Joss snorted derisively. "You're young," he said dismissively, "And frankly, so is your Lord Blackwood. All this love and devotion--in five hundred years it will be meaningless. You'll drift apart, start to resent him. Maybe even kill your sire."

It wasn't as if Joss was speaking from experience, or anything.

He sighed and straightened. "I'll support you. Whatever it is you're planning, I'll support you. If you help me come back. I'm quite sick of being nine years old."