Son of a slave

"Well, I’m teaching you now. Connections are important, so remember that."

"I’ll remember, Mr. Kene..."

"That being said," injected Vaun, "when we first came here, you were just this little kid swinging twigs around in the back room. Now look at you, you’re nearly half a man."

"Half a—I’ll be fifteen this winter!"

Zech’s mother brought over the cider that Vaun had requested, along with a plate of dried meats and hard cheeses.

"Lucian bless you, Ma’am," said Kene, accepting his flagon. "You’re an angel if there ever was one."

"Oh, stop it," she smiled, turning her motherly eyes on Zech and his friends. "Only one cup each for you lot, and no sneaking others. Understand?"

"Okay, Mum. Thank you!"

Taken aback by the offer, Alistar stared down into the cup that Mrs. Lawson had placed in front of him and then gave the contents a whiff. It actually smells nice? He had taken tiny sips of wine and ale on rare occasions throughout the past year, though he hadn’t enjoyed either of them. Taking a sip of the lukewarm cider, he was surprised at its mostly sweet, slightly bitter taste.

"Blah, this is terrible," muttered Anice, who slid her cup away in a sign of reluctance.

Vaun snatched up the drink in an instant, only barely beating Kene to the punch. As the two men began to fight for the extra serving, the only woman in the group let out a quiet laugh that saw a little bit of her drink spill down her chin. Seeing this, Alistar instinctively offered her the handkerchief that had been included in his current outfit, which she accepted with a light smile and a minute tip of her head. When she offered it back, he shook his head.