Vencian dried himself and pulled on clean clothes, moving through the familiar motions with little thought. The bath had done its work—washed off the dust and sweat of the day—but his mind remained cluttered. He crossed to his desk where the gramox sat, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the lamplight.
He inserted the glyphsteel. The mechanism clicked softly as it read the cipher.
No messages. His mother had written a few times since he'd learned about the deal with Duke Hadethon. Her last letter had been brief. The choice, she'd said, was his. She would support him, whatever he decided. That support came with a warning, though. Consequences would follow if he refused.
He removed the glyphsteel and set it aside, reaching instead for the second one. The secretive one.
