Alex watched them leave from his window, then settled down for some dull time at the castle. He turned and caught a glance of his image in the mirror-the image of his father. Lord Alecse was in his fifties now, but still looked young enough to be Alex's brother, and they looked like brothers as well. Alex didn't resemble his mother much (unlike his younger brother who was a mix of his parents)-he simply looked like his father. Never-ending frustration occurred because of this. People always talked about how much they looked like each other, and people who didn't know any better assumed they were brothers. He looked away and went down to the practice yard to practice his sword-work. Although he'd been taught for the past ten years on how to use a sword, he still wasn't quite comfortable with it. He much preferred the staff, bow, or sling. and Tamir still beat him often, a constant source of embarrassment. His brother was even getting close to the point where he would start beating him often-and he was ten! His instructor insisted that it was simply because they had gotten started earlier-but he wondered if, as Tamir had said after the first time they fought-it meant he was less of a son to his father. So, he practiced. Every time his family left him there alone, he practiced, he took extra lessons, anything it would take to get better.