrival of spring. The surrounding area was mostly hills and forests, but the mansion had been built atop the highest elevation in the area. One stretch behind it in particular offered a stunning view seemingly to the horizon of the forest clustered atop the rolling hills. Sometimes robins took flight in tremendous flocks, and there was a dreamlike quality to their emergence from the morning fog. Each morning he’d catch wisps of smoke from homes built underneath the canopy of trees, and he idly wondered who lived there, and what their lives were like.

Most likely they were getting more sleep than he was, Cyrus thought with a bitter frown. Every week, the same. Three days of brutal training, one day off for study and greater emphasis on swordplay drills. The runs never stopped, though. Perhaps they wouldn’t until he was dead.

Thorda taught Cyrus to study his opponent, to learn their moves and anticipate how they might think and react. In swordplay, that meant tracking feet placement, hand movements, and eye contact. In the war against the Everlorn Empire, it meant learning its history of conquest and territorial expansion. Thankfully Thorda was equally armed on this front, for his mansion was privately stocked with a library of books brought along with him from Gadir. After the running, the exercises, and the painful spars that left Cyrus’s body covered in bruises, he limped his way to the library for his favorite way to end the day. He would collapse into an overstuffed chair in the corner, grab a book, and read while his body recovered. Sometimes he’d read deep into the night prior to retreating to his bedroom. Sometimes he didn’t make it that far, and fell asleep in the chair, book still in hand.

For perhaps the first time in his life, he was thankful that Regent Gordian had forced him to learn the imperial tongue. It was in that language that all of Thorda’s books were written. His grasp of it was still weak, but it quickly improved over the passing days. He slowly tweaked and shifted the contents of the library like a bird adjusting a nest to make it better accommodate his presence. Favorite books were stacked atop an unused writing desk. On a little square table beside his chair, he piled up books he would read next. No matter how hard he tried, that pile never seemed to shrink. He was always finding new tomes, books he’d originally skimmed over, thinking them worthless, only to later realize their value. When Thorda had called the library his treasure, Cyrus could understand why.