As a very young girl, the palace had seemed immense, full of mystery and excitement. Felitïa’s earliest memory was running room to room, looking in every door she could manage to open. Most were closed and she was too small to reach the handle, but a few pushed open at her touch. Inside each, she beheld wonders, sights never seen to her before. At the time, she didn’t know what she was seeing, and her memory was too hazy for her to identify them now, but it was their newness that amazed her. She vaguely recalled some people reacting to her presence. She wasn’t supposed to be there. Indeed, she had an impression that it was running away from someone that set her on this path in the first place.

That soon became a normal part of life at the palace: running away. She would slink away from her attendants, skip out on her lessons with Matron Maris because they were boring, avoid her siblings like they carried the plague, ignore her mother’s summons on those rare occasions that they actually came, steal a book or two from the library, and hide away in an old abandoned room in the basement where no one could find her. Until Garet did.

She wasn’t sure when she had gone from viewing the palace with awe to viewing it with scorn. It had just happened sometime along the way. Maybe it was the way her mother had virtually discarded her after her naming ceremony and had doted all her attention on Annai. Maybe it was because her older siblings—children of her father’s first two wives—had either ignored her or picked on her whenever they could. Perhaps it was something she’d read in a book. Perhaps seeing too much politicking. Or maybe a combination of them all.

All she knew was, by the time she was seven or eight, she hated palace life. And she made sure everyone knew it. Every chance she got, she told them how wrong they were. How they oppressed the common people by unfairly hoarding riches that were better spent elsewhere. How stuck up they all were. How just plain unintelligent they all were. None of that could have helped her relationship with them. Looking back at it now, even though she still harboured ill feelings towards her family, she had to admit that she was partly to blame, something she never would have admitted then. Still, some of them could have been more patient with her. She had been a bright young girl who had known a lot, but still hadn’t known half as much as she thought she knew. Surely some of them could have realised that.

Maybe her father had. She couldn’t recall him losing patience with her, though she was certain it must have happened at some point. She remembered his kindly face looking down at her, remembered sitting on his knee and listening to him tell her stories about Egorthian knights, magical Isyar, and fire-breathing dragons. But that only occurred on rare occasions. Her mother had seen to that. There would always be something to call her father away—and away he always went at her mother’s every beckon.

Despite the cold winter wind, Felitïa was sweating. The thought of returning to the palace she had left fifteen years ago terrified her. She wanted nothing more than to turn her horse around and ride the other way. Catch another ship. Leave the island. Pretend she had never come near it. DeSeloön would never allow it though, even if she ordered him as Princess of Arnor. Even if Zandrue had tried to bribe him. He was her father’s man through and through, loyal to the bone. And her father wanted her home.

Sam brought the wagon slowly to a stop as they approached the wide, golden gates. Everyone else stopped, too, except Captain DeSeloön, who rode up to the guards, several papers in hand. While he dealt with the formalities, Felitïa gazed through the stylised bars of the gates into the grounds beyond. Far in the distance, the palace looked little more than a speck. Before it, lay the broad expanse of the Royal Gardens. Even in winter, they maintained their majesty.

Livia shifted her feet about. In general, the mare was more restless than Simeria had been, and Felitïa suspected that on this occasion, she was picking up on some of her rider’s nerves as well. Patting the horse’s neck, Felitïa whispered some soothing words to try to calm her down. It didn’t work and Livia just became even more restless. With a sigh, Felitïa resorted to a calming spell. Too bad she couldn’t do that to herself.

After several minutes, a guard appeared on the other side of the gates. Using a large key, he unlocked them and pulled first one side open, and then the other. As he did so, a rider set off at a gallop down the path towards the palace.

“This is it,” Zandrue said. “Last chance to turn back.”

Felitïa frowned at her friend, and then they rode through the gates together. Behind her, she heard the wagon start moving again, as well as the others on their horses, but she didn’t look back. She kept her eyes planted firmly forward, trying to take short, deep breaths to calm herself. It wasn’t working.

They rode slowly down the cobblestone path through the gardens. More memories came flooding back. These gardens had been another great place to hide, particularly in the summer when in full bloom. There had been times, too, when she hadn’t just been trying to hide here. She remembered sitting in the pavilions or alongside the fountains, reading, walking and talking with her father, playing hide-and-seek with Thilin.

It was about a mile from the gates to the main courtyard, and Captain DeSeloön took the approach slowly. It gave her time to take hold of her feelings. She closed her eyes and spent the next several minutes in her head, trusting Livia to stick with Lucinda and Zandrue.

The Room was back together again and had been for a couple weeks now, but she still worried about lingering effects from the Volg’s attack. She focused on the image of Corvinian in the line with the others. There was a cut on his hand now, though it was becoming less distinct as it healed. It had been a shock to discover that just a couple days ago. She had made a point to check the images of the others as well and had confirmed that all the images showed current injuries and states. It had been a bit frightening, but it also helped confirm that Corvinian was still alive. She was glad to see that he was healing from whatever had happened to him.

When she opened her eyes again, their procession had made it almost halfway to the palace—almost to the Great Bear Fountain.

“You okay?” Zandrue asked. “You were looking pretty intense for a while there.”

Felitïa smiled and nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

She could sense a mixture of emotions from everyone: anticipation mixed with a bit of fear and anxiety. Meleng gaped in awe at his surroundings, particularly as they got closer to the Great Bear Fountain. Jorvan, too, was studying everything with his eyes. Zandrue seemed the calmest of the group, but that didn’t surprise Felitïa. Rudiger looked impatient, as did Borisin. The stallion had healed up nicely in the past month and a half. There were still scabby patches, and likely he would always bear marks from being burned, but his hair was growing back, especially his mane.

They had all healed up quite well since the battle—all except Stavan, of course, and the horses they’d lost, she reminded herself. Even Sam looked somewhat better than he had when the bandages had first come off. Jorvan’s burns had healed. Rudiger still bore the mark of a broken nose, but he was otherwise looking his old self. And Zandrue looked like she had never had any injuries at all.

The Great Bear Fountain loomed before them, the path continuing up and over the bridge spanning the massive pool. The bridge was wide enough even for the wagon to pass over. The pool itself was as wide as some city blocks. Marble nymphs and faeries adorned either side of the bridge and the entire perimeter of the pool. In the centre of the bridge, spewing water off one side was the Great Bear of Arnor, and seated beside it, her back against a powerful hind leg, the goddess Nature.

In the summertime, more of the statues would be spraying water, often making the bridge slick and treacherous, but Felitïa remembered how refreshing the cool water could be on a hot day. Now, water from the Bear mixed with regular snowfall had made the bridge even more treacherous, so Captain DeSeloön took them the long way around the pool.

“This is taking forever,” Rudiger complained.

“What did you expect?” Hang replied.

“Well, for a start, to ride a little faster than a tortoise can walk,” Rudiger answered.

Hang laughed.

“We have to give the people at the palace time to prepare for our arrival,” Zandrue said.

“Suppose so,” Rudiger said.

“You know those noble types,” Hang added. “Got to have everything proper-like.”

“Yes, I’m sure the stables here are fine,” Rudiger said.

Hang shook his head. “You and that horse, Rudiger, I swear...”

“What do you mean, how do I know? It’s the Royal Palace! Of course... Well, no, I haven’t been here before, but that makes... I just know, all right? It’s the bloody Royal Palace!”

Hang laughed. Felitïa found herself smiling, too.

At long last, they passed under the Folith Arch into the main courtyard. Three sides of the large courtyard were defined by stables, servants quarters, guard barracks, and various buildings of state. On the fourth, the far side, stood the palace itself. Its gleaming white walls shone in the sunlight. The east and west wings were each three storeys tall, while the central building rose four.

Lining each side of the great stairs leading to the main entrance was a row of soldiers in gleaming armour, the Bear of Arnor displayed on their tabards and shields. Standing on the steps between the rows of soldiers were numerous others, none of whom Felitïa could identify at this distance—doubtful she would be able to identify most of them when she got close up, either. Everyone was dressed in various shades of blue.

As they reached halfway across the courtyard, streams of servants in blue livery appeared, taking the reins of their horses. Felitïa dismounted and let them take Livia away. Borisin protested loudly when a servant first tried to take his reins, pulling back from the boy. When other servants came in to help, for a moment it looked as if Borisin would trample them all. But then Rudiger dismounted and looked the horse in the eye. After a moment, he patted the side of Borisin’s head and handed the reins to one of the servants. They had no further trouble with him—at least, not while they were still in sight.

Once the servants had cleared out of the way, even taking the wagon away, DeSeloön approached Felitïa. “Are you ready, your Highness?”

Felitïa sighed. That was the first time he’d called her that since Quorge. She supposed she’d better get used to it quickly. “I’m ready.”

Four figures at the bottom of the steps were now striding in their direction, followed at a discreet distance by several others. Felitïa began walking towards them, DeSeloön at her left, Zandrue at her right, the others behind. She could feel a sense of fun from Zandrue, who was clearly enjoying herself.

As they got closer, Felitïa could finally make out details. The one leading in the centre was who she thought it would be. Attired in dress military uniform, King Wavon II was fatter than she remembered—and older. She felt terrible for thinking such things, but they were true. The King she remembered was fit and, while not actually young, youthful looking. This one’s hair was greying and thinning. His face had rounded, made even more so by his beard, and his stomach had grown rounder.

The King and the three with him stopped a short distance away to look over Felitïa and her group. His eyes rested briefly on Zandrue and then moved to Felitïa where they stopped. His face broke out into a wide smile.

Beside her, Captain DeSeloön fell to his knees, as did Zandrue. Felitïa, too, knelt down, but her father’s boots were soon directly in front of her face and his hands on her shoulders. “Rise, my dear.”

She did so and he put his arms around her, gave her a kiss on each cheek. She returned the kisses. She wanted to say something, but she wasn’t sure what. Her own emotions, mixed with the sheer joy coming from her father, were becoming overwhelming. So, she just stood there and gazed into his eyes.

“Let me look on you,” he said, taking a step back. “My, how you’ve changed. A woman grown. No longer the girl who used to sit on my lap. It’s been so, so long. There is so much that we must discuss. And these others with you. Please, all of you rise. Let me look upon the people who have brought my daughter safely here.”

The King approached DeSeloön as he rose to his feet. “Captain Agwinton DeSeloön of the Royal Arnorin Army, your Majesty.”

The King clasped DeSeloön’s arms and kissed his cheeks. “You have my eternal gratitude, Captain. My eternal gratitude.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” DeSeloön replied.

The King nodded, still beaming, and moved past Felitïa to Zandrue.

Zandrue curtsied. “Zandromeda Armida, your Majesty. A friend to her Highness.”

“It is an honour to finally meet my daughter’s friends.” The King took Zandrue’s hand and kissed it. “She has been too long out of my sight.”

King Wavon then moved on to Felitïa’s other companions, but her attention was drawn to the three others who had approached with him. Two men and one young woman. They were her siblings, she was sure, but she was embarrassed that she didn’t know who was who. She had eight siblings total, one of whom had only been a year old when she’d left the palace.

The first approached her and kissed her cheeks; she kissed him back. “Felitïa.” Also decked out in full military regalia, he was taller and slimmer than his father, with dark hair and a clean-shaven face. His eyes were the same as hers and their father’s, but it was the nose that gave him away. Large and pointed. Nothing like their father’s, but the spitting image of his mother’s, the late Queen Delayus.

“Cerus,” she said. She didn’t have a lot of memories of Cerus. He was older than her, and from her earliest memory, he had been in training for his role as heir. As such, she had seen little of him as he was dragged around from one political event to another, sometimes being sent on his own to the ones their father couldn’t attend, often touring across the entire country.

“It’s wonderful to have you back,” Cerus said. “You broke all our hearts when you left.”

“That’s kind of you to say, brother.” Cerus had always been a smooth talker, and stories told in Quorge said that he was almost the equal of their grandmother when it came to diplomacy. What surprised her most of all now was that his feelings actually seemed to lend truth to his words. As a girl, she had always assumed it was just an act.

“Merely the truth,” he said. “I look forward to reacquainting ourselves.” Cerus gave only the briefest of acknowledgement to Captain DeSeloön before moving on to Zandrue. He kissed her cheeks and then the back of her hand. “It brightens my day to see such beauty grace the palace.”

Zandrue curtsied. “Your Royal Highness is too kind.”

Felitïa felt like groaning. She wondered if Cerus realised Zandrue wasn’t a Folith.

The next one to approach her was not as tall as Cerus, but was huskier and brawnier. He, too, was dressed in royal blue military finery, but he didn’t seem at ease in it the way Cerus and her father did. Like all of King Wavon’s sons, he had dark hair and brown eyes, so that didn’t help in the identification. She recognised the sword he wore at his side though—Smasher.

“Hey Brains. Long time.” He kissed her cheeks and she his.

Felitïa forced a smile. “Hello Garet.” Next to Annai, Garet had always been the worst of the lot. He would chase her around, pick on her. They had had endless shouting arguments. Unlike Annai, who just ran to Mother whenever she had a gripe with Felitïa, Garet took things into his own hands. There were several occasions of being dunked in the pool of the Great Bear Fountain. Oddly, that was the one reason she found him more tolerable than Annai. At least he fought his own battles.

Felitïa took a deep breath as the young woman came up to her. It had to be Annai. Of all Wavon’s children, only Annai had blue eyes. Dressed in an emerald-blue gown with flowery white lace, she was a stunning beauty. In her slightly curled, long blonde hair, she wore several ribbons. She was the same height as Felitïa with a slender figure and long legs. Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled. Surprisingly, her feelings were of awe, excitement, and a little bit of wonder. Not what Felitïa expected from Annai.

“So, you’re my older sister,” the young woman said. Not Annai, after all.

Felitïa smiled and kissed her. “You must be Sinitïa.” Sinitïa had just been a baby when Felitïa had left the palace. She had never known her. But she had heard stories about her.

Sinitïa nodded happily. “That’s right!” She bit her lower lip. “Mother said I wasn’t supposed to come see you, but Father said I should. So I came, but I don’t know if that was the right thing to do. It’s confusing when Mother and Father say different things. How do I know what to do?”

“Well,” Felitïa said, “I think you did the right thing.” Anything that defied their mother was a good thing. There was no doubt that the Queen’s attitude hadn’t changed. Her absence was telling.

“I did?”

“Yes, you did.”

Sinitïa was truly overjoyed by that simple statement. “Oh good!” she said, practically bouncing away. “I do the wrong thing so often.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” their father said, coming to stand between them. “I think you do the right thing more often than you realise.” He put an arm around each of them, and stood there for a few moments, looking at each in turn. Finally, he nodded and said, “Sinitïa, I’d like to talk to your sister alone for a little while. Why don’t you go meet her friends?”

Sinitïa gave a quick curtsy. “Yes, Father.”

His arm still around her, the King began to lead Felitïa towards the steps. Felitïa glanced behind her, but Zandrue just waved her on. “Don’t worry,” her father said. “Someone will see to it that your friends and servant are looked after. Do you need anything from your servant before we go? Perhaps to prepare your apartments?”

She looked at him. “My servant?”

“Yes, the young lad with…” He trailed off. “Oh dear. The modern world hasn’t quite caught up with us at the palace, I’m afraid, my dear. Would you excuse me for a moment?”

Felitïa nodded, and her father turned away from her. She turned to watch as he strode over to Meleng, who was standing somewhat awkwardly beside Jorvan. “My friend!” The King grasped the startled Eloorin’s hand. “Please accept my apologies. Welcome to the Royal Palace.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Meleng stammered in response. Greminy, Sam, and Hang, standing not too far away, gaped.

Her father returned to her. Putting his arm back around her, he led her up the stairs to the palace. “Your mother won’t like that one bit, I’m afraid. Two Eloorin in the palace, who aren’t servants. No, she won’t like that at all. Oh, she sends her regrets by the way. She was held up in an important meeting of state and could not be here to greet you. She looks forward to seeing you again later.”

Felitïa tilted her head and looked at him. “Really?”

At her look, he melted. “No, not really. She’s not happy about your return. Wanted you turned back at the gate, in fact. I’m afraid she has no desire to see you.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Felitïa said.

“Come now, it’s been fifteen years. Surely the two of you can put aside your differences.”

Servants opened the wide double doors as they reached the top of the steps.

“We’ll see,” Felitïa said. “You said something about another Eloorin.”

“Ah yes. Garet’s fiancée. It’s nice to see some of my children finally on the road to marriage. It’s taken far too long. Your grandmother would have had you all married off years ago. Yes, even you my dear. No amount of running away would have gotten you away from her clutches. However, it was Ardon who suggested I let my children find their own spouses. No doubt he has some political motive behind that. Oddly enough, your mother agreed to it. No doubt she has a completely different political motive—I’m sure you remember how infrequently those two agree on anything—but I’m afraid it’s all beyond me. She’s been making intimations recently about finding someone for Annai, though.”

The Grand Foyer was just the way Felitïa remembered it. A red carpet with gold trim ran down the centre. Chairs were spaced at even intervals along the wall. Above them hung portraits of former kings and queens. The ceiling was a full two storeys up, allowing a balcony to overlook the room on three sides. Felitïa and her father began ascending the wide, sweeping staircase that led up to the balcony. Servants in palace livery bowed to them as they passed.

“Unfortunately, your brothers are bachelors through and through. They enjoy too much the freedom that comes with being unmarried. It was quite a surprise when Garet came home one day with this Quilla woman.”

Felitïa stopped.

Quilla.

The image of Quilla loomed before her in the Room, the voices repeating her name.

“A pleasant surprise, of course.” Her father continued several steps before noticing she had stopped. He looked back at her. “Everything all right, my dear?”

Felitïa nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m just a bit overwhelmed by all the memories.” She hurried back up to him. “Please, you were saying?”

“Yes, well, Garet’s always been a bit of a womaniser, so it’s nice to see him settling down. Cerus plays political games with his availability, intimating to one lord with an available daughter that marriage might be in the making with the right political support, all the while doing the exact same thing with three other lords. I don’t know. Seems a dangerous game to me, but he pulls it off somehow. Then again, you know me. I’m not one for politics. I go through the motions and that’s about it.”

They stopped at the top of the stairs, where the King began to fiddle with a potted plant, whose leaves were drooping. Within moments, a servant was there to do it for him, but he shooed her away.

Felitïa looked out over the hall. So large and extravagant. The massive chandeliers with their arms shaped like birds, and their hundreds of glittering candles; the frescoed ceiling with its images of clouds and angels; the statuary lining the sides of the staircase; each of these things was probably worth enough to feed a good-sized town for years. Elderaan and Agernon used to complain about Lord Belone not giving enough to the people of his province—particularly the wizards—and hoarding unnecessary money to himself. But compared to the Royal Palace, Feodor Belone lived in poverty.

The King looked at the plant, made another adjustment, looked again, and shrugged. He put an arm back around Felitïa. “I can give you real regrets from your other brothers, though.” Again, he melted at a look from her. “Well, at the very least, I assume they’d give real regrets if they knew you’d arrived. Unfortunately, they’re hunting at the moment, and won’t be back for another day or two. You arrived more quickly than we anticipated. Since we hadn’t heard anything since you left Quorge, we assumed you hadn’t yet made it to Porthaven. That Captain should have sent word from Porthaven.”

“He wanted to maintain anonymity,” Felitïa told him. “For security reasons.”

Her father shrugged. “I suppose he knew what he was doing.”

“What about Annai?” she asked.

The King sighed. “Unlike Sinitïa, Annai listened to your mother and refused to come meet you.”

Felitïa nodded. “I pretty much guessed that. Gabriella?”

Her father brightened up at the mention of his eldest daughter. “Gabriella is in Dorg meeting Harrick Padara, who’s been courting her for some time now.”

“Harrick Padara?” Felitïa asked. She knew who most of the Padaras were—Lord Amar Padara had been a frequent customer of Elderaan’s—but that name was unfamiliar to her.

“Yes, Delayus’s youngest brother Charlen’s youngest son. Old Amar is over the moon at the potential marriage. Delayus’s death severed some of the connections between House Folith and House Padara, and he’s very eager to re-create those ties. Naturally, your mother is not amused. House Padara and House Friaz are not on the best of terms these days.”

“Were they ever?”

Her father laughed. “No, no. I suppose they weren’t. So, you remember some of those details, then? You were never very fond of politics as I recall.”

“I wasn’t fond of it, but I was surrounded by it. I couldn’t help but notice some of what was going on. I was very glad to get away from it all.” She stopped when she saw the look on her father’s face, immediately regretting that she’d said it.

Nodding sadly, he led her from the balcony, and through a door into one of the long halls running down the west wing of the palace. Servants working here quickly moved aside, bowing as they passed.

The two of them walked in silence for a few moments. His emotions were a tangle of uncertainty, fear, and love. Finally, he asked, “Were you happy in Quorge, Felitïa? Truly happy?”

Felitïa wanted to say, “Of course,” but stopped just short of doing so. What should she say?

“You can be honest with me, my dear,” he said.

“I was happy.”

He gave her a smile and put his arm back around her. “I’m glad.” But he wasn’t feeling glad.

Felitïa wanted to comfort him, but she wasn’t sure how. “I’m sorry, Father. I never meant to hurt you, but I had to be my own self. I couldn’t do that here. Not in the palace. Not in the Church. It was too constricting. I tried. I really tried, but I couldn’t.”

“You were barely ten. How could you possibly know what you could or could not do?”

“I knew I wanted to be a wizard, and I knew I couldn’t do that here.”

They entered a large salon—small, she corrected herself; the scale in the palace was so much different from what she had become used to in the last fifteen years—and her father let go of her again. He approached a portrait of his great grandfather, Wavon the First, and began to examine it, his back to her. A servant approached with a tray of drinks and refreshments, but the King waved her away. When she simply returned to her post in a corner of the room, he turned and barked, “Leave.” The servant curtsied, and was gone in a flash, the cups of wine jostling and splashing on the tray as she went.

“I remember one day, years ago,” the King said, still not facing her. “Long before you were born. I was about seven or eight at the time. My old nan used to tell me stories about wizards and knights and dragons and such. The same tales I used to tell you, in fact. One day, I went to my mother and asked her why, if wizardry was such a terrible thing, did we tell stories about great wizards? Why did we hold Isyar in such awe? Why had she gone to wizards for help in her campaign against the Darkers?”

“What did she say?” Felitïa asked.

“She said that wizardry wasn’t a terrible thing. She agreed that some Foliths believed magic was in some way evil. Some even refused to believe in it. But she said that, in truth, magic is just a tool, like any other tool. One uses it to do a job, like a carpenter uses a hammer and nail, or a smith uses an anvil. And just as no one of noble birth would ever take up the job of carpenter or smith, no noble should take up the job of wizard. It would be beneath him. Or her.” He turned back round to face her again. A tear glistened at the corner of his eye. “That was why I always refused you every time you asked.”

“A sword is a tool. Like any other. Yet there is great honour in using it. Why not magic?”

“Your grandmother would have had an answer for that, I’m sure. However, I do not. I suppose because the sword has centuries of tradition behind it. Humans have always played second fiddle to the Isyar when it comes to magic, so perhaps that’s why we’ve never really built a tradition around it.”

Except she knew there were Folith magical traditions, as Ezmelda had demonstrated during her graduation ceremony. Still, Felitïa doubted her father would be open to hearing about that now.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else she could say. “I just...”

He nodded. “It’s all right, my dear. I forgive you. Are you a good wizard?”

“I think so.” In truth, Felitïa had always avoided comparing her abilities with anyone else’s. No real reason why. Other than perhaps a bit of fear over how she might measure up. But Agernon had said she would surpass him and Elderaan...

“If my daughter is going to be a wizard, she’d better be the best damned human wizard there ever was,” the King said. “If you happen to outdo a few Isyar along the way, that wouldn’t go amiss with me either.” He paused. “Just avoid anything that will make people compare you with the Dragon. Come, sit with me!” Removing his sword belt, he sat down in a chaise longue and patted the seat beside him.

As she approached, he said, “I’m afraid you’ve grown a bit too big to sit in my lap, but you can sit beside me and rest your head against my chest. That’s the way your sisters do it these days. Well, Gabriella and Sinitïa. Annai rarely spends any time with me. A shame.”

Felitïa smiled and sat beside him, laying her head on his chest as he’d asked. Memories of childhood flooded back again. The good and the bad. All the reasons why she’d left, and all the reasons why she should have stayed. She hated feeling so conflicted, and once again wished she’d never come back. But there was something comforting about being here with her father. The steady beat of his heart. His gentle patting of her arm.

They sat there for several minutes, unmoving and silent. “So,” her father said finally, “there must be so much for you to tell me.”

“I’m not sure where to begin.”

“Try the beginning. You went to Quorge to find a teacher in wizardry, obviously. What a journey that must have been! Terribly dangerous for a ten-year-old girl alone.”

“It was perhaps a bit on the foolish side,” Felitïa agreed. “But I was a little naïve, and I was so determined to be a wizard. And I wasn’t alone.”

A young woman entered the salon then. Attired in an elegant yellow-gold silk dress, she was small and slim. Around her neck, she wore a thin gold chain with a locket, and in her shoulder-length, sandy-brown hair was tied a single bow. A Folith, but not of the Folith family, Felitïa was quite certain.

The girl curtsied before them. “Your Majesty,” she began, but King Wavon raised a hand to silence her.

“I would prefer not to be bothered at this time,” he said.

“My apologies, your Majesty, but her Majesty the Queen requests your presence.” There was a slight lilt to her voice that Felitïa found vaguely familiar.

“Tell her I’m busy and will come to see her later.” He waved her away again, but she didn’t go.

“She was most insistent, your Majesty. She said it is very important.”

“And just what is so important?”

“I don’t know the specifics, your Majesty, but I believe it has something to do with money and Pastrin Nally.”

The King sighed. “Pastrin Nally always wants more money. She’s never had any difficulty dealing with him before.”

The girl gave him a blank look.

“She doesn’t need my presence, Tianna. She merely needs that my presence not be here.” He looked at Felitïa. “I’d better go to her.”

“Why not stay here?” Felitïa asked. “If she doesn’t really need you...”

He shook his head. “No, if I don’t show, she’ll deliberately botch things and then blame it on me.” He kissed her forehead and stood up, grabbing his sword belt.

Felitïa grabbed his arm as he started to move away. He looked back. “Why do you let her get away with these things?”

The King smiled at her. “We’ll talk more later. Tianna, be a dear, and show my daughter to her apartments. As soon as we got word from Lord Belone that you were coming, Felitïa, I immediately had new apartments prepared for you. I hope you’ll like them.” He strode from the room.

Some things had not changed, it seemed. He still bent to her mother’s every whim.

Felitïa stood up and looked to Tianna. The young woman quickly changed her scowl to a forced smile, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. She clearly was not pleased by the task set her.

“I’m Felitïa.”

“I know that.”

“And you are...?”

“Tianna Friaz, daughter to Barnol Friaz, cousin to the Queen and her brother, Lord Samma.” Now Felitïa recognised the lilt in her voice. Her mother had the same lilt. It was common to the people of Friaz. “This way.” Tianna spun around and walked from the room, not waiting for Felitïa to follow.

Once again, Felitïa remembered all the reasons she hated palace life. With a sigh, she hurried after Tianna. “Have you been in the palace long?” she asked, trying to be friendly.

Tianna stopped and turned to face her. “Don’t presume that we are friends, your Highness. You may have the King wrapped around your fingers, but everyone knows that he’s wrapped around everyone’s fingers. You will not get me so easily.”

Felitïa was shocked by the intensity of the hatred emanating from this young woman. How could she hate someone she had never met? “If I’ve done something to offend, I apologise.”

“Offend?” Her face was actually turning red. “You offend by your presence. Do you have any idea the shame you brought upon this entire household when you ran away? Now you flaunt that by returning after fifteen years? You bring shame upon the Queen. Your own mother! How dare you!”

Felitïa stood dumbly, not sure how to respond.

“If you must know, my father is Lord Samma’s voice in the palace. I have lived here for nearly twelve years. In that time, the Queen has been like a mother to me, while my real mother continues to reside in Cilling. When you offend her, you offend me. You there!”

The servant from earlier, still carrying her tray of refreshments, had been waiting in the hall to resume her post. She hastily approached and curtsied to them.

“Do you know where her Highness’s apartments are?” Tianna asked.

“Yes, my lady,” the servant replied.

“Then show her the way there.” Tianna turned and stomped away.

She should have let her go. Felitïa knew that anything else would just make things worse. Let her go and giver her a chance to calm down. But all the old urges came back unbidden, the desire to show her mother up, to humiliate her mother instead of the other way round for once. She knew she should have let her go, but instead she called out by instinct, “Excuse me!”

Tianna stopped and turned around, clenching her fists and then crossing her arms.

“I believe my father told you to escort me.”

“Are you ordering me, your Highness?”

“I’m ordering you to obey my father’s orders.”

“A good thing, then, that the Queen has already given me leave to disregard any of your orders. Good day, your Highness.”

This time, Felitïa let her go. Seething with anger of her own, she slid into a nearby chair to calm herself. It was all starting again. This place brought out the worst in her.

The servant approached her timidly and curtsied. “Your Highness, would you like to see your apartments?”

“In a moment, thank you.”

“As you wish.” The girl curtsied again. “Some refreshments, your Highness?”

Feeling sorry for the girl, Felitïa took a glass of wine. “Thank you.” She only took a sip of it before closing her eyes and concentrating on her relaxation exercises. The image of Quilla loomed in front of her again, but her anger did begin to subside. She relaxed and took another sip of wine.

The servant was waiting nearby. She was a young Eloorin, only about fourteen or fifteen at most with brown eyes and golden brown curls. “What’s your name?” Felitïa asked.

“Marna, if it please your Highness,” the girl said with another curtsy.

Felitïa finished the glass of wine. “You may take me to my apartments now, Marna.”

Marna curtsied again. “As you wish, your Highness.”

“You don’t need to curtsy so much.”

“As you wish, your Highness.” The girl curtsied again and then scrunched her nose. “This way.”

Felitïa followed. It turned out the girl only knew the general area of the apartments, but not which specific ones were Felitïa’s. However, with a few questions asked of other servants, Marna soon led her to the door. A guard stood outside. He snapped to attention as they approached.

“A guard?” Felitïa asked.

“Queen’s orders, your Highness,” the guard responded. “To ensure your safety.”

“And report my movements?”

“Naturally, your Highness. To oversee your security, the Queen needs to be aware—”

“Go away,” Felitïa told him.

“But your Highness, the Queen’s orders require that I stay here.”

Felitïa sighed. “Very well.” She could hardly get the poor guy in trouble for just doing his job.

“Will your Highness be requiring my services any further?” Marna asked.

“No, thank you, Marna.”

Marna curtsied and retreated.

Felitïa reached for the door handle, but the guard beat her to it, opening the door for her. She groaned and strode through. Barely arrived and already her mother was setting spies on her! The guard closed the door behind her, and Felitïa looked around at her surroundings.

When she had last lived in the palace, she had still resided in the children’s apartments with most of her siblings. At the time she left, only Cerus, Garet, and Gabriella had their own rooms. Now she was grown up, she got her own. She gaped around her. What was she supposed to do in all this space?

The salon she stood in was almost as big as the entire ground floor of Elderaan’s Mystic Palace. The pale yellow walls were decorated with occasional strands of a darker gold colour mimicking thin vines. Several small paintings hung on the walls. Across the room’s hardwood floor were placed several chairs, a chaise longue, and some small tables. A small spiral staircase in the far corner ascended to another level, while three other doors also provided exit. There was a tall window in the far wall; its yellow-green curtains were currently closed. Overall, the room was less extravagant than most of the rest of the palace, but it was still well beyond what she was used to.

There was a fireplace in one wall. Over the mantle hung a large painting, which at first glance, looked like a portrait of her. Intrigued, she approached closer to inspect it. In truth, it was a portrait of her grandmother and namesake, Queen Felitïa, who must have been about her age when the painting was done. The resemblance was uncanny. The same golden brown hair, though worn shorter than Felitïa wore it. The typical Folith family brown eyes. The angular face and small but turned-up nose. Narrow shoulders. Much more richly dressed than Felitïa could ever imagine herself though.

What had her grandmother been like? The whole country told stories of how great a monarch she had been, but how about what she’d been like in person?

There was a knock and then the guard entered the room. “Pardon me, your Highness, but his Grace, Patriarch Ardon is here to see you.”

“Send him in.” As the guard bowed and turned back to the door, her heart began to pound. Ardon!

As early as Felitïa could remember, Ardon had always been old. But there had always been an ageless quality about him as well. Despite the signs of great age—he must have been in his seventies or eighties by now—he moved with the grace and agility of a man half that age.

“Felitïa!” He threw his arms around her and kissed each cheek.

“Ardon, it’s wonderful to see you again.” Felitïa kissed his cheeks in turn.

“Let me look on you!” The Patriarch clasped her shoulders and gazed at her. “So changed. You have become a beautiful woman. So like your grandmother.” He, on the other hand, was exactly how she remembered him. The same deep-set eyes; the same prominent chin. She could almost swear that even his wrinkled skin had not changed, or that the very few wisps of grey hair on his mostly bald head had not changed in number.

He let go of her shoulders and nodded. “So like your grandmother,” he repeated. “I’m so sorry I was not here to greet you when you arrived. I was in the city at the Cathedral. I had intended to be here, but I’m afraid you arrived unexpectedly early. I came as quickly as I could as soon as I heard.”

Felitïa smiled. “I thought nothing was unexpected to you.”

He chuckled. “Some things get past even me, Felitïa. I expect it to happen once in a while. I also never expected to see you again.”

“I never expected to come back either.”

“Oh, you misunderstand me. I knew you would return one day. I just didn’t expect to be alive for it. But it seems the gods have blessed me with good health and long life. I don’t know what I did to deserve it. I suspect it’s more divine retribution than an actual gift.”

“Divine retribution?”

“For letting you run away, perhaps. Or my pride. I had visions of you becoming my successor one day. Either way, they’ve let me live long enough to be reminded of my sins.”

Felitïa just looked at him.

“You don’t believe that?” He had a hint of a smile.

“The Gods erected a barrier around the world that prevents them from affecting our lives. Divine retribution comes after death.”

He chuckled. “I see you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you.”

“You were a good teacher.”

“Really?” he said, and she nodded. “Surprising, considering the only student I ever had ran away on me.” He laughed and took a seat in one of the chairs. “Now, you must fill me in on what you’ve been up to. In particular, I’d like to know two things. First, why did Lidda Plavin try to have you killed, and after she failed, why send word about you back here?”

Felitïa sat down, surprise making her a bit clumsy. She had forgotten that part of palace life—how Ardon always seemed to know what people were doing before they knew themselves, even when they were half a continent away.

“I don’t actually know,” she said. “I think it might tie into something that happened to me nine years ago, though, and some other things that have happened since.”

Patriarch Ardon rested his chin in his hand. “That brings me to my second question. What happened to the magic boy you had with you in Quorge?”

Felitïa almost laughed. Maybe Zandrue and DeSeloön had been right about coming back here. Maybe there were resources here they could use. “Did Lord Belone send word of that? Or did you learn it from your spies in his palace.”

“Lord Belone made no mention of the boy. He only said that you were on your way in the company of other companions. What his motives are for not saying anything, I don’t yet know. My...spies as you call them were, however, able to give me a more accurate account of who your companions were. You apparently made a big deal about the boy while there, yet you didn’t arrive with him. I find this most curious.”

“So, you came to see me as quickly as you could, but still had time to find out all the details of who I arrived with.”

“Naturally. As quickly as possible still entails learning everything. I mustn’t show up unprepared. I suspect we have a lot to talk about. Why don’t you begin with this event from nine years ago?”

Felitïa took a deep breath. Could she trust him? As a girl, she had. But that was a long time ago, and she had had almost no knowledge of the world beyond the palace. How well did she really know Ardon? Still, he knew a lot already, and she hadn’t really intended to keep most things secret anyway.

The Patriarch leaned back in his chair and waited for her to begin.

* * * * *

King Martan the Conqueror’s portrait made him look less intimidating than Meleng had imagined. All the tales made him out to be a giant of a man, seven feet tall and able to wrestle a bear to the ground. According to his portrait, the man who had finally defeated King Everet’s armies, conquered all of Elooria, and personally beheaded the Dragon himself was small and scrawny. Although it was hard to be certain of his height from just a painting, he looked to be no taller than Meleng, if even that tall. He didn’t look able to lift the massive two-handed sword that he held in his hands with the point down and stuck in the floor at his feet, never mind overpower a bear. All in all, he was rather disappointing.

Pretty much everything here was a disappointment. Oh, it was beautiful to look at. He was in awe of the grounds and the building and everything in them. They were stunning. But the people...

There had been a couple of exceptions, but right from the start, almost everyone had assumed he was a servant. When the others had been shown to their rooms, he had been told he would be shown the servants’ quarters after he had finished his duties for the day. Rudiger and Jorvan had both tried to say that he wasn’t a servant, but no one would listen. They had nearly left him standing there alone in the courtyard. It had only been Prince Cerus’s intervention that had changed that. The Prince had made it very clear that Meleng was to be treated as a guest and not a servant. For that, Meleng was grateful. But he had still ended up with what he was certain must be the smallest guest room in the palace. It was barely half the size of Rudiger’s. And Zandrue’s...! Why did she always get the best things? She was an Eloorin too, wasn’t she? He hadn’t seen Jorvan’s accommodations—the Isyar had been taken to a special Isyar Pavilion—but he was sure they were better than his, too.

After unpacking his things, he had left his room to explore a bit. That had been a mistake. Although Prince Cerus had also stated that they were all free to explore the palace at their leisure—so long as they didn’t invade anyone’s personal rooms or apartments, and didn’t interrupt any meetings—almost no one was aware of it. Meleng had been stopped by nobles, guards, and palace servants alike, all wanting to know whose servant he was, what his business in that location was, where he was going. He supposed he should feel lucky that since he didn’t wear palace livery, no one actually mistook him for a palace servant. But being mistaken for somebody’s personal servant wasn’t much better.

He was now heading back to his room where, hopefully, he could hide for a while. He had simply stopped briefly to take a look at the portrait of the Conqueror. As he turned away from it, a group of young noble women came down the hall in his direction.

“So, you’ll never believe what happened then,” one of them, a small girl with sandy-brown hair, was saying. “She tried to order me to show her to her rooms.”

The one in the lead rolled her eyes. “She sounds exactly like she used to be. Lots of mouth and no brain.” The other women with her all giggled. They all stopped, as the lead one turned around to face the others. She was a tall, full-figured woman, with golden-blonde hair tied back with a single red ribbon. Her red dress was cut low in the bodice to reveal a lot of cleavage and the skirts fanned out twice as wide as those of her companions. In her right hand, she held a fan.

“According to Tomaz, who went to see her arrival,” she continued, “she was dressed in a common merchant’s travelling clothes. Can you believe it?”

“Oh, she was!” the small one said. “She looked quite comical trying to order me around.” She then made a face and spoke in a mocking tone. “Excuse me. I believe my father told you to escort me.”

They all laughed at that. Meleng scowled. He was starting to feel guilty for feeling down about his own experiences. It seemed like Felitïa was in for worse.

One of the group, a chubby woman with brown hair, pointed in his direction and they all fell silent. The one in the huge dress turned to face him. “You there. What are you staring at?”

Meleng bowed hastily. “Uh, nothing, your Highness.” He hoped he had the right form of address.

“Then why are you standing there? Whose servant are you?”

Oh, to hell with it. He’d just tell them Felitïa. Maybe that would make her look good.

“He’s not a servant!” another voice said. At the back of the group, he noticed Princess Sinitïa, who’d been with the King when they’d arrived. She moved up to the other princess. “He’s a guest!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sinitïa. He’s an Eloorin. Of course he’s a servant.” She looked back at Meleng. “Now, are you going to answer—?”

“But he isn’t a servant!” Sinitïa protested.

The other princess rounded on her sister. “Sinitïa, stop interrupting me! Honestly, I don’t know where you get your flights of fancy!”

“But Annai!”

“No buts, Sinitïa!”

“Fine.” Sinitïa turned away, pouting.

“Annai,” the chubby one said, “if Cerus said, then maybe we should—”

“Oh, Cerus said! We must do what he says because he’s so dreamy.” Princess Annai fluttered her eyelids and fanned herself under the neck. The others laughed—except the chubby one, who blushed.

“Now then,” Annai said, addressing Meleng again, “I need you to do something for me.”

“What if he really isn’t a servant?” one of the others said.

“Even so, he’s still a commoner. Now then, I want you to take a message to my sister, Felitïa. Tell her...oh, what should you tell her? Tell her I am very unhappy with how she treated my good friend, Tianna, and that I expect her to make a public apology in front of the whole court. Yes, that will do. Now go on! Don’t just stand there. Move!”

Meleng bowed hastily and hurried down the hall. Behind him, they laughed. Once he was around a corner and they were out of sight, he stopped, realising that he wasn’t even sure how to find Felitïa. Damn it, he shouldn’t have let her bully him like that! Well, maybe he just wouldn’t deliver the message. See how she liked that! But what if that caused problems for Felitïa? That wouldn’t be good. He had better find out where Felitïa’s room was.

He was about to continue on when Princess Sinitïa came around the corner. His heart skipped a beat, but luckily, she was alone. Princess Annai and the others must have gone another way.

“I’m sorry, your Highness,” he said. “I was just about—”

“That’s okay,” she said. “Annai’s just being mean. She does it all the time. She’s like a big child. That’s what Cerus and Gabriella call her.”

Meleng nodded, not sure what to say.

“What’s your name?”

“Meleng, your Highness.”

“I’m Sinitïa.”

“A pleasure, your Highness.” He bowed. “If you’ll excuse me though, I should find Felitïa.”

“Oh yes, of course,” she said.

He started to turn away, but stopped and turned back. “I hope it’s not inappropriate of me to ask, but do you happen to know where Felitïa is?”

She shook her head. Then her eyes widened and she smiled. “But I know how to find out! Come.” She started off down the hall.

Meleng hesitated a moment.

“Come on!”

He followed after her.