Sebastian

heart.
    Hearing footsteps on the path, he curled up tighter. But the footsteps stopped suddenly, the person stepped off the path and came around the bush—and he looked up at a woman with dark hair and dark, angry eyes. He flinched at the anger pouring off her, but when she crouched down, her voice was gentle.
    "Who hit you?" she asked.
    "The woman," he muttered.
    "Your mother?"
    He shook his head. "The woman I lives with. She… keeps me."
    "Are you an orphan?"

    Another head shake. "Don't know my mother. My father… he doesn't want me because I'm an incubastard." He wasn't sure what that was, but he knew now it was the reason he would never live in a clean place with kind people.
    "What's your name?"
    "Sebastian."
    "I'm Nadia." She hesitated, studying his face, staring deep into his green eyes. "Are you Koltak's son?"
    He nodded.
    "Well, then. I guess that makes me your auntie." She stood up and held out her hand. "Would you like to come live with me, Sebastian?"
    The anger inside her had faded to sadness, but the warmth and kindness beneath the sadness, at the core of her, dazzled his young heart.
    Getting to his feet, he took the offered hand—and the two of them walked away from Wizards' Hall.
    Opportunities and choices. That was how Aunt Nadia explained how the currents of power worked.
    When a person made a heart wish, that wish resonated through the currents and things would happen to give the person an opportunity to make that wish come true. Like a gate not closing all the way. Like a woman, distressed and angry over the disappearance of her husband, hurrying down a path and stopping suddenly at the exact spot where a boy, who had the same green eyes as her own children, was hiding.
    Like a hand offered—and accepted.
    Sebastian shook his head as he continued to climb.
    Travel lightly. Think of something besides the fast. Think of sitting in Philo's courtyard on a summer night, drinking wine and watching the ebb and flow of people looking for a taste of the dark side. Think of sitting in Nadia's kitchen, a room that felt bright and warm on even the dreariest day. Think of Nadia's birds, those bright, playful little chatterheads. Travel lightly — or this place will swallow you whole .
    His legs burned by the time he climbed the last stair. His heart burned, too, but not from exertion.
    A cobblestone path cut between the stone walls that protected the houses of the wealthy who now shared the plateau with the wizards, leading to the street. Directly across the street was the Petitioners'
    Hall—the only entrance common folk had to the part of the hill the wizards considered their exclusive domain.
    As he crossed the street, he glanced at the structure that dominated the right-hand side of the wizards'
    estate.
    The Tower was the oldest structure in the city, and even now, centuries after it had been built, wizards still walked sentry duty, still kept watch.
    For what? What had they once feared that they had built on the highest piece of land in this landscape?
    What did they still fear that they continued to keep watch?
    He shook his head and banished those thoughts. Wizards claimed they feared nothing. He knew that wasn't true—at least, not for the last fifteen years. Which was the only reason he risked entering this city.

    The Petitioners' Hall was connected to the wall surrounding the wizards' private domain, separated from the buildings that made up the Wizards' Hall by the expansive courtyard and garden he'd wandered through so many years ago. It still looked open and friendly with all its trees and greenery—if you didn't consider the fact that only one gate next to the Petitioners' Hall provided a way back into the rest of the city.
    He opened the door of the Petitioners' Hall and stepped into a long room. Stone floor, stone walls, and unadorned wooden benches that were, no doubt, uncomfortable if anyone had to sit on one for very long. The room was lit by oil lamps suspended from the ceiling, which had to burn all the time, since there were no windows to let in light. The place felt cold and hard as the stone it was built from.
    He left the door open, more to give himself a way to escape than to indicate discourtesy, and strode to the desk at the back of the room.
    Here there was some luxury. The big wooden desk gleamed in the lamplight. Beneath it was a pool of thick carpet that would keep the cold damp of stone from seeping into the feet of whoever was on duty.
    Tonight it was a surly