"The Canopy of Fate's Architect,"
Vencian sat forward with his forearms braced on his thighs, the old man mirroring him without crossing the distance. The room held to its ordinary shape, bed against the wall, shutters latched, light resting low across the floor.
"What does it have to do with me?"
Before the man could answer, footsteps reached the door from the corridor. They were even and unhurried. The old man stopped speaking mid-breath and did not adjust his posture.
A knock followed. Vencian waited through one breath, then another, his ribs tight where he had healed badly. He spoke toward the door.
"Yes?"
"Did you take the medicine, and have you eaten since the physician left?"
"I took it, and I ate. I need a little time, Mother."
"Don't forget the second dose," she said.
"I won't."
