CHAPTER TWELVE
Kyra stood before Alva, her second uncle, and stared in disbelief. Despite herself, she felt supremely disappointed. Kolva had been everything she had ever hoped for in an uncle, had given her a sense of pride, of lineage; she had looked forward to spending time with him, to train with him, and she was proud to call him her mentor.
But this boy before her, Alva, hardly four feet tall, looking ancient, puny, sitting in a tree, appeared to be no mentor, no warrior, no sorcerer, wizard, or monk, no all-powerful being whom, she had imagined, would teach her everything she would need to know to become the greatest warrior of all time. Instead, there sat a mere boy, younger even than her little brother, Aidan, smiling down at her mysteriously, his face covered, prematurely aged.
