I sit down carefully, my back straight, my hands folded in my lap. He sits across from me and rings a small bell. Immediately servants appear carrying trays of food. They set down plates in front of us, roasted chicken with herbs, garlic mashed potatoes, grilled asparagus, fresh bread with butter. Everything looks and smells amazing but my stomach is too twisted with nerves to feel hungry.
We eat casually at first, neither of us speaking. The only sounds are the clink of silverware against china and the soft crackling of the candles. Then he breaks the silence.
"So tell me, Kestrel," he says, cutting into his chicken. "What are you studying at school? What are your interests?"
"I'm focused on tech," I say, grateful for an easy question. "Computer programming, software development, that
