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  “We? You mean me, don’t you?”

  “Lynan, there is no need to trouble yourself about this,” Kumul said. “Ager and I were going to tell you in the morning everything that transpired here tonight.”

  Lynan ignored him. “What was the discussion—sorry, argument—about?”

  “About whether to stay here in the east of the Oceans of Grass to be near Haxus and Hume, or to go to the High Sooq and recruit the entire Chett nation to your cause.”

  “Kumul wanted us to stay here,” Lynan said, a statement and not a question.

  “Yes.”

  “And you want us to go the High Sooq.”

  “Yes.”

  Lynan looked at Gudon. “And you? Which side were you on?”

  “There are good reasons on both sides.” Gudon shrugged. “But I support my queen.”

  Lynan turned to Ager. “And you?”

  “I lean toward Kumul, your Highness.”

  “And Jenrosa. Was she a part of this discussion? What side did she take?”

  “She has no experience in these sorts of things,” Kumul said gruffly.

  “Nor have I, apparently, though we both deserve a say, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Of course, lad, but we weren’t making any decisions—”

  “Except what course of action I should take.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “It’s always like that, Kumul. I remember the talks I had with you and Ager before Jes Prado kidnapped me. ‘Lynan, we think this is the best course of action. If you don’t agree, we’ll not support you.’”

  “It was never like that!” Kumul said, aghast.

  “It was exactly like that,” Lynan said without rancor. “But I’ve changed, Kumul. Being kidnapped, hacked to pieces, and brought back from the door of death does that.” He turned and walked away, and without looking over his shoulder said: “We leave for the High Sooq in the morning.”

  Kumul stayed by the fire after the others had gone. Ager hesitated, but Kumul waved him off and Ager left without saying anything.

  “Well, that was a turn,” Kumul said softly to himself. He was feeling angry and ashamed, a combination that left him feeling confused. He had always been sure that Lynan would one day come into his own, both as a prince and as a man, but for it to happen so abruptly and in such a manner took Kumul aback.

  And then there was the transformation that had changed the prince’s appearance so dramatically. Kumul did not know what else the transformation had altered, but could not help being afraid of the possible consequences.

  He sighed deeply. He had been wrong to exclude the boy from the discussion, but was sure Lynan’s decision had been made in anger. If only Kumul had handled it better, he was sure Lynan would have come around to his way of thinking.

  It’s not the decision his father would have made, he thought ruefully. The General would have seen the wisdom of staying close to the enemy.

  But Lynan was not his father, in any fashion. Proven in battle but not yet in war, heir to a blighted inheritance but also heir to the greatest throne on the continent of Theare, outlaw and victim of thwarted justice. Lynan was so much more and less than his father ever was. Where Elynd Chisal was straight up and down, Lynan was a mystery.

  And yet, Kumul suspected, Lynan might prove to be the greater. And he is my son as well.

  Kumul could no longer see into the future with the certainty he once possessed. All the sureties had left his life, and only vague hopes took their place. The thought worried him; he knew that once the challenge of heading into the unknown would have excited him.

  And Lynan, for the first time, had spurned him. That weighed on Kumul heavier than all else. He felt he had been rejected, and the feeling made him angry at his own self-pity and childishness.

  He threw some more wood into the fire, watching it burn brighter and higher.

  So be it, he thought resignedly. The future is dark to me now, but I will not let Lynan enter it alone.

  Chapter 4

  It was sunset, and Kendra had become a golden city. “That sky is the color of my love for you,” Sendarus said.

  Areava looked sideways at him and saw the smile he tried to hide, but it lit up his face too much. “I have heard crows sing sweeter songs,” she said.

  “Ah, but no crow ever loved you as I have.”

  Areava shook her head. “Oh, stop it. You don’t have to prove to me you have a sense of humor.”

  Sendarus got up from their stone seat and knelt in front of her. He took her hands in his own. “But there is so much I want to prove to you,” he said seriously.

  “We will have time. A whole lifetime.”

  “It won’t be enough.”

  She kissed him on the forehead and slipped her hands away from his. “It will have to do. Have you heard from your father?”

  “Must we always discuss business when we’re alone together?”

  “Best to get it out of the way.”

  “You used to have a lighter heart.”

  “Stop it, Sendarus,” she said shortly. “If you want the marriage to go ahead as much as you say you do, you’ll help remove the last impediments. The council wants that agreement from Aman—signed by your father—before its members will give our union their full support. This is a particular concern of the Twenty Houses.”

  “You have no regard for your country’s nobility,” Sendarus objected. “Why this sudden need to pacify the Twenty Houses?”

  “I have a lot of respect for them and their influence in the kingdom.”

  “And why are you so concerned about the council? It is your creation, after all. You can dissolve it any time you like. I’ve heard you say so to their faces.”

  Areava patted his cheek. “A council expects to be threatened by its monarch every now and then. It’s good form. But it’s not good form to ignore its advice, and its advice is to get from your father a guarantee that my marrying you does not give Aman any rights of succession outside our own issue.”

  “Such a legalistic expression for the children we will raise. Our ‘issue.’ That is a term for matters of state.”

  “And our children, like it or not, will be matters of state.”

  Sendarus shook his head. “Not to me.”

  Areava was about to agree when she realized she would be lying. The realization surprised and dismayed her. There was no doubt in her mind that she would love any children she bore, but equally there was no doubt that as queen she would put them to good use for the sake of her kingdom. As my own mother did with Berayma, and at the end of her life, through the Keys of Power, had tried to do with all of us, even Lynan.

  “Have you heard from your father?” she asked again.

  Sendarus sat next to her, his usual cheerful face now as serious as her own. “Not yet. I was expecting a message to arrive last week, but it has not come yet.”

  “You don’t think your father—”

  “Will not agree? No. But it is possible he will ask for concessions in other areas. He is a politician at heart.”

  “As he should be. He is a ruler.”

  Sendarus looked sideways at Areava. “He will meet his match in you, I think.”

  “Ironically.”

  “Why?”

  “Because his brother, my chancellor, is one of my teachers.”

  Sendarus laughed at that, and the sound was so infectious that Areava joined in.

  “I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself, your Majesty,” said a voice behind them.

  They both turned and saw Orkid standing there, looking as severe as usual, an impression always exaggerated by his long dark beard. They both laughed even harder.

  “How pleasing to your humble servant to be a source of amusement for your royal personages,” he said stiffly and without a trace of sarcasm.

  “Oh, Orkid, don’t take it to heart,” Areava said lightly, and went to him. “You are more than that to me.”

  Orkid sighed. “Oh, such relief.”
r />   “Why, Orkid, I believe you actually tried to be funny.”

  “Tried?” he asked glumly. “Well, I am employed as your chancellor, not your jester.”

  “Come and sit with us.” She took his hand and drew him to the stone seat. “We were actually discussing matters of state, particularly pertaining to your brother. Why has he not sent his agreement to the council’s condition for the marriage?”

  Orkid shrugged. “I imagine he is thinking up some way to bargain with it.”

  “Exactly what Sendarus said. You Amanites all think alike.”

  “I have come about another matter. One just as pressing.”

  Areava raised an eyebrow. “What matter could possibly be as important as my marriage?”

  “The matter of your brother, your Majesty, the outlaw Prince Lynan.”

  “Oh.” Her jollity disappeared. She slumped down next to Sendarus.

  “You asked me to pursue the matter. I believe a solution may have presented itself.”

  “In what way?”

  “You can come now!” Orkid called out. A moment later Jes Prado appeared and stood by Orkid’s side. The queen studied him closely. He was looking a hundred times better than the first time she had seen him in her chambers all those weeks ago now, but there was still something hard and cruel about his eyes and the thin set of his mouth, and something threatening about the way he stood, like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. His thickly braided gray hair, scarred face, and crooked nose only added to the sense of menace that accompanied him like a shadow.

  “The first time we met you brought me bad news,” the queen said evenly. “I hope you have something better for me this time.”

  “I wish it had not been me who brought you such evil tidings. But I think I can offer your Majesty a remedy to this particular wound.”

  Areava glanced at Orkid, but his expression gave nothing away. “Go on.”

  “You know my past?”

  “Of course,” she said, her distaste obvious.

  “Then I suggest you put it to use.”

  “I will not tolerate the resurrection of slavery in my kingdom,” she said quietly.

  “Nor should you,” Prado replied quickly. “But mercenaries still have their use. Even now you employ them on the border with Haxus.”

  “In small numbers.”

  “Let me raise my old company, and give me your warrant to raise more. I will set out to hunt down and capture Lynan for you.”

  “I want him killed, not captured.”

  “Even easier.”

  The words sent a chill down Areava’s spine. She controlled it, ashamed of her reaction. “What is your opinion?” she asked Orkid. Orkid simply nodded. “Do you have particulars?”

  “Not yet,” Orkid said. “I wanted you to hear the suggestion yourself before going into any more detail.”

  “Do so. The council meets in three days’ time; give me your report before then and I will present it.”

  Orkid and Prado bowed and left.

  “I do not like that man,” Sendarus said.

  “You don’t have to like a rock to crush a spider with it,” she said.

  The boy was about four years old. He lay in a tight crumpled heap in his cot, his breathing labored, his face shiny with sweat in the torch light.

  “What is it?” Olio asked, running a hand through his unruly brown hair, struggling to fight off the exhaustion that seemed his constant companion these days.

  The priest laid a gentle hand on the boy’s forehead. “Asthma. He has had it since he was three months old. It has become worse in the last year. He has been like this for several days now. He doesn’t eat and throws up most of what he drinks.”

  “Is he dying?”

  “Yes, your Highness, he is dying. He will not live to see the morning.”

  Olio sighed deeply and looked at Edaytor Fanhow. “I have no choice. I cannot refuse to heal him, despite my assurance to you that I would not use the Key.”

  Edaytor looked grim. “No. I see that.”

  Olio nodded to the priest, who stepped back, then laid his right hand on the boy’s heaving chest. With his left he pulled out the Key of the Heart—shaped like a triangle with a solid heart placed in its center—from behind his shirt and grasped it firmly. “All right.”

  Edaytor laid his hands on Olio’s slender shoulders. Almost immediately, he felt magickal power surge through the prince. No matter how many times he did this with Olio, the strength of the magic surprised him, but this time he was also surprised at the speed with which it came. The Key was becoming aligned to its owner. He wondered if Olio would soon be able to do without a magicker’s assistance at all. The thought worried him.

  Olio started to slump, and Edaytor pulled him back from the cot. The prince cried out weakly, then rested against the prelate.

  “Your Highness?” the priest asked, concerned. He was newly assigned to the hospice, and had never worked with the prince before.

  Olio held his hand up. “I am all right. A little weary, that’s all.”

  “Come, sit down.” The priest and Edaytor guided him to a wooden stool. “Do you want me to get you something?”

  “No,” he answered, then almost immediately. “Yes. Wine.”

  “Your Highness—” Edaytor started, but Olio’s angry glare stopped him.

  “Just a cup, Prelate.”

  The priest returned with the wine. Olio drank it greedily and handed the cup back.

  “More, your Highness?” the priest asked.

  “No,” Edaytor said firmly. The priest glanced from the prelate to the prince and back to the prelate again. “No,” Edaytor repeated. “Thank you. I must speak with the prince. Alone.”

  The priest scurried off.

  “I wouldn’t have asked for more,” Olio said, his voice almost a whine.

  “Then I saved you the trouble of telling him yourself.”

  Olio stood up unsteadily. Edaytor reached out to him, but Olio waved him away. “I thought you trusted me.”

  Before Edaytor could reply, a little voice said: “I’m hungry.” The sick boy was sitting up in his cot. He looked thin and pale, but his breathing was normal. “I’m hungry,” he said again.

  “I’ll get you something,” Olio said. “How are you feeling?”

  The boy thought about it for a moment. “Hungry.”

  “Then we’ll feed you a mountain.” He faced the prelate. “Is this not worth all?”

  Edaytor blushed, ashamed he had no reply.

  Now that the executive council had met half a dozen times, its members had gravitated to sitting in the same position at the table at every meeting. Areava sat at one end, flanked by Orkid and Olio; down the right-hand side, from Areava’s perspective, sat government officials such as Har-nan Beresard, Prelate Edaytor Fanhow, and Kendra’s mayor Shant Tenor, as well as those members of the Twenty Houses given seats on the council, most prominently Areava’s cousin Galen Amptra. On the left-hand side sat the various representatives of the kingdom’s guilds and mer-Ghant houses, as well as Primate Giros Northam, leader of the Church of the Righteous God, and his secretary and Areava’s confessor, Father Powl. At the end of the table sat Fleet Admiral Zoul Setchmar and Marshal Triam Lief on either side of the new constable, Dejanus.

  Sunlight poured into the room from the long glass windows in one wall. The members waited for Areava to start, but she was busy conferring with Orkid. A few were taking notes or catching up on paperwork, one or two looked bored and were stifling yawns. Most simply waited patiently.

  “You will have heard my brother is still alive,” Areava said suddenly. One or two members jumped in their seats.

  “We have heard rumors, your Majesty,” Father Powl said, “but not the whole story.”

  “Lynan did not drown. He has escaped to the Oceans of Grass.”

  There was a soft murmur, but—Areava was glad to hear—no urgency or panic in the voices.

  “He is still in the company of former Constable Kumu
l and former Captain Ager Parmer, and the female magicker...” She searched for a paper on the table in front of her.

  “Jenrosa Alucar,” Edaytor Fanhow said quickly and softly, as if ashamed she had been a magicker.

  “... yes, from the Theurgia of Stars.”

  “Was, your Majesty,” Edaytor corrected.

  “Was. Yes. They are with the Chetts.”

  “Then they are harmless,” Marshal Lief said. “They cannot harm the kingdom from the Oceans of Grass.”

  There was general agreement from the council.

  “While he is alive, Prince Lynan is dangerous,” Areava said softly. Somehow the words carried through the hubbub, and everyone instantly fell silent. Olio looked at her with something like dismay. Sitting there, pale and golden-haired, she reminded him of one of the old gods—as unmerciful as they were beautiful.

  “Your Majesty?” the Marshal asked.

  “What does he hold?” she asked.

  “Nothing except grass now,” Shant Tenor said jovially.

  “And the Key of Union,” Areava said.

  “Is it worth anything by itself?” the mayor said, holding his hands up and looking from councilor to councilor as if he were directing the question to all of them.

  “It is worth something to me,” Areava said sternly. “I want the Key of Union for another purpose.”

  “Sister, you already have two,” Olio said gently.

  “My husband-to-be has none.”

  Olio seemed surprised. “Ah, of course,” he said eventually.

  “Your Majesty, this is a delicate matter you have raised,” Xella Povis, the head of the Merchant Guild, said. “We still have not heard from the king of Aman about his guarantee on the issue of succession.”

  “Correction,” Areava said, and put out a hand. Orkid handed her a rolled parchment which she opened and flattened on the table in front of her. “His courier arrived yesterday afternoon.” She paused, glancing up at all the expectant faces. “And he agrees.”