LOREN
Loren shook his head. ”I’m too skinny and tired looking. Those are memorable features.” Again, the Launceleyn’s parents and current sorry state were not exactly topics that he wanted to dwell on just now. Yes, it was true that he needed to eat more, but given everything else he was supposed to do and given how much everyone else was suffering at the moment it seemed quite low on his list of priorities. ”Everyone at the manor is capable of feeding themselves now, so no spoon-feeding necessary.” The joke fell flatly out of his mouth, which wasn’t all that surprising given he was barely trying for humor.Thankfully, Remi released the librarian before too long. ”Stop apologizing.” Sorry was a meaningless word if people didn’t do anything about their guilt—the summoner knew that better than most—and the alchemist, of all people, did more than most. He was here, after all, despite his fear about reentering the manor. ”You knew, though. And there were others. Did any of you ask? Stop by to see how Peter was doing? Maybe offer to help, in any way you could?” Obviously everyone had been quite busy with, well, everything going on, but it wasn’t hard to make a quick visit. The librarian had certainly been making quite a few of those himself, so he knew it was possible. He waved away the other man’s concern. ”I took care of it.” It hadn’t exactly been a threat, and Amalia had been well within her rights to say what she did. The last thing Loren wanted was to create drama between the baker and the alchemist. ”I can actually take care of myself, you know.” The summoner’s tone was bitter and defensive, but at least it was intentional this time: he was trying to deflect attention back to himself.
Apparently the other man’s solution to all their woes was to make tea. Loren shrugged, not willing to argue anymore, and then stooped to pick up his book of children’s stories before leading the way into the kitchen of the manor. A few times, he spotted toys here and there that he paused to collect; by the time they arrived at the cozy room in the center of the manor (it was his favorite in this place, since it lacked the dark coloring and heavy fabrics that Zariah preferred), he had quite the pile. Setting them on a table near the front along with the book, he poured water into the kettle and set it to heat, before glancing around and realizing he didn’t actually know if they had tea or if they did, where they kept it. Sighing, he started throwing open cabinets methodically.
A beggar's book
outworths
a noble's blood
