ENURRUA
DAY FIFTEEN
Joric ran his fingers along the scars on his face from the splinters the couch leg had left. The blast from the Firespitter had engulfed not only the balcony but the curtains and bed as well. Their servants had put the fire out quickly enough, and now he sat on one of the couches rubbing the soreness of his face and jaw. Even after three days it still hurt.
The bitch had hurt him badly, beaten him in a way that had not occurred since his father had beat him as a child. The four inch long sliver of wood had ripped open his perfect face, and deeply enough where he would carry the scar for the rest of his life. He looked up as his father walked into the room.