The boy moved with the awkward, intense concentration of the young. He stepped and swung, parried and turned on the balls of his feet. He wobbled a few times and corrected missteps on occasion, seeming so focused that he barely breathed through his tight lips. Watching him, his mother paid little attention to the Form itself or to his performance of it. She simply stared at him, amazed at the act of creation that had brought him to life. She had made this child! This complete, exquisite human being. How was it possible that she possessed the power to draw that small mouth and fill it with those perfect, tiny teeth? And his eyes … well, they were gray flecked with brown, almost too large for his face. But he would grow into them, and when he did, they would melt all whom he set them upon.

Had she done all this?

The boy spun in a sudden flourish, his long wavy hair sweeping around him. Corinn always felt she should have it cut short, keep it trim and close to his scalp, neat. But she never had the heart to order it done. In his infancy, she had held this boy and stroked the hairless crown of his head and run her fingers around the soft indentations in his skull and pressed her palm over the spots. He had seemed so vulnerable then. He had remained so for nearly a year before his hair began to thicken and lengthen. Part of her had feared the prospect of his having straw-blond Meinish hair, but as it grew in she loved the look and touch of it. How could she help but adore it? It was her son’s hair.

True, he was Hanish Mein’s son as well. The proof was there in the gold highlights of his brown hair, in the already-sharp line of his jaw, and in the shape of his mouth. His features often had something of Hanish’s dreamy quality, a mirthful expression that had often disguised his true thoughts and intentions. Yes, he was Hanish’s son. Corinn lived with awareness of that fact every day. But he would not bear that traitor’s name. He was officially all Akaran; Corinn was all the parent he needed. If one sought to name his father—she had once snapped at an ambassador impertinent enough to question her on the child’s parentage—look no further than the line of Akaran itself. That’s what Aaden was! The child of Edifus and Tinhadin and every other Akaran who had ever walked across the Known World. He was named after Tinhadin’s firstborn son. Corinn thought that appropriate and, hopefully, prophetic.