Lucian sat before the glass bowl, his gaze fixed on the dark soil within. A faint damp scent rose from it, rich and earthen, as though the ground itself breathed. The surface lay undisturbed just as he had left it a week ago.
"I wondered if that scent of soil clinging to you came from your new companion in the stables," his mother remarked from behind him. He turned at the sound of her voice and noticed her one elegant brow arched in quiet inquiry. "I didn't know you were into gardening."
"I am not," Lucian replied.
"No matter," his mother said, waving her hand. "I have books, if ever you wish to learn about such things."
"I have read them," Lucian answered. Lady Irina tilted her head, accepting his words without surprise and took the seat beside him, her dress faintly rustling as she settled. "Was there something you wanted, Mother?" he asked at last.
"Why?" she asked lightly. "May I not visit my own son simply to see him?"
