“I have duties, you know,” said Sion. “I can’t simply pack up and leave simply because an old friend asks me to. An old, long-forgotten, friend who disappears for ages without warning, with no word on where he’s been–”“I know you got my letters,” said Brin. He could only give Sion half his attention, because the rest of it was consumed with the unbelievably delicious assortment of pastries and cookies Sion had set out for him. He took a bite of raspberry tart and hummed in pleasure.“Short letters which said little except for what I think were contrivances, not to be believed. Would you really have me think that you meekly sat in a monastery for months, waiting for your curse to go away?” asked Sion.“I literally did exactly that,” said Brin. “Oh, mm. MM! How did they get this lemon frosting so lemony? This is the lemonest thing I’ve ever tasted.”“Truly?”“Mm,” said Brin. “So lemony.”“I meant about the monastery,” said Sion.Rhun was also sitting with them, though he looked supremely uncomfortable in the refined setting. “He’s telling the truth.”Sion looked back at Brin. “Is that why you’re so enthusiastic about the refreshments?”Brin let the next bite of lemon pastry pause outside his mouth. “Sion, I have not tasted anything near this good since the last time you hosted me back in Blackcliff.” They were at the Wogan estates near Aberquay, the home seat of Sion’s family’s mercantile enterprise. He’d expected a manor house and a copy of Glyn’s effortless splendor, but the Wogan main family was much more grand. Rather than a house, the Wogan estate was better called a company town, with thousands of workers and their families all working in Wogan businesses and living in Wogan houses. The main family themselves had several houses around the town, and Sion lived in the top floor penthouse of one of their factories.The trip here had been rather uneventful. He (...)