Warmages weren’t trained, they were bought. The minute a mage was born into a family that knew the price they would fetch, they were sold for double rations—just like Grayden had been. War was about sacrifice, sacrifice was necessary for survival, and survival was war. Grayden’s mother had been a shrewd woman; she had traded him to the Cideshii for the survival of siblings he couldn’t remember the names of anymore.
Watching impassively as snow filtered through an unpatched rip along the spine of his tent, Grayden’s anger boiled beneath his stoicism. When had he been anything but a weapon auctioned to the highest bidder? At least he was lucky in this instance. Currently, he served under the banner of Skyeford. If a soldier had to be somewhere, Skyeford was the place. He had more rights under King Lynn Broderick than ever before. The fact that Lynn was his lover had surprisingly little to do with that, even if their relationship had its perks.