“He was lost,” Jorvan said. “And so was I. It was good that we...I believe Meleng called it, ‘team up’.” The Isyar was standing behind Meleng and Corvinian, who were seated with the others around the fire. Everyone, except Jorvan, was shivering from the cold.

Felitïa was shivering for other reasons as well, but at least she could blame the cold.

“I have a way of getting distracted,” Meleng said. The flickering shadows on his face in the dark made it hard to tell his expression, though his statement had sounded somewhat sheepish.

Not being able to sense his emotions terrified Felitïa. Which was weird because her powers did wane from time to time. There were many times when she couldn’t sense others’ feelings. Yet this was different. It was the length of time it had gone on. A day after Corvinian’s powers had done whatever they’d done, her abilities still weren’t back.

Her eyes fell to Corvinian. She’d been doing that a lot without even realising it. The fire mostly obstructed him, making his physical presence seem almost like his non-existent mental presence. Felitïa shivered some more.

“We travel together ever since,” Jorvan said.

“Meleng,” Corvinian said, “can you make the fire bigger? I’m still cold.”

“I...I guess I could try. Just give me a moment.” Meleng fidgeted for his bag.

“You sure that’s a good idea, kid?” Zandrue said. “Remember what happened to those books.”

“The books were a miscalculation,” Meleng said. “I just need to double-check some equations.”

Jorvan laid a hand on Meleng’s shoulder. “I will do it.”

“Good idea.” Zandrue smirked and nudged Felitïa with her elbow.

Jorvan began to raise his arm, but stopped. “Why do you disparage him?”

“Who me?” Zandrue said. “I’m just teasing.”

“Teasing?” Jorvan said.

“Yeah, making light-hearted fun. You weren’t there. He tried to make some books float, but they exploded instead. It was kind of funny. I’m just having a little fun.”

“It is cruel.” Jorvan raised his arm in a gentle arc, and the fire grew brighter and hotter.

“Okay, fine.” Zandrue looked to Felitïa and rolled her eyes. She mouthed something, but Felitïa couldn’t make it out. The brighter fire had also created more shadows.

Although Felitïa didn’t need her telepathy to tell that Zandrue was annoyed, it still terrified her that she couldn’t sense it.

“It’s okay, Jorvan,” Meleng said. “I know I’m not very good. I mean, she’s right. I couldn’t even make some books float.”

“I thought it was cool,” Corvinian said.

“Do not disparage yourself,” Jorvan said. “You had poor instruction, but you still manage. This shows you are good. In time, you will go far, especially if you get good instruction.”

“Yeah, but where am I going to get good instruction?”

“If you do not, you will work things out alone. You are doing that. You are very intelligent.”

Meleng shrugged. “I suppose. Asa, I don’t suppose there might be someone in Quorge who could offer me a little extra instruction? I mean, I don’t have much to offer in return, but, well...”

“There aren’t a lot of enchanters, but I do know someone who might be able to help. I want to consult him about Corvinian anyway, so I can introduce you.”

“Thanks! That would be great.”

“I suppose I should mention...” Felitïa’s eyes fell on Corvinian again and she shivered. Had she lost her abilities for good?

“Suppose you should mention?” Zandrue prodded.

Felitïa looked away from Corvinian. “Yes, my, uh...my name isn’t Asa. Well, it is. It’s my middle name. But my first name is actually Felitïa.” She waited for their responses. The bigger fire now made it virtually impossible to see their facial reactions.

“Which one do you want?” Jorvan asked. “I know humans sometimes have many names.”

“In Quorge, it will need to be Asa, but we still have a long way to go before we get there. Amongst ourselves, you can call me Felitïa.”

“As you wish,” Jorvan said.

“Why did you introduce yourself as Asa then?” Meleng asked. “And why do we need to use it in Quorge? Is it something to do with the missing princess? You’re not the missing princess, are you? No, if she was still alive, she’d be in her mid-twenties now, I think. I was really young when she disappeared, only three or four, I think.”

Zandrue started to laugh, put her hand over her mouth, and snorted instead.

“What?” Meleng said.

Zandrue pointed at Felitïa. “Just what age do you think she is?”

“I don’t know. Mid-... Oh.”

Felitïa looked to Rudiger. “See? That’s the reason I don’t tell people.”

Rudiger shrugged. “Bet things would’ve gone different if you’d just given them the name Felitïa from the start.”

Felitïa sighed. “Perhaps.” She looked at Corvinian again, blinked several times from the fire, then looked back to Meleng. “Yes, I’m Princess Felitïa. In Quorge, everybody knows me as Asa because I needed to go by a different name when I ran away. Felitïa might not be a unique name, but at the time, going by it could have brought greater scrutiny and I couldn’t risk that. Now, I keep going by it to not reveal to people I’ve been lying to them all these years. Although I use Felitïa with my closest friends, I’ve used Asa for so long, it’s become habit. That’s why I introduced myself originally as Asa. But you were bound to hear Felitïa at some point and that would create questions, so I figured I should just be open about it.”

She couldn’t see Meleng’s and Jorvan’s expressions. Were they angry at her? Disappointed? Did they hate her now?

Gods, she wanted her abilities back!

“I confess I do not understand human princesses and kings and queens,” Jorvan said, “so I do not understand why you...give different names. But I call you what you want.”

“Me too,” Meleng said.

Felitïa forced a smile, though they probably couldn’t see it. “Thank you.”

“So,” Meleng said, “what happened? I mean, obviously you weren’t killed. Were you kidnapped? If you were, how did you get away? I’ve got a ton of questions.”

“I ran away.” Felitïa looked at Corvinian again. She could hear the eagerness in Meleng’s voice, but she couldn’t feel it, and she wanted to. She held back tears.

“How did you pull it off?”

Felitïa shivered. Her teeth chattered. “If you don’t mind, I’m...uh...I’m going to turn in. I’ll answer your questions tomorrow, okay?”

“Uh, sure.”

Felitïa stood up, turned away, and did her best not to run to her tent, but just walk and look calm. Once inside, she wrapped herself in her blankets.

Zandrue arrived a couple minutes later. “You all right?”

Felitïa shook her head. “They’re not coming back, Zandrue. My abilities, they’re gone.”

Zandrue sat down beside her and hugged her close. She lay in Zandrue’s arm for the next several hours before finally drifting to sleep.

* * * * *

She woke angry, wanting to hit something. She struck out with her foot, only pushing blankets away from her and letting the cold air at her.

Wait. Why was she angry? Who or what was she angry at?

She rubbed her eyes and blinked several times. Focused.

It wasn’t her anger. It was Zandrue’s.

It was Zandrue’s!

Never before had Zandrue’s anger made her so happy.

Felitïa grabbed her cloak. She hadn’t changed clothes before sleeping, so no need to dress. She wrapped the cloak around her, opened the tent, and stepped outside.

Zandrue was standing just outside glaring across the snow at Jorvan and Meleng.

“What’s wrong?” Felitïa asked.

Zandrue’s lip curled. “That damn Isyar. All I did was make one little joke.”

“About Meleng?”

Zandrue rolled her eyes. “Well, okay, yes, but...”

“Maybe don’t!” Felitïa snapped.

“Oh come on, Felitïa. It was just a joke.”

“A joke they clearly don’t appreciate. Maybe you should think about that!”

Zandrue scowled. “What’s gotten into you?”

Felitïa grinned. “You have!”

“Huh?”

“Your anger is making me angry! Isn’t it wonderful?”

The confusion that had briefly emanated from Zandrue ebbed away. “You mean...?”

Felitïa nodded. “They’re back! My abilities are back! And I couldn’t be happier! And strangely angrier.” She grabbed Zandrue’s hand. “Come on, let’s go apologise to Meleng and Jorvan.” She pulled, but Zandrue didn’t budge. “Oh come on, Zandrue, it won’t hurt you to make a little apology.”

“Felitïa.”

Felitïa looked back at her.

Zandrue was pointing at her feet, which were completely covered by snow and ice. “He encased me in ice. I can’t get my feet out of my boots. He said he’d release me when we’re ready to leave.”

Felitïa pushed Zandrue’s anger aside and laughed.

“It’s not funny!”

Felitïa shook her head. “If you say so.”

“It’s not!”

Felitïa laughed again. “It is a little.”

Zandrue sighed, her anger ebbing. “Okay, maybe a little. But not when you’re the recipient.”

Felitïa patted her shoulder. “Maybe think of that when you tease Meleng.” She kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll go talk to Jorvan.”

She walked a few paces before turning back to face Zandrue. “They’re back!” She spun back round and ran—more stumbled—through the snow to Jorvan.

* * * * *

The days passed by. More snow fell, and piled higher. The roads became more and more difficult to pass. Any sane traveller would have stopped for the winter. But with the possibility of Volgs—who could fly and not worry about snow-blocked roads—chasing them, Felitïa insisted they press on, and it was never difficult to convince the others. They knew the importance of reaching Quorge quickly.

Felitïa had never expected to return to Quorge so soon. True, she’d left without any real plan of where she was going, what she was doing, and how long it would take, but somehow, she had expected longer than this. It had only been three months. A month to Tyl, another to Mesone, and another on the road back to Quorge. It would still be close to another month at least, but that still seemed too short. All she’d done is go in a circle. She might as well have just never left.

“Faster!” Corvinian cried. He was riding with Rudiger.

Borisin whinnied loudly and shook his head.

“What’s he saying?” Corvinian asked.

“He says, no way,” Rudiger said. “In this weather, he could slip and break a leg.”

“Aw, I’m bored. Can I practise sword-fighting with you tonight?”

Rudiger laughed. “How many times do I have to tell you you’re too young?”

“I’ll be nine soon! Will I be old enough then?”

Rudiger shook his head.

“I promise I’ll be careful.”

“No! Felitïa, you tell him!’

She wasn’t sure why Rudiger thought Corvinian was any more likely to listen to her, but she complied. “Listen to Rudiger, Corvinian. He knows what he’s talking about.”

Rudiger smiled smugly. “See? I know what I’m talking about.”

Borisin grunted in a way that seemed almost like laughter.

Corvinian’s birthday was just a couple days away. New Year’s. He’d be nine years old.

This isn’t over, Will-Breaker.

Plus a few hours, nine years to the day after Dyle had said those words. Nine years after he had also mentioned something about the time of birth drawing near.

Ideas and theories had been forming in Felitïa’s head for some time. She needed to talk to Corvinian, to figure out their validity, but that meant asking him about his parents, and it was hard to know if he was ready to talk about them yet. He’d had some time to adjust to their deaths, though probably not enough to get over the trauma—if he ever did.

She sighed. Her powers were back, but Corvinian was still a blank. He still had no mental presence at all, and that still scared the hell out of her.

She finally decided to broach the topic when they stopped at an inn in a small village at the border of Elooria and Belone on New Year’s Day. His birthday might not be the best choice, but they were in a comfortable location, warm, and seated around a table together, eating a good meal.

“Tell me about your parents, Corvinian.”

He slurped up some soup and took a moment before answering. “They were nice.” He lowered his head onto the table and tears started to form in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Felitïa said. “You don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to.” She did her best not to shiver at not being able to sense his sadness.

“No, it’s okay,” he said with a sniffle. “I used to think Mama was mean, but she was just looking out for me. Didn’t want me getting hurt.” He proceeded to tell them about his home in Porthaven. His father was a tailor, and they had a dog who had died a couple years ago.

“Did your parents ever talk about the day you were born?” She hated probing him like this, but she needed to know. If she and the others were to protect him from harm, they all needed to know.

He was quiet for several moments.

“Did they?” Zandrue prompted.

“Do not push him,” Jorvan said. “She said he does not need to talk and I agree.”

Zandrue scowled at him.

“They weren’t my real parents,” Corvinian said, almost a whisper.

Felitïa nodded. She had expected as much.

“Except they were my real parents! They were the only ones that mattered, and I want them back!” He swung his arms across the table, knocking bowls and mugs over, pushed several of them onto the floor. Then he tried to push past Meleng, who tried to hold him back.

“It’s all right,” Meleng said. “Everything’s—”

The blue glow sprung up around Corvinian, extended beyond him and pushed Meleng out of his seat and several feet along the floor. “I want them back!” Corvinian screamed and ran from the room, energy still crackling around him. Other patrons scrambled out of his way.

“I’ll go after him.” Meleng got to his feet and hustled after the boy.

“So will I,” Jorvan said.

Zandrue started to her feet as well, but Jorvan blocked her. “No. Just Meleng and me. You did enough.” He glared at her a moment before following Meleng.

“What the fuck did I do?” Zandrue called after him. “Gods, that Isyar thinks I’m some sort of monster or something.”

Felitïa sighed.

The inn-keeper kicked them out after that for disturbing his customers and for “the unholy powers” they had unleashed. They spent that night camped out in the bitter cold. Felitïa couldn’t help feel that she deserved it. She had picked the wrong time.

She gained a bit more information from Corvinian over the following days, mostly via Meleng and Rudiger. The boy was developing an attachment to both of them and was more willing to talk to them than to her. His parents had taken him in as a baby from his birth mother who had not been able to care for him. Neither he nor his parents had had any contact with her after that. Although Felitïa couldn’t be sure—the person Dyle was looking for and the one giving birth might not have been the same person—she suspected the mother was Quilla.

She found herself dwelling on the image of Quilla in her mind a lot. Quilla was next in the line and Felitïa wondered how long it would be before they encountered each other. It disturbed her more than a little how quickly she had accepted that she was meeting the people in order, like her life was prearranged. Jorvan said something about prophecy on one occasion, and Felitïa hated the idea.

But Quilla was still the only person in the line that Felitïa had been able to make out without having met. Was it simply because she had heard the name, or was there something else special about Quilla? Her attempts to distinguish the people farther down the line continued to be unsuccessful.

Ten days after the débâcle at the inn on Corvinian’s birthday, they reached Quorge, and Felitïa immediately wanted to turn around and leave again. She had to resist the urge several times.

In the outskirts, there were very few people on the streets, which were covered in large piles of snow. However, as they got farther into town and the buildings got closer together and the streets narrower, there was less snow and there were more people. They passed Captain Almais and a pair of watchmen. Almais watched them, but said nothing.

Zandrue rode up beside Felitïa and scrunched her nose. “I’d forgotten how bad this place smells. How about Rudiger and I take the horses to the inn while you go with the others to Agernon’s?”

Felitïa smiled at her. Zandrue was trying to offer her a way to avoid passing the shop. From the inn, they’d have to go much longer around to avoid it.

Zandrue turned Lucinda to face the others and announced the plan.

Felitïa and Meleng dismounted. Rudiger lifted Corvinian off Borisin and handed him down to Meleng, who had a bit more difficulty holding the boy and placing him gently on the ground.

“Aw, can’t I go with Rudiger?” Corvinian said. “I wanna help with the horses.”

Felitïa shook her head. “I need you to see Agernon. You know that.”

“Yeah, but it sounds dumb. I don’t care about all that magic stuff, and anyway, Zandrue says he’s really mean.”

Felitïa glared at Zandrue, who grimaced. “I...uh...might have grumbled to Rudiger about Agernon at some point. Sorry. Don’t worry, Corvinian. Agernon’s a little crabby at times, but you like seeing Meleng’s magic tricks, right?”

The boy nodded.

“Well, Agernon’s actually a good wizard, so you’ll like his tricks even more.”

Meleng sighed. “Just come with us, Corvinian. You can help with the horses later.”

“Fine,” Corvinian grumbled.

Jorvan had not dismounted and was staring off down the street.

“Jorvan, are you coming?” Felitïa asked.

“Yes, sorry,” he said, looking away from whatever he had been staring at.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” He dismounted his horse and handed the reins to Rudiger.

They moved slowly through the snow-covered streets. Many heads turned to stare at Jorvan as they passed. Few people here had seen an Isyar before. Although there had often been rumours of an Isyar residing at Lord Belone’s palace, if they were true, that Isyar never showed themself in public. Jorvan did his best to appear unaffected by the stares, but Felitïa could sense his discomfort.

They had encountered much the same in every town they had passed between Mesone and Quorge. Everyone was awed by the sight of an Isyar.

After a little while, they passed the well where Felitïa had spent so much time waiting to gather water. As usual, there was a lengthy line. Many of the people stared at Jorvan as they passed, but many were also looking at Felitïa. People were recognising her now.

They passed Darva’s usual corner. The beggar was looking frailer than ever and one of his hands was bandaged. “Asa!” he cried. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Where you been?”

“Travelling.” She reached for her purse. “What happened to your hand?”

He raised the bandaged one up. “Frostbite.”

She tossed a few pennies into his bowl. Only four months and the money from the shop was nearly gone.

Surprise swept over her. She’d been sensing similar feelings from many people, but this was more intense, there a moment and then gone. She looked about and realised it had come from Jorvan.

“Is that an Isyar?” Darva asked. “I ain’t never seen an Isyar before.”

“He is, and he can do super magic and fly and everything!” Corvinian said.

“Excuse me a moment, Darva,” Felitïa said. She went to Jorvan, who was standing off to the side, staring down the street again. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

He looked at her. “I saw an Isyar. Before and now.”

“Another Isyar?”

He nodded.

“Where?”

He pointed, but Felitïa could see only the people—all human—in line at the well. “She is gone,” Jorvan said. “She was far.”

“Well, I suppose there’s bound to be other Isyar in Arnor. One might be passing through Quorge.”

Jorvan nodded. “Maybe.”

“I don’t suppose your Isyar friend can give me a new leg?” Darva called out to them.

Jorvan shook his head. “I cannot.”

“Typical wizard. That’s what they all say. I thought Isyar were supposed to perform miracles.”

“It’s not...well...it doesn’t really work like that,” Meleng said. “Magic is—”

“That’s what they all say.”

Meleng grimaced, tossed a couple coins into Darva’s bowl, then dragged Corvinian over to Felitïa and Jorvan.

“Agernon’s place is just round here,” Felitïa said and led them to Agernon’s door. She raised her hand to knock, but Corvinian rushed forward and beat her to it. There was no immediate answer, so Felitïa went to knock again, but once again, Corvinian beat her to it. He grinned at her.

“Just a bloody moment!” a voice came from inside.

“Is that him?” Corvinian asked.

Felitïa nodded.

“He sounds mean like Zandrue said.”

Felitïa smirked. Nevertheless, it was good to hear Agernon’s voice.

The door opened and Felitïa was hit by two momentary bursts of surprise, one from Agernon and the other again from Jorvan.

“Well, look who we have here. You’ve got quite the nerve coming back here.” Despite his tone, joy was pouring from Agernon.

Jorvan’s surprise, however, had turned to confusion.

“It’s good to see you, too, Agernon,” she said, and turned to Jorvan.

“I saw her again,” he said. “She looked at me. Then she left.”

“What the hell’s all this?” Agernon demanded. “Who are these people and what are you doing with an Isyar?”

“Please, I check,” Jorvan said to Felitïa. “Maybe she helps.” Felitïa nodded and he hurried off.

“Is everything—” Meleng started, looking in concern after Jorvan.

“What? You show up at my door and just ignore me?”

Felitïa turned back to Agernon. “I’m so sorry, Agernon. We don’t mean to be rude. Can we talk?”

Agernon harrumphed. “I suppose so.”

“Thank you. Is Drummor here? He should hear what we have to say too.”

Agernon shook his head. “He’s not here.” He stepped aside. “You better come in.”

Corvinian rushed in, but Meleng paused a moment, still looking in the direction Jorvan had rushed off in.

“He saw another Isyar,” Felitïa said to him. “A couple times.”

“He misses his home,” Meleng said. “He misses it a lot.”

“Well, hurry up then!” Agernon snapped. “Before I freeze to death!”

Felitïa ushered Meleng inside.

* * * * *

“What do you mean he’s not coming back?”

Agernon harrumphed. He placed the tea and biscuits on the table, the tray shaking as he did so. He then lowered himself slowly into his chair and looked Felitïa in the eye. “I mean exactly what I said. He left. Shortly after you did. Said there was nothing left here for him. Ungrateful wretch of a boy! After all I did for him.”

Felitïa sat down in the other chair, still stunned that Drummor was gone. When Agernon had firist said he wasn’t there, she had just taken it to mean he was out. So she had gone on to fill Agernon in on the situation with Corvinian. It wasn’t until she asked when they could expect Drummor back that she realised the truth of the situation.

“I know the two of you were close,” Agernon said. “I’m sorry you had to learn this way, but you took off, too.” He pointed to Corvinian. “This the boy?”

“Yes. Does this mean you’ll help us?”

His wrinkled hand reached out and grabbed a biscuit, stuffing it in his mouth. While he chewed, he reached for the teapot. Felitïa reached it ahead of him though, and poured a cup for him. After he’d taken a sip, he said, “I’m not sure how I can help you, but I’ll do what I can.” He glared at Corvinian. “Well, take some then, if you’re going to!”

Corvinian leaned forward and snatched a handful of biscuits. Felitïa gave him a nudge. “Thank you,” he mumbled through a mouthful.

“I hoped maybe you might be able to find some explanation for Corvinian’s powers,” Felitïa said.

Agernon harrumphed again. “I suppose I can start by testing him. Boy, go stand by the fireplace.”

Corvinian stopped stuffing his face and looked worriedly at Felitïa.

“If you mean for magical talent,” Meleng said, taking a mug and reaching for the teapot, “I’ve already tested him. He doesn’t have any, like Felitïa said. And Jorvan says—”

“Pheh!” Agernon spat. “I’ve never believed in that nonsense that Isyar just have to look at a person to tell if they have the talent.”

“But Jorvan is an Isyar,” Meleng said. “He should know whether he can—”

“Yes, and I notice your Jorvan took off the moment he saw me! Rather suspicious if you ask me.”

“Well, he wanted to speak to someone. I think.” Meleng looked at Felitïa. “Didn’t he?”

She nodded. “Agernon, whether you believe that Isyar can...” She trailed off as Agernon smiled at her. He reached over and patted her hand.

“I don’t mean to doubt your friends. Just humour an old man, and let me explore every possibility. No offence, young man, but I suspect I have many years experience over you and I may notice something you missed. Or your Isyar friend.”

Meleng poured himself some tea. “I suppose that’s a good point. I could have missed something. I’m not really all that good a wizard anyway. In fact I was hoping to ask if—”

“Bah! Saying things like that is what makes you a bad wizard. Have confidence in yourself, boy. I’m not calling you incompetent, just inexperienced. Now shut up, watch, and learn.”

“Corvinian, go stand where Agernon told you,” Felitïa said. She wondered what was taking Jorvan so long. Perhaps the other Isyar had lots to say.

Nervously, Corvinian did as he was told. “Will this hurt?”

“Nonsense!” Agernon said, rising slowly from his seat. Leaning heavily on his cane, he hobbled over to Corvinian and began to circle him. The boy began to follow him with his head, turning when Agernon had moved too far. “Stand still!” Corvinian went still as a statue.

Felitïa watched, reminded of the time Agernon had done this with her. She had only been a couple years older than Corvinian was. And she had been just as frightened and nervous—although perhaps for different reasons. Of course, Corvinian had been through it before with Meleng, though she suspected Meleng had a very different method.

After several minutes of circling and peering intensely at the young boy, Agernon finally stopped in front of him. With great effort, he tried to kneel down. He looked ready to keel over, so Felitïa rushed forward to help, but he waved her away. She backed up, and he managed to kneel on his own. He then touched his hands to Corvinian’s ears the way he had done with her so many years ago, traced small designs with his fingers, and intoned the spell. Felitïa remembered the jolt that had run through her at this point, making her start and almost ruin the spell. But Corvinian did not move. Agernon lowered his arms, and shook his head. He pulled himself to his feet and hobbled back to his chair.

“Is that it?” Corvinian asked. “What happened? Did it work?”

Agernon shook his head. “No. Your friends were right, Felitïa. There’s no talent there.”

Corvinian shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t want to be a wizard. I’m going to be a warrior like Rudiger!” He began to hop about, mimicking swordplay.

“Is it possible it’s being blocked somehow?” Meleng said. “I mean, Felitïa can’t detect any thoughts from him either.”

“It’s possible,” Agernon said. “But I’ll need to do much more thorough tests to know for sure.”

Agernon reached out for another biscuit, grabbing one just before Corvinian darted by, scooping another handful for himself. Agernon harrumphed.

Felitïa poured herself a cup of tea. They sat there for a few moments, the only sounds coming from Corvinian fighting pretend monsters and Meleng trying to convince him to be quieter. “So, how have you been?” she asked eventually.

Agernon stuffed another biscuit in his mouth, chewed for several seconds, and swallowed. “I’m alive. That’s something, I suppose. Can’t really ask for more.” He grinned and consumed another biscuit from the diminishing pile. But his feelings were not of happiness.

“Have you been able to manage without Drummor?”

“Well enough.”

“Of course,” she said. His feelings were definitely turning towards sadness. Perhaps it had been a mistake to bring up the topic.

“He’s young,” Agernon said, “full of high hopes and impossible dreams. Like I said, he felt there was nothing left here for him, that he needed to prove himself. Ha! What he needs to do is, learn that he doesn’t need to prove himself. Learn some patience. Learn some wisdom.”

“I’m sorry,” Felitïa said. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad feelings.”

He shook his head. “No, no. Don’t you be sorry. We parted amiably enough. Well, there might have been a few harsh words spoken in haste, but a man does need to make his own mark on the world, eventually. And I may be old, but I’m not helpless yet. Some more tea?”

“Yes, please.” She reached for the teapot. Before she could grab it, however, he tapped it and it rose on its own, floated over to her mug, and poured her a cup.

“Wow!” Corvinian gasped from across the room. “Meleng, can you do that?”

Agernon laughed hoarsely; the laugh soon turned to a cough. After a few seconds, he recovered and took another sip of his own tea. “I haven’t totally lost my wits, girl. While my physical skills may have deteriorated, my magical skills are as sharp as ever. You won’t see me losing my head the way Elderaan did.” He stopped and waves of guilt flooded from him. His hands fumbled for another biscuit. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He stuffed the biscuit in his mouth and rubbed at his eyes.

“I miss him, too,” Felitïa said.

“Who said anything about missing anyone?” the old man grumbled. “You’re a woman; of course you miss him. Me? I’m better off without him around. Card games? Bah! I’ve got better things to do with my time than play cards.”

Same old Agernon, Felitïa thought. Stubborn to the end. “I feel lost without him, so uncertain where to turn, what to do next.”

“You always were too dependent on him.” The teapot floating over to Agernon and poured another cup. “Not your fault, though. He treated you more like a daughter than an apprentice.”

“He said the same the thing about you and Drummor.”

“Why the hell would I treat Drummor like my daughter?” Agernon barked and then broke into a fit of laughs and coughs. Felitïa put a hand over her mouth to stifle her own laughter. One could never be sure with Agernon whether he wanted others to laugh with him or not.

“That’s better,” Agernon said. “You may be trying to hide it, but I see a smile on that pretty young face. You’ve done nothing but scowl since you walked through my door.”

“I have not!” she protested, then laughed a little.

Agernon took a long sip of his tea, staring at her all the while in that way of his. Finally, he put the teacup down, scratched his bald head, and smiled. “Elderaan taught you well, Felitïa. He knew it, I know it, and you know it, too. You’re ready to be on your own; you just have to accept it. In all likelihood, you’ll be a better wizard than he was, better than I am or could ever hope to be. You’re strong, intelligent, and stubborn as a mule. There’s even the beginnings of wisdom locked up in your head somewhere. You’re a damn sight prettier than he was, too.” He chuckled.

“Thank you,” Felitïa said.

Agernon’s hands gripped the edge of the table. With a groan, he pulled himself upright from his chair. A moment after, his cane floated over to him. “Now then.” He hobbled a few steps closer to her and offered his hand. She took it, but made certain to stand without putting any weight on it. “I have some affairs to take care of, but why don’t you and the boy return in the morning? You can even bring that Isyar friend of yours if you think he can handle being around a real wizard!” He chuckled.

“I don’t understand where he’s got to,” she said, motioning to Corvinian to join her. Perhaps Jorvan had just got lost.

“He’ll turn up,” Agernon said. “In the meantime, I suggest you check in at the Hall of Knowledge. Get Pedrin to help you search the stacks and let me know anything you find.”

“Thank you again, Agernon,” she said as she slipped on her cloak.

“Thank you, Felitïa. It’s been wonderful seeing you again, my dear.”

She kissed him on the forehead. “And you. I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.”

“First light!” he stated as she opened the front door. “I don’t intend to waste half the day waiting for you, so you’d better be here!”

Felitïa nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here at first light.” She stepped outside.

Corvinian followed her. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she’s here on time.”

“You do that, boy,” Agernon chuckled. “You know these women. Always full of flights of fancy. Can’t keep track of time.”

“You can count on me, sir!”

“As for you, young man,” Agernon said to Meleng as he joined Felitïa and Corvinian, “we’re going to have a long talk tomorrow. Without Drummor, you’ll be my second, and I don’t need any of that damn self-doubt, you hear me?”

Meleng nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Good. Now off with you all. I’ve got things to do.” He ushered them outside and shut the door.

“I like him!” Corvinian announced. “He’s nice.”

“Nice, is he?” Felitïa said.

“Yep,” Corvinian said, skipping ahead into the street and calling back. “He just pretends to be mean and grumpy.”

The boy was certainly observant.

“Don’t get too far ahead, Corvinian!” Meleng called.

Corvinian continued to dash ahead for the entire trudge to the Hall of Knowledge, forcing either Felitïa or Meleng to run after him each time. It was amusing at first, but by the time they reached the bottom of the entry stairs, Felitïa was getting annoyed.

“Corvinian!” she snapped as he bounded onto the stairs. “For the last time, listen to Meleng and me. Those steps are treacherous in this weather. You could slip and hurt yourself.”

Corvinian stopped and turned around, scowling. “You’re no fun.”

“Corvinian,” Meleng said. “It’s not about fun. It’s about being safe. It’s about not falling down the stairs.”

“My powers will protect me.”

“We don’t actually know that,” Meleng said. “You’ve fallen over before, right?”

Corvinian shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“From what I can tell, your powers protect you from outside threats, not things like falling over.”

“Fine then, I’ll be careful.” He turned back around and started climbing the stairs—and stumbled on the first one, though he didn’t fall. “It is slippy.”

Felitïa and Meleng moved up to him. “Let’s go up together,” she said.

Meleng took a deep breath. “It’s a lot like one of those Ninifin step pyramids or ziggurats. I mean, I’ve never actually seen a real one, but I’ve seen drawings, and it looks similar. I didn’t think the Ninifins were ever this far north.”

“They weren’t,” Felitïa said. “Though I think some of their near relatives might have been. I’m not really sure. From what I understand though, there are certainly some architectural similarities. The steps are hell in winter though.”

“It’s beautiful. What happened there?”

Felitïa looked up the steps. One of the dragon gargoyles over the entrance had collapsed, leaving a pile of jagged stones in front of the doors. She shrugged. “No idea, though the building is old. Those gargoyles have looked like they could collapse at any moment for as long as I’ve known the place. I suppose one was bound to give way eventually.”

“I wonder why the rubble hasn’t been cleared.”

“Maybe there hasn’t been a chance yet, or they just don’t have the money to clear it. The Hall of Knowledge is pretty close to broke these days.”

It was still possible to skirt around the rubble to the doors, which is what they did once they reached the top. Though Corvinian tried to climb over one of the bigger pieces—the dragon’s snout—and had to be reminded of his promise to be careful.

“Wow, this room is big!” the boy said as they entered the main foyer.

A robed librarian stood at the far end of the room, warming his hands by the meagre fire. Felitïa headed across to him, followed by the other two. The librarian turned at the sound of their boots on the stone floor. “Asa?”

Felitïa smiled at him. “Hello Pedrin.”

“I... I heard you’d left town.”

“I did, but I’m back now.” She reached him and opened her arms to hug him, but he withdrew a step. She lowered her arms, surprised. “Uh, these are a couple friends of mine. Meleng and Corvinian.”

“A, uh, pleasure,” Pedrin said, extending a hand to Meleng, but not taking his eyes off Felitïa.

Meleng took the hand and shook it. “A pleasure, too. I’ve heard a lot about the Hall of Knowledge, and I’ve been so looking forward to being here and getting to see your library. It’s said that you have one of the biggest magical collections in all of Arnor.”

“Yes, um, yes, I suppose we do.”

There was a hint of what might be nervousness from Pedrin, but Felitïa’s abilities were choosing to have one of their less receptive moments. At least she didn’t have to fear that they were gone forever. “Is everything all right, Pedrin?”

Pedrin gave her a wide smile. “Yes, of course. Sorry. You startled me, is all. It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” Felitïa said. “What happened to the gargoyle outside?”

“Oh, it just... collapsed. It was old. Bound to happen eventually. How can I help you?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Felitïa replied. “I’d like to see Ezmelda if she’s in.”

Pedrin nodded.

“While I talk to her, perhaps you could show Meleng to the stacks. He can tell you what we need to look for.”

“Yes, of course. I believe Ezmelda is in her office. I’ll show you there and then show your friend to the stacks. This way.”

Pedrin led the way through the back door and down the steps into the heart of the Hall of Knowledge. Corvinian ducked past his long legs to look ahead, but Felitïa held Meleng back a moment.

“Keep alert,” she whispered.

“Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. Something’s not right. Pedrin’s strangely nervous. Just... Just keep your eyes and ears open.” She took a quick look back towards the entrance and the doors leading back to the collapsed gargoyle.

Had it really collapsed from age?

In all her years visiting the Hall of Knowledge, Felitïa had never been to Ezmelda’s office. She had visited many areas of the stacks and had used several of the study rooms multiple times, but all her interactions with the High Steward had been in those areas or the main foyer. She rarely saw any of the administrative areas.

Pedrin knocked on the door of Ezmelda’s office and when she responded, he opened the door. “High Steward, Asa has returned and would like to speak to you.”

“Asa? Please send her in.”

Pedrin stood aside to let Felitïa enter. Corvinian darted in first, and Felitïa followed.

The room was long and narrow, but had a very homey look to it. A plain red carpet stretched the length of the room up to a simple wooden desk. Lining the walls were short bookshelves crammed with books and above the shelves hung a few paintings.

Ezmelda stood from behind the desk and came forward. “Asa! How wonderful to see you again! I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Neither did I, to be honest,” Felitïa said, “but circumstances change. Can we talk?”

“Of course. Please, come in! These are friends of yours?”

“Yes, Meleng and Corvinian.”

“High Steward,” Pedrin said, “if it’s all right, I’m going to show Asa’s friend Meleng to the stacks and assist him there.”

“Yes, of course,” Ezmelda said. “You know what to do.”

Pedrin nodded. “Yes, of course.” He gestured to Meleng. “This way please.”

Meleng glanced at Felitïa, a hint of concern coming from him, then followed Pedrin. The librarian closed the door, leaving Felitïa and Corvinian alone with Ezmelda.

Ezmelda strolled back to her desk. “Please, have a seat. How can I help you?”

Felitïa followed her and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Ezmelda remained standing.

“You have a lot of books,” Corvinian said.

“If you think that’s a lot, Corvinian,” Felitïa said, “you should have gone with Meleng to see the stacks.” She was beginning to wonder if that might have been a better idea. Ezmelda was nervous too. Felitïa still couldn’t detect a lot, but a little was getting through—and when her telepathy was in this state, emotions had to be strong to get through at all.

“I’m sure he’ll get a chance to see the stacks later,” Ezmelda said. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“It’s a long story, but it has to do with Corvinian. We need help. You see, he has...” She stopped.

Ezmelda’s head was lowered and there was a hint of a tear in her eyes.

Felitïa stood up slowly. “Ezmelda, is everything okay?”

“You shouldn’t have come back, Asa. Or should I say, your Highness?” Ezmelda raised her arms above her head.

“Corvinian, run! Get out of here!”

Ezmelda swung her arms down and around in a circle. Iron bands shot from nowhere, wrapping around Felitïa’s wrists, and pulling her backwards and off her feet. The back of her head collided hard with the carpet, which did little to soften the stone underneath it. The iron bands clacked against the floor and held firm.

Corvinian had started running, but stopped and looked back at her. “What do I do?”

Felitïa couldn’t spare the time to answer him. The pain in her head was excruciating, but she ignored it and concentrated on a spell. She couldn’t raise her arms, but she only needed to twist her wrists slightly. She whispered the words.

Ezmelda swung her arms up and down in a circle again. Another pair of bands appeared, but Felitïa’s spell had clouded Ezmelda’s thoughts just enough to draw her aim off. The bands slammed into the floor beside her legs.

Ezmelda shook her head. “Don’t make me harm you, Asa. Please!”

Felitïa tried to pull her arms free, but couldn’t. She started another spell, but Ezmelda swung her arms around again and this time, she didn’t miss. The bands held her legs firm now as well. Then a leather gag appeared and thrust itself into her mouth.

“Felitïa!”

She strained to turn her head to see Corvinian, but couldn’t turn far enough.

“Stay right there, boy! Asa is fine for now, but come any closer and I will hurt her.”

“No, I won’t let you hurt her!”

Corvinian ran into view, straight at Ezmelda, but she swung her arms again and bands shot at the boy—and burst apart as blue energy surrounded him. Ezmelda’s jaw dropped. She punched her hand above her head, but was too slow. The energy shot out and wrapped around her. She propelled backwards into her desk, and flipped over it.

Felitïa tried to yell at Corvinian to stop, but the gag in her mouth made it come out as a mumble.

It was enough to get the boy’s attention, however. He ran over to her, the glow still surrounding him. He bent down and pulled the gag from her mouth.

“It’s all right,” she said. “You don’t need to hurt Ezmelda.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her, but it just... It just happened on its own.”

“I know. You just need to be calm. Okay? Just relax.”

He nodded and the glow diminished in intensity a little, although it didn’t vanish.

Behind him, Ezmelda climbed to her feet, rubbing at her jaw. Her lip was cut and her nose bleeding.

“Please, Ezmelda, don’t try anything against Corvinian. We surrender.”

Ezmelda stumbled around the desk. “How could a boy so young have such control over magic?”

“He doesn’t,” Felitïa said. “That’s why you do not want to threaten him. Just accept our surrender so no one gets hurt.”

Ezmelda nodded. “I accept your surrender.” She waved her right hand and the bands holding Felitïa released.

“Thank you,” Felitïa said.

Corvinian’s glow had diminished a little more, but it had still not disappeared.

Felitïa sat up and the pain in her head stabbed harder. She put a hand to the back of her head and felt something warm and sticky. Her fingers returned red.

Ezmelda held out a hand to help her up, and Felitïa took it. “What happened?”

Ezmelda went back round her desk again and slumped into her chair. She rubbed her jaw some more. “You did. You lied to us, Asa. You lied to me all these years.”

Felitïa sat down in the chair she had been in before and grimaced at the pain. Every time she moved, it stabbed at her. “You did all this because of a lie?”

“No, but it made it easier. The anger I felt. The disappointment. I trusted you.”

“So why?”

“Lord Belone’s soldiers stormed the Hall a couple months ago. They had learned your secret. They accused us of kidnapping you and holding you here in Quorge against your will. We tried to explain that we didn’t know, but they either didn’t believe us or didn’t care. They told us we would be executed, unless we agreed to turn you over should you ever return to Quorge.”

“I see. And do you intend to hand me over?”

“Yes. If it was just me, I might refuse, but they will execute the entire Council.”

“But surely the whole Council working together should be more than a match for a few soldiers.”

Ezmelda scoffed. “First off, Asa or whatever the hell I should be calling you, we don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not for someone who has been lying to us for years. And second...” She paused, and hints of fear came from her. “Lord Belone has an Isyar working with him. She is more powerful than all of us combined. You must have seen the gargoyle out front. She brought that down and threatened to raze the entire hall. I don’t doubt for a moment that she could have done it. We wouldn’t have stood a chance against her.”

“Oh hell. Jorvan.”

“What?”

“A friend of mine,” Felitïa said. “He’s an Isyar. He saw another Isyar when we arrived in town and went to try to speak to her. She must have been luring him away. That’s why he hasn’t come back.”

“That seems a reasonable assumption,” Ezmelda said.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Corvinian asked softly. The glow was gone now.

“Depends how much he resisted,” Ezmelda responded. “Though if he’s an Isyar, he might be the only one powerful enough to face her.”

“What happens now?” Felitïa asked.

“We wait. Pedrin’s gone to summon Lord Belone’s men.”

“What of my friend, Meleng?”

“He’ll be fine. Like I said, we don’t want to hurt anyone. At worst, he’s tied up somewhere. Why didn’t you tell me who you were, Asa?”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“It might have. At the very least, we could have prepared for the possibility of people coming after you.”

“And how could I be sure none of you would turn me in?”

Ezmelda shook her head. “You should have told us.”

“How many people know what happened? I saw Agernon today. Did he know? Did he send me here into a trap?”

“No. Only the Council knew. We specifically didn’t say anything to Agernon as we suspected he already knew your identity and we didn’t want him warning you.”

That was a relief. She wasn’t sure she could have handled Agernon working against her.

“For what it’s worth, Asa, I’m sorry it came to this.”

“So am I.” She hoped Jorvan was okay. And Zandrue and Rudiger.

* * * * *

“Her Royal Highness, Felitïa Asa Folith, Princess of Arnor!”

Felitïa stepped into the audience chamber following the herald’s announcement. The room was brightly lit by great crystal chandeliers, their light reflecting off the polished marble floor and walls. To either side of the doors, guards in chainmail with the waterfowl of House Belone on their chests stood at rapt attention. A green plush carpet ran from the door to the dais on which Lord Belone sat in a bejewelled throne. Around him stood several courtiers, most dressed in various shades of green. At various points around the room, more guards stood.

Lord Feodor Belone himself was dressed in a flowing silk robe of state, also green. Thick rings on his fingers, and gold and silver chains round his neck sparkled in the light of the room. He was a somewhat small man. His thinning hair and neatly trimmed beard were grey, but he showed few other signs of age.

“Her companions, Rudiger Fonivan and Zandromeda Armida.” Zandrue and Rudiger followed Felitïa in, while poor Meleng and Corvinian were left to enter unannounced. The herald probably thought they were her servants.

“I always knew one day I’d manage to get in here,” Zandrue whispered. “You should have seen Almais’s face when he delivered us here.”

Zandrue and Rudiger had been apprehended by Almais, who was also the one who had alerted the palace to Felitïa and the others’ presence in town, which resulted in them sending the Isyar after Jorvan.

“Your Highness!” Belone exclaimed, rising from his seat, and approaching her, arms outstretched.

“Lord Belone,” Felitïa said. She stood still as he hugged her and kissed her cheeks. She did not return the gesture. Her own trip here had been by armed soldiers who had then insisted at the gate that she was a guest of honour, but the fact that Belone had made her come all the way to his audience chamber before greeting her was not lost on her. If she were truly a guest of honour, he would have met her at the gate. Gods, she hated all this political nonsense where the slightest small action or gesture could carry high praise or high insult. Still, with multiple insults levied against her already, at least she could dispense with pleasantries. “I expect Jorvan released immediately.”

“But of course!” Belone replied, returning to his throne. As he sat back down, he motioned to one of the courtiers. “Please escort Jorvanultumn here.”

“Your Lordship.” The courtier bowed to Lord Belone and headed towards the door, pausing part way to bow to Felitïa.

“Please accept my humblest apologies, your Highness,” Belone said. “I meant you no ill respect.”

“No ill respect? You kidnap one friend, you threaten other friends into plotting against me, and say you mean me no ill respect?”

Belone nodded. “I understand your anger. Please accept my apology.” He looked repentant, but there was no telling whether that was just an act. His feelings were not distinct enough for her to separate them from the wash of feelings from everyone in the room. She wished her abilities would come out of their slump.

“I trust Jorvan has not been harmed.”

“A little bruised I believe,” Belone said, “as he tried to resist arrest. However, he has since been treated with the utmost civility.”

“Danel Belone, heir to the Province of Belone!” the herald sang out.

A young man entered the room and knelt before Felitïa. He was taller than his father, with darker, fuller hair, but was otherwise his father’s spitting image. “Your Highness,” he said, “please forgive my tardiness. I was not informed of your arrival.”

Felitïa nodded and waved him away. He rose, bowed, and stepped aside.

“My son was exceptionally rude to Jorvanultumn earlier,” the elder Belone said. “I was attempting to punish him by not having him here. If I have committed an offence, your Highness, then I humbly apologise.”

“What’s one more offence between friends?” Zandrue said.

Feodor Belone lowered his head. “Your friend’s words sting, your Highness, but they are truthful. I again implore you to accept my apologies.”

“Why did you do it?” Felitïa asked. “Why didn’t you just ask me to come here? For that matter, how did you even know who I was?”

Belone raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I’ve known for many years that you were living in Quorge, your Highness. I knew of your departure from Quorge, but I will admit to being surprised by your return.”

He knew? “If...” She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Surely that was a lie. “If you knew, why did you do nothing?”

“By order of the King—a secret order, mind you, but an order from his Majesty, nonetheless. He commanded that you be allowed to lead the life you wished with no interference from me or anyone of my household, or anyone in my employ.”

No, that couldn’t be true, could it? “Then...then why do you break it now?”

“Again, by His Majesty’s command. A few months ago, Lady Plavin sent word out that you had been seen in Plavin-Tyl. I suppose that pulled at the strings of your father’s heart. He wishes his daughter to return home.”

Lady Plavin? That surprised Felitïa. If Lady Plavin had known who she was, then why…? “That still doesn’t explain why you kidnapped Jorvan, or why you threatened the Council. Why not just deliver my father’s message?”

Belone sighed. “Strictly speaking, I arrested Jorvan for stalking the Isyar ambassador. I did not kidnap him. However, I did it because I needed a way to bring you and your friends here. You would have ignored a simple request. The King is most insistent that you return to Arnor City.”

“Insistent he may be, but that does not excuse your actions!” Felitïa snapped. “How dare you use my friends like this! You had no right!”

Belone held out his hand and a nearby courtier placed a rolled-up scroll in it. “Actually, I had every right. Your father was most specific that, as long as no harm came to you specifically, any means necessary were to be used to return you to Arnor City. Any means necessary.”

“Plavistalorik and Jorvanultumn!”

Jorvan entered beside another Isyar. He had a large bruise on his lower right cheek and another under his chin, as well as a sizeable lump on the side of his forehead. Meleng rushed over to him. “Are you all right?” Corvinian squeezed over to try to help as well. Jorvan nodded.

The other Isyar walked past them, nodding briefly at Felitïa before ascending the dais to stand beside Lord Belone. She was a little taller than Jorvan and quite skinny. She wore a loose-fitting garment, similar to Jorvan’s. It was a pale beige in colour and looked almost transparent. The Isyar kept her head lowered, hands clasped in front of her. The only features that remained visible were the ears on the sides of her white, hairless head—and they were so tiny as to be barely noticeable.

“Jorvanultumn,” Lord Belone said, “I hereby release you from your captivity. I hope there are no hard feelings.”

Jorvan simply stared back with thin eyes. He said nothing.

“Was it really necessary to beat him?” Felitïa demanded.

To her surprise, it was the Isyar who responded. “I did only what was necessary to subdue him.” The Isyar’s head rose, small grey eyes making contact with Felitïa’s momentarily. Sad eyes, there and gone again. For a brief moment, it was as if the Isyar’s mind was the only one there with her. For that brief moment, the Room in Felitïa’s head seemed empty apart from the Isyar. Felitïa shivered.

“I am fine,” Jorvan said to her.

“In all honesty, your Highness,” Danel Belone spoke up, “it was less than he deserved. You did not hear the wild tale he tried to swindle my father with when he was questioned.”

Felitïa turned to look at the young Belone. “Wild tale?”

“I told truth,” Jorvan said.

Danel smirked. “So you say. Even Plavistalorik—your own kind—did not support you. What did she say again? Oh yes! No sane person could believe such a fanciful tale.”

Felitïa glanced back at Plavistalorik, but her head remained lowered, and she gave no acknowledgement of what Danel had said. “No sane person?” Felitïa asked Danel.

“That is so, your Highness,” he replied. “When asked why he was following Plavistalorik, he said he wanted her help, and spoke of Volgs and boys with impossible powers.”

“Sounds like the same story I would tell you,” Felitïa said.

Danel’s eyes widened. “Surely you jest, your Highness?”

“No, I don’t.”

Danel laughed. “Then you are as insane as he!” A moment later, he mocked, “Your Highness.”

“Danel,” Lord Belone rumbled, “I do not wish to go through this again. I have already sent you from my presence once today. Do not make me do it again. You will apologise to her Highness.”

Scowling, Danel said, “My apologies, your Highness.”

“My son is a born sceptic, your Highness,” Lord Belone said. “Even though he’s lived his whole life in a city of wizards, it was years before he would accept that Plavistalorik’s spells were anything more than sleight-of-hand. Recently, he’s begun listening to fools like Mitchal Plavin and his niece.”

“Mitchal Plavin is not a fool, Father,” Danel protested. “Simply because you do not agree with his beliefs—”

“He is a fool!” his father bellowed. “And he marks himself even more foolish if he believes I will ever let him bring his blasted Red Knights onto Belone soil!”

“Mitchal Plavin is one of the greatest warriors alive! You should be in awe of him, Father!”

Feodor Belone rose from his throne and tossed the scroll in his hands aside. “I grow tired of these arguments, Danel! You will remain silent!”

Felitïa was growing tired of the whole scene. Just what was Feodor Belone’s game? She watched him as he lowered himself back into his throne, his face red with anger. With a wave of his hand, the scroll he had thrown was delivered back to him. He snatched it from the courtier’s hands. The courtier bowed and retreated.

“Lord Belone,” Felitïa said.

He took a deep breath, the colour of his face returning to normal. “Your Highness, again, my apologies. It seems I owe you many apologies. We are not off to a good start. I beg your forgiveness. Please, join me at dinner tonight. You and your friends. Let it be the beginning of making amends.”

“Considering such an offer is only to be expected,” Felitïa said, “one can hardly consider it making amends.” Was he testing her somehow? Trying to determine what she knew of courtly life? It had been a long time, but she hadn’t forgotten everything she’d been taught.

Belone nodded. “The beginning of amends. You must provide me with the opportunity to make things up to you.”

Enough was enough. “I want to see my father’s orders”

Belone held out the scroll towards her.

Felitïa moved forward and took it. Unrolling it, she read what was written there. It confirmed Belone’s earlier words. Any means necessary.

“I have already informed the appropriate authorities,” Belone said. “A suitable escort is being prepared to take you to Arnor City. It will be ready to leave on the morrow.”

Felitïa shook her head. “I’ll make my own way to Arnor City.”

Belone smiled. “Now, now, your Highness. Would that I could trust that statement.”

“I have an appointment tomorrow morning. I can’t miss it.”

“Reread your father’s decree, your Highness.”

She didn’t need to look at it again. Without delay. “But I’m expected. I can’t just fail to show up.”

Belone nodded sympathetically, and for a moment, Felitïa thought he might give in and let her go. “I’ll send someone to deliver your apologies. Have no worry.”

Felitïa shook her head. “That’s not necessary. My friends will deliver it. Meleng, can you explain to Agernon—?”

“Surely your friends will accompany you to Arnor City,” Belone said.

“Why should they? The order does not cover them. I’ll go alone.”

Zandrue touched her arm. “We should go with you. Weird things are happening and I don’t think we should split up.”

Felitïa was about to protest, but stopped. Damn her, Zandrue was right.

She faced Lord Feodor Belone again. He sat there watching her, his expression unreadable. “Very well, Lord Belone, I accept your gracious offer of dinner.”

* * * * *

“You look really pretty,” Corvinian said.

Felitïa smiled and shifted in the chair. She didn’t feel pretty. The last time she had worn a dress like this, she had still been living at the Royal Palace. Even then, it hadn’t been a dress like this. It had been a child’s gown, made for a child’s body. Now, she was uncertain how to sit without some part of the gown pulling, pinching, or squeezing her. The blasted thing constricted her every move. It was far too tight in the chest, pressing painfully against her breasts and making it hard to breathe. But it was the best fit Lord Belone’s wife’s ladies-in-waiting could come up with on such short notice.

And she couldn’t go to dinner dressed in commoner’s clothing. Gods, this was reminding her of why she ran away from the palace in the first place.

She shifted positions again, but it just made things worse, so she shifted back before something tore. Perhaps she should just show up to dinner in her regular outfit. She could use a spell to make everyone think she was dressed like a noblewoman. It could be her own private little joke—a joke that would be on her when she passed out from the strain of maintaining the spell for so long.

“We need to look at the positive side of this,” Zandrue said, breaking the sullen silence in the room. “This could be more advantageous than we think.”

“Positive side?” Felitïa said.

“Whatever’s going on, there are people in high places who have a stake in it,” Zandrue said. “Take Lady Plavin, for example. Based on what we’ve heard today, she knew Felitïa was in Tyl, yet did nothing to ensure her Bloods didn’t kill her. We could use somebody in a high-up position ourselves—someone who can beat them at their own game.”

Felitïa felt like laughing. A politician she was not! She knew some of the basic courtesies, but political manipulations were beyond her. “I’m glad you have such faith in me, Zandrue, but really, I—”

“I’m not talking about you,” Zandrue interrupted. “I’m talking about me. Oh, you’ll be the figurehead, of course, but I’ll be the brains of the operation.” She cracked a smile, and Felitïa couldn’t help but laugh—which she quickly discovered was not a good thing to do. Far too painful.

“Let’s put you in my dress and see if you’re still in any shape to think,” Felitïa said. Of course, Zandrue’s dress fit perfectly..

“I like the one I’ve got, thank you,” Zandrue said.

“So, while you two play nobles, what are the rest of us supposed to do?” Rudiger asked.

“For a start,” Zandrue replied, “we all need to find out as much as we can from people here before we get dragged away tomorrow morning.”

“I talked to Plavistalorik,” Jorvan said, “but she said not much. She stayed with me, but she spoke not much. I think she is in trouble.”

“Why do you say that?” Zandrue asked.

“Something she said. I try to translate. Magic is gone, and my wings fly not.”

“Magic gone?” Rudiger said. “What’s that mean?”

“It’s an Isyar saying,” Zandrue said. “It means she didn’t have a choice. She’s being forced.”

“Who could be forcing her?” Meleng asked.

“I do not know,” Jorvan replied.

Felitïa sighed. That hurt, too. “Somehow, I doubt we’ll have time to uncover that answer. I don’t suppose you had a chance to learn anything at the Hall of Knowledge, Meleng?”

Meleng shook his head. “Pedrin knocked me out as soon as we left you with Madame Ezmelda. I never even got to see the stacks.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. “Come in,” Felitïa called.

The door opened and one of Lord Belone’s pages, a young Folith boy named Lucas, entered. He bowed to Felitïa. “Your Highness, there is a Captain Agwinton DeSeloön here to see you.”

“Show him in,” Felitïa said.

The page bowed again and retreated from the room. A moment later, a Folith entered. His skin had the darker tone of southern Foliths, his hair was dark, and he sported a thin moustache. Standing about six foot three, he looked a regal sight in the sapphire-blue uniform of an officer in the Royal Arnorin Army. The lighter blue, ten-pointed star of Arnor was pinned over his heart, and underneath it he wore several other medals. A broadsword hung at his side. As he entered, he went to his knees and bowed his head. “Your Highness.”

“You may rise.” She was really starting to despise all the kneeling and bowing everyone kept doing. She stood as he did, and winced. Gods! Was there no way to move in this thing without suffocating? She tried pulling at the front of the dress to loosen it, but stopped when she realised how undignified it must make her look.

If Captain DeSeloön found anything odd about her behaviour though, he did not show it. “Your Highness, I have come to inform you that preparations for your departure are almost complete, and wanted to know if you had any particular requests for the journey.”

“You’re to be my escort? Not one of Lord Belone’s people?”

He nodded. “It would not be appropriate for Lord Belone’s people to escort you through other provinces. The army, however, is not part of any one province. It is all of Arnor.”

Felitïa nodded. “I intend to travel incognito, Captain. I have no intention of being paraded around the country. I hope that doesn’t ruin the plans you’ve already made.”

Captain DeSeloön smiled. “Of course not, your Highness. I anticipated that would be your desire. I assure you, you will not be paraded anywhere. I have selected four choice men to accompany you along with myself. They are all fully trustworthy, loyal to the chain of command and to the Crown, not to any local lords. They are also efficient warriors who will give their lives for you if necessary. Your safety is assured.”

“Five of you and six of us start to make us a fairly large group,” Zandrue said.

“No larger than some merchant groups,” DeSeloön replied. “My men and I will play the role of mercenaries.”

“And the rest of us?” Zandrue asked.

“The merchants. I understand her Highness has experience in selling things.”

“Do we have anything to sell?” Felitïa asked.

“Of course.”

Zandrue nodded approvingly. “I like this guy, Felitïa.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Felitïa said. “It sounds like you have things well planned. We’ll meet you on the front grounds at first light tomorrow.”

Captain DeSeloön gave her a gracious bow and exited the room. When he was gone, Felitïa sank back into her chair, ignoring the protesting dress. “I don’t suppose we can ditch them somewhere on the road between here and Arnor City?”

Zandrue shrugged. “Possibly. However, I don’t think we should. We need a princess on our side, right now.”

Felitïa nodded. “You’re right, of course. I suppose we’d better not keep Lord Belone waiting.” Groaning, she stood again and summoned Lucas. “Please escort us to dinner.”

* * * * *

Lucas watched his breath frost in the crisp, night air. Above, a few stars twinkled from between cracks in the clouds. Before him, the streets of Quorge looked ominous. Brown snow and grey buildings, dank and dirty. A few drunkards stumbled about. Up ahead, two city watchmen turned a corner.

Lucas continued on. He kept his hand inside his cloak, clutching at the dagger hidden there. He hated the city at night. Hell, he hated the city during the day, too. Lord Belone’s palace was much more comfortable. But his father always sent him on these tasks in the dead of night. Who knew what criminals were wandering the streets, what they might do to a virtually defenceless boy? Though none of that mattered to his father—and he feared his father far more than he did anyone he might meet on the streets.

Eventually, he reached the edge of the city. Feeling a bit of relief, he headed towards the usual meeting place. For the time being, he would be safe—until he met with his contacts, at least. He could never be sure just what sort of person would be waiting for him. They came in all types. Rich nobles and poor peasants, men and women. Many had scars from self-inflicted wounds. Those were the most frightening to look at. But the ones without were frightening in other ways. Lucas wasn’t sure he had ever seen the same person twice, but as long as they had the goat-head tattoo, that was all that mattered.

He remembered the day he had been branded with his. He’d struggled while they’d shaved his head. Instinctively, his free hand now went to the back of his head. It had been necessary to wear a hood for some time after that, until his hair had grown back long enough to cover it. Those had been some of the most frightening weeks of his life, constantly worried that someone would pull back his hood and discover what was there.

Lucas did not want to be a Servant of Sunset—had never wanted to be one. He hated everything they stood for. He hated the Lord of Darkness. But he feared his father more than he hated the Servants. So he had become one of them and he carried out his father’s orders dutifully. Although he took every precaution as he was expected to, he often wished that one day he would be caught. Lord Belone would execute him for sure, but in many ways, execution was preferable to working with his father and the one his father took orders from—the one even his father feared.

Lucas approached the secluded cove along the lake shore. At this time of night, Lake Belone looked tranquil. Light from the few stars glinted off its surface. At the meeting place, dark shapes moved. A lot of shapes. They didn’t usually come in such large groups. As he got closer and the shapes became more distinct, he realised just how big they were. Taller than even the tallest people and twice as wide. Wings! Oh gods! They had wings!

No! Nothing was worth this. Not Volgs! Even his father’s wrath was preferable. He turned to leave, but one of them landed in front of him, blocking his way. He tried to run another way. He turned to his left, but the lake was there, mocking him with its tranquillity. He turned the other way, but another Volg had landed. “Please!” he cried. “I’m a Servant! I have the mark! I’m a Servant!”

One of them grabbed him by the base of the neck and lifted him off his feet. “I’m a Servant,” he sobbed. His breeches dampened as his bladder emptied.

The Volg holding him grunted something and carried him into the cove. A moment later, he was thrown on the ground in front of another Volg. This one bent down and began parting his hair with massive fingers. “You have a message for me, boy?” the Volg said after it was satisfied of his credentials. The Volg’s breath was hot and foul.

Lucas nodded. “The Princess Felitïa. She and her friends, disguised as merchants, will be leaving tomorrow morning for Arnor City. They are accompanied by five soldiers, disguised as mercenaries.”

The Volg stood up. “You may go now. Tell your masters we appreciate the information.”

Lucas stood up and ran. Ran with all his might, until the cove and the Volgs were long out of sight and he was back on the streets of Quorge.