The bread was cold by the time the class sat down, but nobody said so.
The long table in the lodging hall had two candles at one end and a bowl of grey porridge at the other. Hoff stood by the door with his hands behind his back. Ear leaned against the wall beside him, picking at a splinter in his thumb, and the lamplight caught the scar on his ear.
Kade did not sit. He stood at the head of the table, where the candles were brightest, with his shoulders squared and his chin up. Calen saw him take one breath, and then another, longer than the first.
Dorran was at the foot of the table with his bowl in front of him. He had not touched the porridge. He looked at Kade, then at his bowl, then at the wall.
“Ives,” said Kade.
Dorran’s spoon rattled against the bowl. “Sorry, Kade. Sorry. I did not mean to make the noise.”
“Stop,” said Kade. “Hear me first.”
Dorran stopped. His mouth stayed open, and then he closed it.
