Raising a Hero

Chapter 51

Gus and I did our best to go back to normal, and it worked for the most part. There was still a pane of awkwardness between us, like a window we wouldn't touch for fear our fingers would smear it or we'd break it. But the feelings were still the same. My mission in this world was still the same. It's amazing what you can get use to if you set your mind to it.

Two weeks passed before I got my first letter from Sir Dostuve. It was written in fine, brilliant white parchment, much finer than the temple's letter had been, and faintly perfumed with something like lavender or roses. His penmanship was also meticulously straight and beautiful in a way I'd only seen in the book given to me by Nehcor.

It was my first real, hard core test on how well I'd been learning from said book on how to read and write in this language.

I did moderately well. Slow as tar compared to my original reading speed in my own language, but I didn't get completely lost on any words. Thankfully, it was a relatively short letter apologizing for the delay, inquiring about my well being, and adding that, if I hadn't figured out what I would like as payment for my services to him, if I'd be okay coming to the duchy for dinner. He asked what my favorite foods were if I did agree to come, but to not feel pressured.

It reflected the clean, polite, and earnest impression I had of the nobleman.

I told Gus about the letter, but it was a while before I had got some decent paper to respond with, as well as some uninterrupted time. We were hitting the last of the busy season as travelers raced to avoid the first snow.

When I finally did get around to my letter, Gus was already waiting for me with his tied up in string since we didn't have a wax or seal, and it just seemed tacky to try to make one with some candle drippings.

"I'm going to include it in yours," he said.

"How'd you make it so fast?"

He gave me a bland look. We both knew that our reading and writing comprehension were at roughly the same level, having been fellow students together.

"Are you trying to write him a novel?" he asked.

"No. At least, not yet. Go away, stop distracting me."

For some reason, having Gus know who I was writing to, and the idea of him reading over my shoulder, flustered me. I couldn't help but remember the phenomenal handsomeness of the duke's son's face.

I kept my letter as concise as I could. I said that a dinner would be marvelous as well as a better opportunity to more clearly talk about the favor I wanted, which was education, in a general term, for both me and Gus—mainly Gus. I was good learning how to grow things and geography, that sort of thing. I didn't know much about the cuisine from this world, as the fare Milly fed me was basic vegetables, bread, with some meat and fruit, but I was able to tell him I didn't like spicy foods nor things that were overly sweet, though a little sweet was nice.

The moment I started to feel like I was babbling, I closed the letter, only to add on a post script apologizing for my subpar penmanship. Unlike his straight as lace lines and letters, mine seemed to wiggle all over the place.

Gus slipped his smaller letter into the tube of my own and we handed it off to the messenger man with the appropriate address. He would have been surprised by our daring to address a nobleman if he hadn't been the one to deliver said nobleman's letter to us earlier that week.

I liked the messenger. He was one of those fellows that treated me like air, like the tanner. Probably saw all sorts in his line of work.

You'd think the bards would have the same attitude, having for certain seen all sorts of faces. In their defense, some did, though that didn't say much as when it was warm outside they practiced their craft in the squares, busy streets, and halls of the lords when they could. Not much time to gawk and stare at any pretty or weird passersby.