"Go there," Blackwell said, his voice hardening into a tone of command, "and I give you the task of breaking through the Third Boundary."
"My Lord..." Lombard began to interrupt.
"I know what you mean to say, Lombard. It is not a thing that is done easily, nor even entirely by intention. But something tells me that boy will manage it, if he has a mind to."
"The Third Boundary? To what end?" Oliver asked. He desired strength, and he would have pursued the Third Boundary regardless, but still, he raised the question.
"To the end of serving me better. So that in these two and a half years of waiting, I have reason to raise you up. On your eighteenth birthday, you will come and fight under me. If you've achieved the Third Boundary by that time, a hundred men will be waiting for you – and I'll teach you how to command."
A sudden realization ran through Oliver, as he saw the sparkle in Lord Blackwell's eyes, and he began to realize just who he was talking to. He gulped.
"Lord Blackwell..." He dared to ask. "How many men do you command?"
The Lord seemed surprised by the question, but he must have seen Oliver's intent through it, for his mouth once more broadened into a smile – but this was a toothy smile, that showed his fangs, unlike the amiable smiles he had shown earlier. This was the smile of a predator. This man was one of the Tigers of the Stormfront.
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The room had been silent for a short few moments. Oliver stood, not wishing to break the silence of his own making.
It was a smaller room than the one Lombard had allowed him to rest in, during his short stay in the Captain's company, but this room, the lady had assured him was his.
He didn't know whether she was meant to be one of the professors, or whether she was a mere serving lady, but not wishing to offend someone before he had even gotten started, Oliver had been as polite as he could have been, in a mute sort of way, hiding any obvious feelings of discontentment that he might have had.
But now that he was left alone, he could not hold the quickening of his chest, as he regarded the simple, single bed, and the small, rather bare room.
A smile lit his lips then. For this room, this was his. The earlier woman had said so. She had even insisted that he decorate it.
"Most noble children have their servants decorate their rooms to make them more comfortable before the term starts, but seeing as you are joining us halfway through the year... well, I'm sure you'll be able to make it comfortable soon enough," she had told him.
Oliver wasn't so sure that he really needed it to be made more comfortable. This was his. A room of his own. A room of stone, with even stone on the floor. It was a remarkable upgrade to what he was used to – that was, living on the forest floor.
Even the house that he had rented from Greeves could not match it. That house had been more of a lean-to than a true property. There was an endless draft, no flooring to rescue him from the ground, and even the roof itself had been unreliable.
But this was a room of the finest sort. A room with a ceiling that he would never be able to reach, no matter how high he jumped. Even if he had stood on Judas' shoulders, he wouldn't have been able to touch it.