“Is there a marked improvement in the state of your bond?” Master Idhron said, his eyes so emotionless it was a little disturbing. Although Jamil had been called emotionless in the past, this was emotional repression on a whole new level.
“I think so, Your Grace,” Jamil said, suppressing his nervousness. While it was true that the headaches from his torn bond had abated recently—ever since he’d started merging with Rohan—he didn’t know if Master Idhron would find his sudden improvement strange. He also wasn’t sure he would be able to hide his memories of Rohan if the mind adept got suspicious and decided to actually look for them.
“Let me see,” Master Idhron said, gesturing for him to kneel in front of him.
Jamil almost grimaced. He didn’t understand why kneeling was necessary. Master Idhron was a tall man, as tall as him. Jamil would suspect that the mind adept secretly enjoyed feeling superior, except he was pretty sure this man couldn’t feel a thing.
But he did kneel in front of the monk, and Master Idhron pushed Jamil’s cravat down a little to reach his telepathic point—and went still.
Jamil’s eyes widened in horror as he realized that he still hadn’t found time to use a dermal regenerator. Trying not to panic, he breathed deeply and dropped his gaze. Widowers weren’t supposed to live like monks. Although people didn’t speak about it in polite company, it was widely known that many widowed people slept around—with other widowers or outworlders. So what if the Grandmaster thought he was loose? It didn’t matter, as long as he didn’t guess the truth. Master Idhron didn’t strike Jamil as someone who would gossip about the few hickeys on Jamil’s neck.
“Drop your shields, Your Highness,” Master Idhron said evenly, as if nothing had happened.
Jamil swallowed and did as he was told.
The mind adept’s mental probing was different from a telepathic merge. It wasn’t as intimate, but it was as invasive. If Jamil had to compare two experiences, this was the equivalent of a rectal examination by a physician as opposed to the intimacy of penetrative sex.
To Jamil’s relief, it was over pretty soon.
When Master Idhron pulled out of his mind, he was frowning slightly. “Your bond to your deceased bondmate is weaker now,” he said. “How peculiar.”
Jamil’s stomach dropped. “Isn’t it normal? You told me it would get better with time.”
Master Idhron stared at him impassively. “No. Normally the torn bonds do not weaken after the death of one’s spouse. After a while, the raw edges scar over and hurt less, but the bond itself does not weaken. Yours has.”
Swallowing, Jamil said, “It’s not a problem, is it?”
The High Adept eyed him, but before he could say anything, the door opened and an unfamiliar male voice said, “Master, are you done? Can we go already?”
Idhron’s gaze snapped to the newcomer. His lips pursed slightly, his eyes flashing with some emotion Jamil couldn’t identify. But it was an actual emotion. “I told you to wait for me outside, Eridan.”
Jamil got to his feet and turned around, just in time to see the young man pout. As in, an actual pout, with pouted lips and sad eyes. They were beautiful eyes, too, large and violet, on a beautiful young face, with a halo of dark golden hair framing it.
“My apologies for my apprentice, Your Highness,” Master Idhron said, shooting the young man an unimpressed look. “Where are your manners, Eridan?”
“Oh!” The young man gave Jamil a sheepish smile, his lovely face flushing. He bowed gracefully to Jamil. “Health and tranquility, Your Highness.”
“You are Master Idhron’s apprentice?” Jamil said, incredibly surprised. He’d known that senior mind adepts of the High Hronthar had apprentices that they taught personally, but he’d never thought that the perfect, emotionless Grandmaster of the Order would have such an emotional apprentice. This kid didn’t look like a stoic monk at all.
Eridan flashed him a crooked grin. “I am, and I’m the bane of his existence. You’re even more stunning in person, Your Highness.”
Jamil blinked.
“Eridan,” Master Idhron snapped. “Wait for me outside.”
Eridan rolled his eyes. “Yes, Master,” he said, obediently enough. “But hurry up, would you? I’m bored. You know that me and boredom are never a good combination.”
As the door shut after him, Jamil looked at Master Idhron with new eyes. He couldn’t imagine this man actually choosing that emotional mess of a boy as his apprentice.
“I apologize for my apprentice,” Idhron said tersely. “He’s still learning. As for your bond, if it doesn’t keep deteriorating, I do not foresee a problem. Your mind is healing. I do not think it is still necessary for me to monitor your bond. But if you notice complications, you can always come to the High Hronthar for assistance.”
Jamil nodded and watched the monk leave.
Only when the door closed after him did he let himself relax. He was reasonably sure the High Adept hadn’t noticed anything amiss—anything other than his weakened bond.