King Godwin stretched as he arrived in the great hall, shifting the weight of the deer he carried. The noonday light was too bright for his eyes as he strode forward, because there’d been enough drinking on this hunt, and in the feasting before. He threw the creature down onto a table, hearing the wood creak as it landed. Across the hall, his wife looked up from working with Lenore and her maids on their dresses for the coming festivities.

“There, Aethe, my love!” he called out. “I told you that I would make up for yesterday’s feasting. We’ve bagged this, and boar, and pheasant!”

“And what good is it lying on our hall’s tables, making a mess?” Aethe asked with a tolerant sigh. She gestured to a couple of servants, who quickly went to take the deer away to the kitchens.

“Ah, you’ve no heart,” King Godwin said. He went to her, sweeping her up in his arms and kissing her. To him, she was still as beautiful as she had been when they’d first met; not the all-consuming passion that it had been with his first wife, but something pure, and simple, and needed.

“And you’ve no head, sometimes,” Aethe replied. She took him across to the spot where their thrones waited, carved in the basalt of the volcanoes that littered the land, most thankfully long dormant.

“How go the preparations?” King Godwin asked. “Is everything in order?”

“Everything is in chaos, thanks to you. An extra feast wasn’t just food, it was time as well, so now we’re trying to deal with everything at once. Then there’s the fact that half your children aren’t doing any of the things they should be to help, your sorcerer is wandering around doing strange things no one can fathom, and Finnal’s family is making things more complicated.”

King Godwin heaved a sigh. This was why he liked being out on the hunt: things were simpler there, with only the chase and the prey.

“Well, Rodry’s with me, along with those lads who follow him around so closely.” He raised his voice. “Rodry, come forward so that we can see you.”

Rodry strode forward and swept a bow in his father’s direction. He was dressed in loose hunting clothes, a sword at his hip.

“What do you need of me, Father?”

“What are you doing to aid in the wedding preparations, my son?” he asked.

“Aside from spearing the largest of the boars this morning?” his son countered with a confident look. His followers had cheered when he’d done that, clearly impressed. All the king had been able to think of was what might have happened if the boar’s tusks had gored his son, his heir.

“There’s still a lot to do,” Aethe said.

Rodry nodded. “Then I and my friends will do all that we can to help. Just tell us where we are needed, and we will do it. I have something special planned for a wedding gift, as well.”

“What?” King Godwin asked.

Of course, his eldest son shook his head, before he rushed off to do whatever it was he was set on doing.

“You realize that his would-be knights trying to help will create more chaos?” Aethe said. “You let the boy get away with being too rash.”

Godwin spread his hands. “You can’t have it both ways, my love.” He looked over to a servant. “Find my other children and bring them. Find my soon-to-be son’s family and ask them to meet with me too. I would know what the problem is.”

Aethe laughed at that. “You’re making it sound like all they need is a good talking to.”

Godwin shrugged. “Maybe they do. I’m going to start by talking to the daughter who is actually getting married.”

He stood and went to Lenore, who looked as perfect as she always did. She was standing there elegantly while her maids were working on her dress. At the same time, she was going through lists and notes while one of the maids read them out.

“Lord Forster and his son will be at the second table. Remember that they have a hatred of music, because the son finds it painful to hear…”

“Trying to remember everything about our guests?” King Godwin asked. “We’re the ones who are meant to be making the day perfect for you.”

“I still have plenty to do though,” Lenore said. “I will be meeting so many people, and I want to acquit myself well; I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

“You could never do that,” King Godwin promised her.

“Then there’s the tour of the kingdom,” Lenore said. “It takes a lot of preparation.”

King Godwin smiled at that, remembering when he’d toured it with Illia. People had come out to see them, and had given gifts, and more importantly, had pledged their loyalty.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” he said. He looked around at the sight of the doors to the Great Hall opening. “And here are your brothers and sisters.”

The brothers, at least, which caught the king a little by surprise. Vars and Greave walked in together, Vars looking like he was nursing a hangover, his shirt and doublet disheveled as if he’d thrown them on in a hurry. Greave was dressed in gray and black, a book of some sort in his hand, his expression downcast. Honestly, Godwin didn’t know what it would take to ever make his youngest son smile, and he wasn’t sure he had the energy to care. His presence always put Godwin a little on edge, simply because he resembled his mother so much, from his shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes down to the almost feminine lines of his face.

“Where are your sisters?” he demanded.

Greave shrugged, and somehow managed to do even that mournfully. “I have not seen Erin. Nerra is in her rooms, unwell, I believe.”

Godwin flinched at the thought of Nerra unwell again. He would have to see her and make sure she was all right. As for Erin…

He turned to a couple of his knights, Jolin and Borus. Both had served him for many years now. Both were utterly loyal. “Find my youngest daughter, wherever she has gone, and bring her back.”

“Yes, your majesty,” they chorused, heading for the door together.

King Godwin returned his attention to his sons. “What about you two? Why have you not been doing what you should to help with the wedding? Vars? You were not on the hunt.”

“I found more useful things to do,” he said. “I will of course aid in any way I can.”

“Then you won’t mind being Lenore’s guard and champion on her wedding procession?” the king said. It was the sort of job Rodry would have volunteered for, but his other sons needed some hardening up. Let Vars learn what being a warrior meant.

“Of course,” Vars said, although his voice was tight. That only told Godwin just how much his son needed to be made to take responsibility.

“And you, Greave?” the king asked, but cut his son off before he could reply. “No, don’t tell me, you were lost in some foolish book of poetry, or you felt the world too bleak to rise from your bed, or… what is that you’re carrying?”

“A refutation of Serek’s arguments regarding the autonomy of the spirit,” Greave said in that too serious voice of his.

“So nothing useful?” King Godwin said. If he’d spoken that way to one of his daughters, Aethe would probably have intervened, but she didn’t interfere when it came to Illia’s sons.

“If you wish me to help with the wedding, then perhaps I could assist the players with composing—”

“No,” King Godwin said. “You’ll do work that befits a king’s son, and a nobleman.”

“Such as what?” Greave demanded, with that edge to his voice that always made Godwin angry with him. “Maybe I could beat some peasants like one of my brothers, or stab some animals like the other?”

The king opened his mouth to reprimand his son, knowing full well that it would only go downhill from there. It was almost a relief when a trumpet blared and Finnal’s family walked in. Almost.

The young man himself was a handsome thing, who matched his daughter well, but Godwin could have lived without the whole parade of others who came with him: cousins and uncles, with his father, Duke Viris, at their fore. The duke had gray running through his formerly dark hair, and was dressed as severely as always, in clothes as suited to war or hunting as to the court.

“Your majesty, may I congratulate you on your success in the hunt?”

“You’re kind,” the king said. “At the same time, I understand that not everything is to your liking here?”

“Oh, it is just a few small matters,” Duke Viris said. “The order of arrival at the wedding, for example.”

“That is decided by rules of precedence,” Aethe said, “as I have already explained to you.”

“And I have pointed out that the order you have chosen is not the one that is universal. Typically, dukes process before princes.”

“Maybe we can discuss it further,” King Godwin said. “I’ll not have it said that I was a stickler for rules when they got in the way. What else?”

“There is the small matter of when and how your daughter’s dowry will be paid,” the duke said.

King Godwin sighed and settled back in his throne. Whoever had said that kings were able to just do what they wished had clearly not spent any time as one. This was going to be a long day; there were a thousand details to discuss now, and if he messed up any one of them, he suspected that his daughter might not be getting married after all.

CHAPTER TEN

Vars could feel the shame rising up in him, slowly bubbling and turning to anger, as he went through the things he was required to do for the day. The wine was keeping it at bay, but only barely. He lifted a goblet to his lips again.

“Please remain perfectly still, your highness,” the tailor with him said, and it was all Vars could do to keep from striking the man. It was so foolish that people like that could talk back to him and expect no punishment in response.

That brought thoughts of the boy in the House of Weapons, the one who had humiliated him. Vars still hadn’t worked out the best way to have vengeance on him, and that was just fueling his bad mood. Why hadn’t Rodry just let him execute the idiot and be done with it?

He drew his attention back to the fitting, the tailor still about his work.

“Are we nearly done?” Vars asked. He took another, very deliberate, sip of his wine.

“Very nearly, your highness, but we want your newest doublet and breeches to be perfect for the wedding.”

The wedding, always the wedding. It seemed as though everything in the castle at the moment was about Lenore’s wedding, when Vars couldn’t see how his half-sister deserved so much fuss.

“Ah, looking wonderful as always,” Lyril said as she came into the chambers unannounced. “More wedding preparations?”

“Do not start about the wedding,” Vars said. “My half-sister sits as far removed from the succession as you could imagine, yet she gets a wedding worthy of a queen.” He remembered the presence of the tailor. “You, out.”

“Your highness…”

“Out!”

The man scurried out, taking his tools with him.

“Well, he’ll be around the castle, telling the story of how the prince is jealous of the attention his sister is getting,” Lyril said.

“Are you criticizing me?” Vars demanded.

She raised an eyebrow in response. If she was afraid, she didn’t show it. “Merely pointing out that usually you are more subtle, my prince. It’s just one of the things I love about you.”

“Love?” Vars said. That always seemed like such a stupid word. Love was a transaction, and the things that came of it definitely were. I give you money and you give me pleasure. I give you myself in marriage and you give me lands or men for my armies, or a secure bloodline. Love didn’t come into it.

“You are a remarkable man, Vars,” Lyril said, moving close to him.

Vars made a grab for her, but Lyril stepped back, just out of his reach.

“Not today, my darling,” she said. “I too have many preparations to make for the wedding.”

“You’re going to use my sister’s wedding as an excuse not to bed me?” Vars demanded. He could feel the anger continuing to rise. “Do you know what I’ve already had to put up with for the sake of this farce? My father is sending me into danger. He’s putting me in charge of escorting my sister’s procession around the kingdom.”

“I take it that it is not the honor he is trying to paint it?” Lyril guessed.

Vars snorted at the thought that anyone could think it so. “My sister goes around the land looking beautiful and receiving gifts, while I’m stuck there as if I’m somehow less important, just riding along like some… some guardsman.”

“That would take you away from Royalsport for a long time,” Lyril said, she looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hmm… I might have to find someone else to keep me company…”

“Do you think I will sit back and stand for that?” Vars demanded. “Remember that there are other noblewomen out there.”

“Ah, but none so lovely, don’t you agree?” Lyril said. She turned slowly, letting him see her, and in that moment Vars wanted nothing more than to tear the dress from her and have her there on the floor, regardless of the consequences.

“None so lovely,” Vars admitted. “And you know it.”

“Yes, I know it,” Lyril agreed. “And I use it, along with anything else that I can. You see that in me, and I think there is a part of you that desires that more than anything to do with my body.”

Vars smiled at that. “Perhaps. Well then, what do you see in me? Is it just that I am a handsome prince for you to try to snare?”

“I think you are a man who takes what he wants,” Lyril said. “A cunning man and a clever one. And I think that if you were to think, there would be an easy solution for all of the ways your sister’s wedding is overshadowing you. One that will make sure that I’m in your bed and your bed only.”

Vars thought he could see where this was going. “Lyril, I’ve told you—”

“Marry me, Vars. Marry me, and it will be the second in line to the throne getting married, not a girl who’s back behind all the men of the family in the succession. Marry me.”

Vars didn’t like it when people put pressure on him. He would never have used the word coward, because that was a word that the likes of Rodry used to make him feel small, but he knew he couldn’t stand up to someone truly forceful head on.

“All right,” he said. “All right, I’ll marry you!”

Lyril threw her arms around him, kissing him. “That’s wonderful! Vars, you just made me the happiest woman in Royalsport.”

Vars was glad that one of them was so happy. He could feel his anger almost bursting at being pressured like this, and he knew he was going to have to do something to relieve it. Thankfully, he knew just the thing.

***

The House of Sighs was a discreet establishment in one of the wealthier areas of the city, gilded and painted so that it looked like something between a theater and an inn. The women who could be glimpsed there told its true purpose, though.

A servant took Prince Vars’s cloak and sword at the door, while a discreetly placed man who had once been a mercenary sized him up to make sure he was a suitable patron and unlikely to cause trouble; at least of the kind he didn’t pay for. The man was large enough that for a moment Prince Vars flinched, and that just fed into everything else he was feeling.

Madam Meredith was there, as she always was, overseeing the parlor where soft music played and conversation flowed between men and women, some nobles, some there for their entertainment. For a few who came here, the music, the wine, the conversation were all they wanted. Vars thought he caught glimpses of several faces he knew, although many wore masks here. There was even one far too handsome male face that Vars definitely knew, but he shrugged. That was the balance in this place: in revealing another’s secrets, one revealed one’s own.

Meredith herself was as beautiful as any of the men or women who worked for her, probably no older than thirty, with raven hair and rings on each finger of one hand, supposedly denoting the husbands she had outlived.

“Your highness,” she said. “What can I get for you today? Wine? Some company?”

Vars looked around until he saw a suitable-looking woman, slender and blonde-haired, blue-eyed and innocent looking in spite of her profession. He pointed.

“Her.”

“Your highness, Yasmine is not really suitable for your tastes.”

“Her,” Vars said, in a dangerous tone. He took out a money pouch, heavy enough that when he put it in Meredith’s hand, her hand moved slightly. “Or I could suggest to my father that now is the time to reconsider the way the House of Sighs works.”

Meredith hesitated for a minute, then nodded. “Yasmine, come here. The prince has taken a liking to you. The top room.”

The woman looked a little frightened, but held out her hand and Vars took it, delicately for now. He went with her up to the room that he normally took when he was here, and he could feel the excitement he usually felt building within him, alongside the anger, one fueling the other.

They reached the space, which was opulent with silks and tapestries, until it seemed like a world of red and gold gossamer. Prince Vars shoved her toward the bed, hard. The young woman turned to him.

“Your highness, please be gentle…”

Vars struck her, hard, with the flat of his hand, sending her tumbling to her knees. “You do not speak to me without being told.”

She looked up at him, the fear obvious in her eyes now.

“That’s a better start,” he said. He lifted his hand again. “As for being gentle, that’s not what you’re being paid for, whore. Let’s see if you can scream as beautifully as you kneel.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Devin wandered the streets of Royalsport, still in a daze, crossing the bridges, reflecting on all that had happened to him. Right then he should have been at work; he never wandered the streets this time of day, and it didn’t feel right. He no longer had any work to go to. He felt purposeless.

Yet at the same time, he felt a tremendous purpose hovering just outside the realms of his fingertips, one he knew was circling him yet one he could not understand.

Magic. Was that what had happened back there? Had he really made the prince’s hand move? Or had he imagined it? Did the prince just have a cramp, perhaps?

The memory brought back other, less comfortable memories, from when Devin was a boy. Memories hovering in the outskirts of his brain, foggy; he was not even sure if they were real memories or just fantasies, dreams. But they were there, still. Moments, flashes of a power Devin had wielded. Of others looking at him as if he were different.

Was he?

His father would be so angry, not just at the thought that he’d lost his job, but at the way he had done it. Devin knew he would shout and rage, demand to know what he’d been thinking. The idea that he had been protecting Nem wouldn’t be justification enough, because his father would only think about the things that might follow for all of them.

He couldn’t go home until he’d worked out what to do next, that much was clear.

Yet what could he do next?

Devin didn’t know, so he kept walking. He made his way into the marketplace that sat before the House of Merchants, the large, open space essentially just an extension of the commerce that went on within. Inside, merchants would get loans to finance their expeditions or their businesses; outside, they would sell the fruits of those efforts, trying to recoup enough to start the whole thing over again.

There was a festival attitude there today, with jugglers and musicians in the spaces among the stalls, while criers called out in celebration of Princess Lenore’s upcoming wedding.

“The king has declared feasting at the castle, the outer yards open to all!” a man called out as Devin passed.

Right then, feasting sounded like a good idea. As he walked among the stalls, Devin could smell the scents of food cooking in a dozen spots, open-air stalls set with fires to allow them to prepare meat or stew for those who passed, but Devin was fairly sure he couldn’t afford it right now. There were brightly colored cloths dyed by the weavers and farmers who had set up in the hope of selling their stock.

Devin was still too stunned to take it all in, though he looked around in the vain hope that someone there might need help with their work. Occasionally, there were fairs where the merchants sought out the strong and the willing for whatever tasks they had. Now, one of those seemed like the best chance Devin had of ever finding work again.

The full impact of losing his place in the House of Weapons started to hit home then. Devin had been on the way to being a master smith; everyone knew he understood metal and the way it worked as well as anyone there. And in the House of Weapons, he could have kept training with weapons, could have kept working to be the warrior he wanted to be.

Now he had nothing. He had no job, and probably no chance of getting another. When people learned that he had been dismissed from the House of Weapons, they would never give him another position, except in the lowliest of jobs.

His stomach was rumbling as he passed an inn, but he stopped himself from going in. He didn’t have the coin to spare, and he doubted his parents would be generous with more. Already, his father occasionally dropped hints that it was time he was finding a home of his own.

Devin kept walking, past the inn, on into the city. He crossed another of the bridges, the water rushing by beneath, guards looking him over as if trying to decide if he was someone they should stop. This area had larger, wealthier-looking homes that were mostly half-timbered, the shops having actual glass in their windows, the cobbles of the streets in a better state of repair.

Devin’s path took him past the entwined towers of the House of Knowledge, and briefly he stopped, staring at the doors there, which stood at the top of a flight of steps, behind wrought iron gates that had clearly been worked on by a multitude of different smiths. An inscription above stated Let those who seek understanding enter in peace.

Devin felt the part of this that he’d been avoiding starting to rise up in him. The loss of his job, and the brief fight with a prince had been bad enough, but one part of it seemed to defy understanding. There had been a moment where things had seemed to stretch out, where he had made Prince Vars drop his weapon without even touching him.

He’d done magic.

There was no other explanation for it, yet it made no sense. How could someone like him, low born, just a smith, do magic?

Maybe they would have an answer in the House of Knowledge. Then again, maybe they wouldn’t; after all, the kingdom seemed to only have one true sorcerer. Inexorably, Devin found his eyes drawn toward the castle, and to the tower that stood over part of it, sticking out over the water around it in a way that looked tenuous, even dangerous. Devin knew that the occupant of that tower would have answers for him, had even come to him once before, in his dreams.

Suddenly, a sense of purpose, of direction, came rushing to him all at once. Of course. His dream. Master Grey. He had to see Master Grey, had to ask him what was going on. No one else would be able to explain it all.

Yet how was he supposed to get in to see the king’s sorcerer?

A crier shouted again, declaring the feasting once more, and Devin knew that it was his best chance. Setting his eyes on the castle, he started to walk, making his way inward through the circles of the city. He crossed more bridges, and now guards started to frown more, half stepping in front of him as he passed.

“I’m on my way to the feasting,” Devin said each time, and each time they stepped back, as if it were some password to let even a commoner like him into the most exalted parts of the city. Soon, the outer walls of the castle were rising above him, tall and gray and sheer as a cliff face, even though they were festooned with banners celebrating the noble lines attending the celebrations.

Once more, the guards stepped back for Devin, although this time, one of them called to him as he passed.

“Just remember that there’s none but the nobles allowed in the great hall proper. Keep yourself to the outer courtyards with all the others.”

“I will,” Devin said, and set off in the direction of the sounds of festivities in progress.

Even in the outer courtyards, things were more lavish than he could have imagined. There were people everywhere, although most seemed to be merchants and burghers rather than truly common folk. There were whole roast boars, and trestle tables set with more food than Devin had seen before. He was more than hungry enough to grab a wooden trencher and pile it high with swan and grouse, buttered parsnips and suet dumplings. Picking at it gave him an excuse to wander through the crowd, avoiding the dancing as a trio of minstrels played, trying to work out what he was going to do next.

Right now, Devin was close, but not close enough. If he was going to get to see Master Grey, he would have to access the rest of the castle, and that was impossible while he was stuck outside its inner spaces.

I could just walk up to a guard and tell them who I am, who I want to see, he thought to himself. Devin could guess how that could go, though. They would think he was drunk, or turn him away on principle, or… or worse, it would attract the wrong attention. Devin doubted it would go well if Prince Vars learned that the boy he’d fought with was there, in the castle, right under his nose.

All he could do for the moment was wait. Periodically, the doors leading to the great hall opened, either to let servants through with more food, or let them back carrying empty platters. Each time they opened, Devin looked at the room beyond, searching for any sign of the sorcerer.

Suddenly, he saw him there, standing in the middle of the hall, staring back. Master Grey’s eyes locked with his, and Devin was sure there was a moment of acknowledgment, of understanding, of connection.

Devin found himself drawn forward by that gaze, walking deeper into the festivities beyond.

In that instant, Devin felt rough hands on him.

He turned, stunned to see guards there, hands grabbing him, detaining him.

“What have I done?” Devin asked.

But they didn’t respond.

Instead, they dragged him away, backward, away from Master Grey.

Devin was sure they were escorting him out of the feasting hall for some reason, perhaps back outside the castle walls. Perhaps he wasn’t dressed appropriately.

But a jolt of fear ran through him as he realized they were not dragging him out of the castle, but into it. They were heading down a dark corridor, toward a steel door.

And what could only be a dungeon.