Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 28, 4586 AR (part II)

Please, take care of this baby. His name is Ayalal Duruvan.

The Headmistress placed the fragment of parchment on the kitchen table, next to an open bag of money. She counted 50 platinum coins in it - a huge amount. She glanced at the baby, held in Lysa's arms, by the fireplace. The teenager was talking to him, softly, as she waited for the warmth to give him a little more vitality.

"Duruvan ..." The surname meant nothing to her. However, whatever the family, it certainly had money, and the offering would be very useful.

"He's so pale, Mrs. Drane," Lysa said. "What do you think are his parents’ races?"

"For now that’s the least important," the headmistress cut off, her tone austere. They rarely heard her speak differently. “It's a baby. We will take care of him until he is grown. It will be your responsibility.”

“Mine?!” Lysa looked over her shoulder at the headmistress, stunned.

"Try to get him a wet nurse. The crib will be placed next to your bed. I do not want him to cry at night.”

Lysa's lips parted and then closed again, like a fish out of water, while she thought of how to avoid the orders. But she knew there was no way out, and she did not want to be punished for disobedience.

She sighed and looked back at the newborn. He shifted in the cloth around him, his cheeks a little more reddened by the heat of the fire. With a grunt, he began to wake up. When the little boy finally opened his eyes, they looked at each other, and he did not look pleased at all. His face began to squirm in a grimace, and shortly after, an acute cry filled the kitchen of the orphanage.