3. To See the King

The rain poured down throughout the night until my sodden cloak dragged at my shoulders and an icy stream of water flowed down my back to fill my leather boots. Claighan ignored the rain, walking with a brisk step and the hint of a frown tugging at his lips. His eyes were on something far off, and he mumbled to himself as he walked. 

Trying to ignore the bitter downpour, I watched him as he walked and saw his distraction growing with every mile, saw his concern and frustration building. At one point he stopped and whirled with fear in his eyes, but when they fell on me, he smiled.

"Ah. Daven. You are there. Good."

Without another word, he turned back east. I followed.

Long before morning the heavy downpour dwindled, though rain still fell in a heavy, chilly mist. I shrugged out of my cloak and wrung it out as well as I could, then flung it back around my shoulders and jogged a few steps to catch up with the wizard.

"Claighan." He didn't respond, so I tugged at his sleeve. "Master Claighan! Stop."

He turned to me, but it was a moment before he seemed to see me, and then he shook his head. "What? Oh, Daven. Oh, dear me. I'm sorry, boy. I've been...distracted."

I frowned at him. "You have. We've been walking all night. We must've made twelve miles. Do you mean to walk straight to the capitol?"

"If we can, boy. If we can."

I shook my head. "Don't you think we should stop? For a rest?" I looked away, a blush burning softly in my cheeks, but out of concern for him I pressed on. "Surely you must be tired."

He shook his head. "I have no time to be tired. The world is moving against us." He eyed me up and down, concerned. "But perhaps I ask too much of you. Are you tired?"

I shook my head. "No," I said, and it was almost the truth. "Just a bit cold. But...." I didn't dare say it.

A smile touched his eyes, and he turned and started down the road again. "But I'm just an old man." He laughed, and it was a sound of satisfaction. "Since yesterday's sunrise you've worked a full day in the fields, fought a Green Eagle to the ground, walked away from the only home you've ever known, and trudged—what was it? Twelve miles through a downpour. And you're worried about me being tired."

I nodded. He snorted. "You're a very physical one. Strong. That'll be a problem. Not unanticipated, but a problem."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It's complicated. I'll explain more when we get to Souport."

"What's at Souport?"

"Boats," he said. "More importantly, I've arranged a demonstration that will help you understand. In the meantime, you must just trust me. Come on." He turned back to the east. "Let's get there."

"No." I stopped, and he walked several paces before he noticed and turned back to me. I glared at him. "I need you to tell me something."

"What's that?" He sounded impatient, and stamped his foot unconsciously.

"Why were you so cruel to Jemminor?"

"What looks like cruelty can often be a kindness," he said with a carefully cryptic air. He turned his back on me and started down the road again, but I did not budge.

"That's not good enough," I said, and my voice sounded loud through the patter of cold rain. "Tell me why."

Claighan turned back to me again. He held my eyes for a moment, and then said with gravity, "He is a small man who has gotten very good at pretending to be something better."

I shook my head. "That's not it either." Claighan opened his mouth to argue, to hurry me on down the road, but I stepped closer. "It was something to do with me."

He narrowed his eyes. And then he came a step back to me, searching in my eyes. Instead of answering, he said, "What would it have to do with you?"

"I don't know," I said, giving him half a shrug. "There was something you wanted me to see. Perhaps you just wanted to make sure I didn't go back, that I would see them for the monsters they were, but you didn't...." He shook his head in a slow no, and I trailed off. He held my eyes for a moment, then jerked his head on down the road. After a moment I nodded and we started walking again.

"It wasn't that," he said.

I nodded. "Then why?"

"You were right. Surprisingly right. There was something I wanted you to see."

I thought for a moment, replaying last night's events in my head. "Sherrim? Something about—"

He shook his head. "No. I have no interest in Sherrim. Or Jemminor."

"Me? You didn't show me anything about me! It was all Jemm's misdeeds. Jemm's mistreatment. Jemm's greed."

He frowned, just the corner of his mouth turned down, but I felt his disappointment. I fell silent, mind racing. After a while I sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't know. I can't see the subtlety to it because it was all so strange. I had never considered them like that. Never even considered how I fit into it."

Just like that his frown disappeared, and his eyes glittered.  He shook a finger at me. "Precisely," he said.

I closed my eyes, moving automatically at his side. "I don't understand."

"It is what we spoke of before. You have lived too much of your life in the context of your past. You accepted your lot on Jemminor's farm because it was better than what you had experienced before. Not because it was as good as you deserved—"

"No," I said. "I mean no disrespect, Master, but that is not a luxury of my class." I growled deep in my throat. "I cannot live by what should be. I live or die by what is."

He didn't answer immediately. He watched me. Then he sighed. "As I said before, you are a physical one. Practical. And that is a problem."

I shook my head. "No, wizard. That is the only reason I'm still alive."

"I won't argue that," he said. "But that will be a problem for your Academy training." He fixed me with his piercing eyes, and I felt suddenly naked. Deeply exposed. "The wizard lives in the world of what should be. What might be. What could be. For a wizard, 'what is' is just a starting point."

I nodded, but my head began to spin. I opened my mouth to answer but felt a sudden dizziness, a wave of nausea that gripped me, and I clenched my jaw against it. I focused on the road for a half dozen paces before the feeling passed, and I nodded again. "Let's walk for a while."

He didn't look my way, didn't see the moment of weakness. And he seemed glad of my suggestion. "Yes," he said. "We should press as hard as we can. There are terrible things happening in the world, and I seem to have challenged them to a footrace."

I fought through another wave of dizziness, and focused on keeping up with him. 

Later the shower trailed off. The unrisen sun splashed spots of pink on the thick gray clouds, but the light held no warmth yet. My legs grew tired, and over time that ache faded to a chill that sapped my strength, but I didn't dare admit my weakness to the wizard. He was lost in his own world again, now, and I stumbled along the cobbled road behind him, falling farther and farther behind the old wizard as time passed. We walked the sun into the sky and the heavy clouds out of it, and still Claighan showed no sign of slowing. He walked on without me, mumbling to himself and staring east as though he could already see the city ahead of us.

At some point short of noon he suddenly stopped. He turned to me then with the most clarity in his eyes that I had seen since leaving Sachaerrich, and examined me with a careful scrutiny. "My goodness, boy," he said. "Are you used up?"

I nodded, too tired to speak. He shook his head. "You should've said something, Daven. You're exhausted. Come." He waved me to follow, then stepped off the road into the waist-high grass. I followed him, stumbling wearily. After a moment he had lost me, but I heard him call out from ahead, "Come on. There's a nice comfortable rest up here. Come on!"

The world spun around me as I walked, but I followed the sound of his voice and emerged from the tall grass to find him standing in a clearing. A red brick fireplace stood in the middle of the field, without wall or roof, but it had a tall chimney that reached high into the sky. A warm fire blazed on its hearth, and I dropped my cloak as I stepped over to it to warm my hands. Claighan smiled, delight sparkling in his eyes. "You need some sleep. Go ahead." He waved toward a four-poster bed with heavy cotton sheets and thick blankets. I looked at him for a moment, uncomprehending, and he laughed.

"Think of it as a dream, Daven, but you need your rest. I pressed you too hard." Still I watched him, and he shrugged. "Get into bed. Sleep. I will stand guard."

I did as he said, taking time only to pull off my heavy boots before slipping under the warm covers. The mattress was thick and full, and the pillow soft under my head. In minutes I was asleep—perhaps I was asleep before I ever saw the bed—and it was some time later before Claighan woke me.

I was stretched out in the grass, a pace from the King's Way. The wizard knelt over me, shaking me lightly awake. "Daven," he said, "Daven, wake up. You've had a long rest, but we should press on."

I stretched, and sat up. My clothes were dry, though they still felt stiff. "I had the weirdest dream, Claighan—"

"I know," he said, rising and brushing the dirt off his knees. "Now put on your boots. We've got miles to go."

He tossed me my boots, and as I pulled them on he was already starting down the road. I jumped up and stamped my feet down into them, then set off after him.

---

It's three days' walk from Sachaerrich to the capitol. We made it in less than two, though it took all our strength. Twice more we stopped, and both times the wizard made an inn of the grasslands, though we only slept a few hours each time. Every time I awoke the bed and fire were gone, the comforts of civilization just a dim hallucination, but I felt well and rested. I felt like I had slept in luxury.

Our last stop before the City came just shy of sunrise on the second day, when the wizard urged me to get some rest before making the final push. Twice before I'd slept in the conjured bed, both times so exhausted I could remember almost nothing of it after, but now the thin light of approaching dawn dragged at me, and this time I had trouble finding a comfortable spot on the bed.

When at last I drifted off it was to a fitful sleep, plagued with dreams of cruel, mocking men and terrifying beasts. I dreamed of wars and conflagrations, and then at last I dreamed of drowning in deep black waters. The sensation was so real it finally ripped me from my slumber, and for several minutes I wrestled with the heavy blankets bearing down on me before I remembered where I was.

I was alive. I was healthy and well in a comfortable room, buried under blankets made of magic. I sat up, looking across at the chimney without a wall, and the absurdity of my situation struck me.

The bed beneath me wavered, vanished, and I fell to the hard ground with a thud. I winced.

"Claighan," I called out, rising and brushing the dirt from my pants. "Claighan, are you there?" I looked around, and my eyes fell on the impossible fireplace again. I had only a moment to consider it in confusion before it disappeared—and then I thought perhaps it had never been. I was standing waist-deep in grass, and there had never been a clearing.

There were still two paths through the grass, where grown men had walked through and bent stalks on the way. One led back to the road. I followed the other.

Claighan knelt some distance off in the grass, a long way from the road. I watched him, but he neither moved nor spoke for a long time. Finally I moved next to him and fell down on my knees, imitating his posture.

Nothing happened, so I closed my eyes.

There was nothing, only darkness, except...I thought perhaps I saw an image, nightmare sky above a mountain all in flames. It felt like a memory of the dreams I'd suffered before, but more real. The image became clearer, and I looked out at monsters spreading wings within the flames and soaring up into the sky. Dragons flew high, the world aflame below them. It was the sensation of a heartbeat, an instant, and then it was gone, but the memory hung in my head all full of pain and sadness and fear.

I felt Claighan's hand on my shoulder, and then he spoke, his voice heavy with strain, "That was a brave thing to do, boy. You could have seen—"

"I saw," I said, and his eyes only widened for a second but I spotted his surprise.

"You are a brave boy. Or foolish." He put a hand on my shoulder and pushed down, rising, then held out a hand and helped me up. "But it is good that you can see at all, even if you spy on things you'd be better not to know. I'm sorry you woke before I moved you. Such enchantments rarely survive surprise."

He laughed again at the look on my face, then began wading through the grass toward the road. "Come, Daven. We are nearly there."

I followed him to the road, then followed him to the capitol. We arrived at noon, the old man speaking to empty air all the way.

---

The guards on the city gate nodded to Claighan and waved us through, and for the first time I entered Sariano on the King's Way. I'd spent most of my life in the dirty streets of Chantire, a slum district no more than a mile or two northwest, within the same walls. But now, walking the proud streets of High Hill, it seemed I was entering the nation's capitol city for the first time. Grand shops lined both sides of the street, three-story inns and noblemen's mansions vying for places along the lower end of the boulevard. I walked with Claighan, and men and women in the crowded street parted to make way for us, sometimes even sweeping low bows as we passed. I wandered up the street half dazed, memory challenging my senses in a dizzying confusion.

Last time I had walked these streets I'd been an urchin, a boy of eleven or twelve years, dirty and poor, weaving in and out among the tight crowds with curses following me all the way. I'd been a beggar, sad and hopeless on a muddy corner in the pouring rain. I'd never walked High Hill to bows and hellos, every eye following me in interest and admiration. I suddenly felt the weight of the purse Sherrim had given me, and I felt my eyes drawn to the shops along the way.

Claighan was three long paces ahead of me when he glanced back over a shoulder and saw me tarrying. His eyes snapped impatiently up the hill, to the distant golden shine of the palace gates, and then back to me. "Come, boy! Quickly. We are close."

I tore my eyes from a weaponsmith's displays and forced myself to catch up with him. I kept pace for most of a block, but I couldn't help notice the shops lining the way. I remembered what Claighan had said about the price of new swords, too. I mustered some courage and plucked at his sleeve. "We've been two days on the road," I said. "We've made fantastic time. Surely we could spare a moment."

He glanced down at me, irritated, then his brows came down and he gave me a longer look. "What would you do with a moment? We are here to see the king."

"For you to see the king," I corrected him. "You have no need of me."

He cocked his head to the side, curious. "Of course I have need of you, Daven. Haven't you been listening?"

I shrugged, impatient. "Yes. Yes, you need me. Your promising young swordsman," I said. "And yet I have no sword. And I look more a shepherd than any kind of promise." He snorted a laugh at that, and I grinned back. I pressed the advantage. "You go and speak to the king. I have money enough in my purse to find a blade and a change of clothes. Tell me where, and I will meet with you later."

He shook his head, still laughing, and fell back into his hurried pace up the hill. I could only follow after. "You needn't spend time shopping, boy. I have new clothes waiting for you at the palace. And you do have a sword, or have you forgotten?" I frowned at him, and he waved vaguely to the long leather sack slung across my back.

I remembered Othin's blade. I shivered at the thought of it. And then, as I followed close on Claighan's heels, we came in sight of the palace gates and another thought stopped me dead.

The Green Eagles. They were the king's personal guard, and they were thick in the city. Two of them stood at attention outside the palace gates we were approaching. Neither of them had the same long, scarred face of the man who had tried to kill me in Sachaerrich, but the palace would be crawling with Green Eagles. If he'd had a horse he could have beaten us back here. He could be waiting for me anywhere inside there.

Claighan stopped, surprise and concern glowing in his eyes. "My word, boy, what's come over you?"

I shook my head, mute with sudden fear, and he laughed. "It is an intimidating experience to go before the king—"

"No, I have no fear of the king," I said. In finery or a shepherd's travel-stained tunic, it mattered not. The king would pay no more attention to me than to a bit of dirt on the rug. No, my fear was all for the petty fury of one of the king's bodyguards. But before I could say more Claighan cut loose a great roaring laugh and clapped me on the shoulder.

"Of course you don't," he said. He applied a touch of pressure between my shoulder blades, gentle but insistent, and I fell automatically back into motion. As we walked he nodded to himself. "Of course you must be nervous, so I will tell you something of what to expect. But first, we must gain admittance."

The palace sat at the top of the city, its famed golden gate making the northern edge of the world's wealthiest plaza. There to my left was the great marble mass of the Hall of Lords. To my right, the public exchequer's building. The shops here bore no signs and displayed no wares. They were offices for scribes and land registers, for the moneylenders who financed trade expeditions and wars. We stepped into a plaza filled with lords and ladies, and I felt like the same grubby little urchin who had begged for bread just downhill from here.

The guards at the gate looked at me the same way, but Claighan never even slowed. He propelled me along a half-step ahead of him, and with barely a glance at the guards he said officiously, "Academy business, boys. Got to see the king."

They glowered at me, but they made no move to bar our passage. Inside the gates stood another courtyard—this one almost completely empty—and in spite of the busy press of people beyond the wall the courtyard here held an eerie quiet. Our footsteps rang against the marble paving stones as we crossed to the high-peaked doors of the palace.

More guards stood at attention there, a clerk between them, but instead of challenging us he fell easily into step with the wizard as we approached. "Master Claighan," he said. "We expected you sooner." The wizard only gave a grunt in reply, and the steward ducked his head. "Master Edwin is waiting for you in the summer suites. There is a sitting room nearby where the boy can make his preparations. The clothes you requested are waiting." He cast a glance my direction, and without a hint of distaste added, "I shall send for a washbasin as well."

I would have laughed at that if not for the fear in my heart. Every crossing corridor seemed to boast a guard, every deep-set doorway, and the guards all wore the same beautiful, terrible uniform as the man I had so offended. Claighan and the steward bowed their heads together in conversation, making arrangements, but I could not spare a thought for them. I paid no attention to the fine, wide halls we walked down—to the expensive hangings on the walls or the exquisite portraits. I lost track of the path we took down huge arching hallways, up wide marble staircases, and past narrow windows looking out on manicured gardens.

Claighan stopped abruptly and I barely caught myself short of stumbling into him. He frowned at me and then shook his head. To the steward, he said, "Thank you for your assistance. You've been a great help. I will not forget it."

The steward ducked his head and disappeared down the hall. Claighan's attention was instantly all on me again. "I'm sorry, Daven. I know things have moved quite quickly, but within the hour that should all change. I have...opponents who would thwart us for no more reason than their own pride. But none would dare speak against you once you have the backing of the king."

I felt my eyes go wide. My stomach turned over. I realized my mouth was hanging open. I swallowed. "You want the king to sponsor me?"

He nodded hurriedly. "It is no small thing, but the need is great."

I shook my head. "That's why you thought I was afraid." My knees buckled, and I had to grab the wall to keep from falling. "I'm going to speak to the king?"

Now Claighan's eyes went wide. "Wind and rain, no! No," he chuckled, but it sounded forced. "But you must be presented before him. Hold your tongue, bow as low as your joints will let you, and keep behind me. That is all I need of you."

I nodded slowly. I took a breath, and met his eyes. "And if he refuses?"

"He won't refuse," Claighan said, but his voice didn't carry the same certainty as the words. "He must not. But if it comes to that—if he cannot be convinced here and now—then we will have to find some patience." He swallowed nervously, and dropped his eyes. "I can find us rooms here in the palace, or at one of the manors on High Street. It will take some time. Weeks, likely." He grimaced. "And I'm sorry to say it won't be terribly exciting, but I can begin your teachings in some small way while I move the necessary pieces into place."

I fought not to smile. He offered me weeks of luxury and apologized for the inconvenience. I could tell the delay troubled him greatly, though, so I kept my expression stern and asked, "Why wait here? Why not move on to the Academy while you 'move pieces'?"

He didn't meet my eyes. "Without the king's backing it...it wouldn't be prudent to take you to the Academy."

I stared at him for a moment, and for a heartbeat he looked small and perhaps even nervous. Then I understood, and I felt the same. "Of course," I said. My voice sounded surprisingly cool. Insultingly so. But I could not force any warmth into it. "Because, as I said before, I do not belong at the Academy."

Fire flared in Claighan's eyes. "There are some who see it that way," he said. "Are you so weak-willed as to agree with them?"

I turned to the wall, closed my eyes and let my forehead fall against the cool stone. "Life has taught me to respect my limitations, wizard. That is not weakness."

He sighed, and when he spoke I heard his disappointment. "So desperate for honor," he said. "So desperate for pride. And so determined to leave matters in the hands of those who would deprive you of it."

Anger flared hot in my chest. What could this wizard know of such things? I turned on him, but before I could speak I saw the determination in his eyes. And I understood. "You really mean it. Don't you?"

He frowned, just a slight crease between his brows. "Mean what?"

"You're doing all of this for my pride. Why? Why would a Master of the Academy and a confidant of the king care about the feelings of an orphaned shepherd?"

His eyes held mine. A fatherly smile tugged at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. He spoke soft and low. "I barely care about you at all, boy."

"But that first night you said it was to make amends—"

He shook his head. "No. You deserve amends, but I cannot make them. You deserved some touch of dignity, but the Green Eagle wouldn't give it. You deserved fair reward for your efforts, but Jemm never offered it."

"But why? Why do you care?"

"Because I need a decent swordsman still young enough to learn magic," he said, with a simple sincerity. "Because you have no ties to hold you back. And because until you learn to believe in your own authority, you will make a truly miserable student of magic." He took a long step back, and looked me up and down. "Wizards do not receive the respect they deserve, Daven. They take it, from man or from nature. That is what I have been showing you all along."

He nodded past me to a servant scurrying down the hall gripping the edge of a fine ceramic basin in one hand and the handle of a heavy pitcher in the other. "Get cleaned up, get dressed, and join me across the hall." He waved to another door. "And be quick about it. Time is of the essence."

With that he turned on his heel and swept across and through the door, leaving me alone. The servant hurried past me, shouldering through the door to my sitting room, and I followed him in. He set the basin on a tall, narrow table and poured steaming water that smelled very lightly of flowers. Then he laid out two small towels he'd carried tucked in his belt, and turned to me.

"Will you need anything else?"

The question was almost absurd. I needed...insight. Understanding. Patronage. Instead of answering, I stepped past him and sank down into one of the wide, deep chairs against the wall. I let my head fall back and closed my eyes.

What was I doing? What was I really hoping for here? That the king—the king of the Northlands, the Isle, and all of Southern Ardain—would smile upon me and sponsor me to the Academy of Wizardry? It was laughable. I was worse than nameless. A quick bath and a change of clothes would hardly change that.

I thought back on my last conversation with the wizard. I left a pleasant enough home without a thought, for just the promise of honor, but until just now I had never bothered to understand why. And he still hadn't said it outright, but there was much significance in something he'd said. "I barely care about you at all."

That...that I understood. That I could believe. And with that piece, I could understand more of what he'd said before. "A great threat approaches," he had said. "I would make a weapon of you." It wasn't about me. I was just a piece on the board, a pawn to be moved into place for another one of his schemes.

Perhaps that should have offended me. Perhaps it should have frightened me. It didn't. All my life I had wanted to be a soldier, and this was no worse a fate than that. And in exchange he had offered me a place of honor. He would teach me how to make my own honor.

I nodded, eyes still closed. I smiled. All I had to do was impress a king. I laughed, low and dark, but I had my instructions for that, too. Stay close and stay silent. I could do that well enough.

I heaved myself to my feet, suddenly feeling strong and sure. I was surprised to find the servant still standing just inside the door, watching me patiently. I glanced around the room and spotted the neatly-folded pile of clothes, checked that there was enough water in the basin, and turned back to him. "That will do nicely," I said. "Thank you."

He nodded once, mute, and left me there alone.

I stripped out of my filthy clothes. I washed my face first, then soaked one of the towels to scrub quickly at my body, and used the other to dry. I did it swiftly, but by the time I was done I felt clean and fresh and ready to face anything. And then I turned to the pile of new clothes.

A moment later a finely woven red cotton shirt hung almost to my knees over a pair of doeskin pants that fit almost as though tailored to me. I also found a pair of plain leather boots much like mine, but these were new and fresh as mine had never been. I considered the already bulging pack I'd slung carelessly into a chair and rejected any thought of adding my filthy clothes to it. Instead I left them there, piled neatly on the floor beside the empty pitcher and my mud-stained boots.

Then I turned to the last of my new finery, a dark blue cloak, thick and luxurious. I slung the cloak around my shoulders and stepped to the door. It was heavier on my shoulders than any of the tattered cloaks I'd worn before, and that weight seemed to strengthen me. I grabbed the strap of my pack in one hand, straightened my back, and left the room.

Across the hall I found the door Claighan had pointed out standing closed. I tried the handle, but it was locked. I heard voices within, low and furious, but I could not make out any words. I raised a hand to knock, and then a soft voice stopped me.

"Probably not your wisest course of action." It came from behind me. A woman's voice.

I jumped. I spun around. I fell back against the door with a thump and heard a curious exclamation from within the room.

She grinned, one corner of her mouth doing all the work, and I felt a flush rise into my cheeks. She raised an eyebrow. "It's not any better when you knock with your shoulder blades."

I stepped away from the door, cast a glance back at it, then moved out into the middle of the corridor. It was a young woman who'd startled me, maybe a year older than me. She sat up very straight on a low bench set against the wall opposite Claighan's door.

She had chestnut hair long and loose, charcoal eyes with just a hint of blue to them, and sun-dark skin that was out of place—but still quite alluring—on a nobleman's daughter. She had to be that. She wore a white silk blouse that was deliciously tight-fitting, and loose gray riding skirts that showed toned calves and pretty little feet accustomed to fine carpets.

Without thought, without embarrassment, I studied her from head to toe. I saw her smile quirk, saw her eyes sparkle, but she didn't object. Perhaps she even twisted a bit here and there as my eyes roamed, showing herself to full advantage.

Then she uncurled from her place on the bench and moved toward me like a breath of wind. She smelled like a summer sunset. She came too close and raised a hand to toy idly with the collar of my too-fine shirt.

"You've got the costume," she said, distant and thoughtful. "But you certainly don't play the part too well."

I found a breath, and then I stammered, "What part?"

"Of a prince," she said. She looked up through her lashes at me.

I chuckled and she frowned. I shook my head. "I am not a prince."

She took a slow step back, and shrugged. "Of course not," she said. She waved a hand toward me. "Not even a little. But you've got me curious. Wizards and kings rarely have time for visits from a..."

I held her gaze. "A shepherd."

"A shepherd?" Her voice rose a little at that. Then she breathed a little laugh and shook her head. "Of course. You almost look like a beggar from Chantire."

I smiled. "I have been a beggar from Chantire."

She nodded. "I thought so. That's the part you looked when you came in." I felt the surprise show on my face a heartbeat before she answered it with laughter. "Yes," she said. She nodded toward the room where I had changed. "I've been waiting here the whole time."

I felt my blush burn brighter and ducked my head. I took a breath. I met her eyes again, and they were waiting. They were delighted. They were lovely.

I licked my lips and tried a bow. "I am Daven," I said.

She returned my bow instead of offering a hand. "And I am Isabelle," she said. 

"Just Isabelle?" I asked.

She arched an eyebrow at me. "Just Daven?" I spread my hands, flustered, and she laughed again. It sounded like moonlight. She came half a step closer and tilted her head to look up at me.

"I am Isabelle of Teelevon, first-born daughter of the Baron Eliade. Come all the way from the farthest corners of the Ardain to find myself a prince to take home with me."

I sighed and spread my hands. "Alas. And I am not a prince."

"Indeed not," she said. She looked up and down the hall, and then stepped closer still and lowered her voice. One conspirator to another. "But you keep working on that act. Hang onto the clothes. Maybe before long you'll be able to pull it off."

For a long moment we stood like that, our noses inches apart, her charcoal eyes wide and serious. Then my mouth broke in a grin, and hers answered it. I laughed, sharp and loud and utterly astonished, and she gave a little shrug—still smiling—and stepped away again.

I laughed myself out, then met her eyes. She waited. I shook my head. "Are you always so kind to beggars from Chantire?"

"Oh no," she said, suddenly serious. "No, not to most of them. But there's a special place in my heart for princes."

I looked at her for a long moment, and my breath escaped me again. "I'm only a shepherd," I said. My eyes lingered on hers, and I had to lick my lips again. "But I'll certainly let you know if I'm ever anything more."

She blinked, surprised, and then opened her mouth to answer. Even as she did, I heard the door behind me open. A servant was going through with a tray loaded with silver goblets and a glistening silver wine jug. Beyond him I saw Claighan, red in the face and arguing with another old man, and I felt a little shiver shake me. I remembered how important all of this was, how much depended on my appearance before the king, and here I stood in the hall flirting with a girl three times my better.

I turned back to her. I took half a step, half reached for her hand with a thought to kiss it farewell. My heart pounded and my anxiety rose and I gave a little shake of my head and met her eyes one more time. "I'm sorry," I said. "I must go."

Her lips parted, her eyes widened, but behind me I heard Claighan speak my name and I settled for a weak little wave. The cloak flared dramatically around my heels as I turned. Perhaps I looked the prince, but I felt the fool. I left the girl behind and went to see my wizard.

Though he'd spoken my name, he hadn't been calling me. I slipped into the room without a sound and found a sprawling salon, richly-appointed, with a fire roaring in a fireplace on the outside wall. Claighan and the other old man were arguing, waving their arms and speaking with fierce faces, but mostly in low voices that didn't carry across the large room. The servant I'd followed stepped past the couches in the middle of the room and placed a pitcher of wine and several glasses on the small serving table there.

Then he turned and caught sight of me. He moved quickly back to me, whispering. "The Masters, they are not happy. Perhaps you should speak with them another time?"

I smiled in spite of the nervousness that suddenly danced in my stomach. "I have little choice. I'm here with Master Claighan."

He shrugged. "Princes fear to tread where wizards argue, but young men will always do what they will." He slipped the silver tray under his arm and stepped past me, but just before he reached the door he turned and whispered back to me, "But don't forget that I warned you." And then he left in the same quiet way the servant had left my sitting room. I sank into one of the plush couches and waited for the old wizard to notice me. He did not.

Instead, their voices rose higher and higher until finally I could make out what they were saying. The argument still did not make much sense, except that I could tell Claighan was defending himself. The other said, "I don't care how far you've come, you must leave!"

"It is not that simple! This is more important than one man's pride, Edwin."

Edwin's voice was cold when he answered. "Do you have any idea how dangerous your words are? You risk your life just—"

"This is more important than my life. This is the world, and I cannot afford to tremble before the governor of three small bits of land."

Edwin shook his head. "If I had ever suspected you might be this big a fool, Claighan, I wouldn't have taught you so much as a seeming!"

"You taught me more than magic, Edwin," Claighan said, pleading without backing down. "You taught me to see truth, and to do what must be done—"

"I taught you to survive. I don't care how great the peril, you can help no one if you are dead, least of all this boy."

Some of the fire went out of Claighan's voice. Most of the hope was already gone. "This boy is more important than anyone else on this island. This project is, anyway. If I just give him up to die over some stupid soldier's grudge—"

"He will not die! I have said that already! We can arrange for his safety, but it is a serious accusation, and the king harbors more affection for that guard than he has ever held for you."

Claighan snorted, and Edwin fixed him with an irritated glare. "A new student can be found, if it comes to it," Edwin said. "A new Master is harder to come by. You must be wise, and above all else, you must be patient. "

"There is no time for patience!"

"There is no time for foolishness! Stop. Calm down. Think about the situation, Claighan. Nothing good could possibly come from this encounter. Not now. An hour ago, perhaps—"

"You don't understand. Too much rests on this. The timing will only get worse if Seriphenes figures out what I intend."

"You have explained it all to me. I'm even helping you, remember? I understand the situation with the boy, but you don't seem to understand that the world goes on outside your little schemes." Claighan started to protest, but Edwin spoke over him, "I know how important this is to you, but thanks to the troubles in the Ardain we cannot proceed as you had planned. Not now."

"It is not my fault."

"You said that already."

"Lareth should not have gone over to the duke. I don't know what happened."

"No matter how we train them, they are still only people. He was tempted by the power, that is all. It is not your fault."

"I know!"

"And the king will see that, but you must give him time. For now—"

Claighan's shoulders fell. "For now we must wait."

"Exactly. I am glad you understand."

"I understand. I do not like it, but I understand." He sighed and fell against the wall, all his strength gone. "What will we do?"

"Take him to the Academy and keep him hidden. I will let you know when things are ready."

Claighan shook his head. "The Academy is too dangerous. I will find us rooms in one of the nobles' houses. Perhaps Souward—"

Edwin cut him off with a raised hand. "That is too close. Get him out of town, Claighan." He held the other wizard's gaze until Claighan nodded meekly. Then he smiled, satisfied.

But Claighan frowned. "What of other business? What of our demonstration?"

Edwin shrugged. "I arranged it as you asked, before, and I have not had time to contact them. You will have to deal with things."

He nodded, tired. "I will. Perhaps it will still serve its purpose." For a minute he stared at the floor, lost in thought, then finally shrugged. "You are right, there is nothing I can do. We will wait, and...hide." Again he paused. "You will tell me as soon as things are calmer here?"

Edwin nodded. "These things will blow over. You have always been dear to him."

"I hope you're right. For the sake of the world. You must let me know as soon as—"

"Claighan, I know!" The elder wizard was getting exasperated, but Claighan pressed.

"You don't understand. I need a thousand more like him. A hundred thousand. One man cannot face the dragonswarm, but I must prove myself in him before they will let me train any others—"

"And if you face the king's wrath now, you'll never train even the one. Run. I'll take care of things."

"Fine." He said, "Daven, are your things ready?"

I jumped when he addressed me, then started to my feet and turned to face him, fighting the blush in my cheeks. I took a deep breath to calm myself.

"I have no things, Claighan. I am ready."

He studied me for a minute, then turned to Edwin. "You see how the boy is? He's always ready. He never falters. I have it on good authority he's worth four vints a week for his work ethic alone. It could have been perfect."

Edwin smiled with a sad look in his eyes, patting Claighan on the shoulder. "It will be perfect, Claighan. Your vision will save us all. For now, though...for now you must go."

Claighan opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by the sudden, clear ringing of a bell. It had the sound of a small bell, one a nobleman might use to summon an attendant, and it came from beyond the doors at the other end of the sitting room. I frowned across at Claighan, confused, but he exchanged a look of terror with his master a heartbeat before the doors behind me flew open, smashing against the walls.

I dove away from them, to the center of the room, and found my feet as eight guards with loaded crossbows stormed into the room and aimed their weapons at Claighan and me. Edwin did not seem to interest them. I considered ducking behind the couch for cover, but fear froze me in place. Claighan slid slowly away from the other wizard and came to stand behind me. The guards did not object. I noticed sweat on the foreheads of several of the soldiers. I noticed fear in some of their eyes.

For several tense seconds we stood captured in that frozen tableau before the sound of soft leather boots scuffing on the marble floor interrupted the crushing silence. Then off to our left the sitting room's other doors opened. The room beyond was a sprawling library or office, and I could see a country gentleman seated in a plush chair beneath one of the tall bookcases. It must have been the Baron Eliade, Isabelle's father, come from farthest corners of the Ardain with news for the king.

The king himself now stood in the doorway. He was a man in his late forties, a crown on his head and fire in his eyes. He wore fine but sturdy clothes, and several large gold rings shone from his right hand. In his left he held the royal mace as though prepared to use it in combat, and the strength of his stare belied the gray in his hair. I almost fell to my knees before the king, but no one else in the room moved. I stumbled forward, caught myself, then stood looking awkward. Everyone ignored me.

Edwin stepped forward, fear in his voice. "Something troubles you, my lord?"

"Oh, yes," the king said. His smile was small and forced. "I have just received grave news from my good cousin Eliade. These are tidings that require our attention, Edwin."

"I have just heard as well, Your Highness," Edwin said. He stopped to swallow, then gestured behind him. "I have been speaking with Claighan—"

King Timmon screamed, cutting off the wizard, "I do not want you to speak with him!" He stopped, struggling to regain control of himself, then pressed on in a cold voice. "I hold this man personally responsible for the emissary's treachery. He is a traitor and a conspirator to rebellion. He does not need a firm lecture from his old master; he needs to be punished!"

Claighan started to speak but Edwin stepped over and caught his arm, whispering something to him. Timmon's anger built. "You have not even lectured him, have you? Do you conspire, too, my good Edwin? Have all my wizards betrayed me?"

Edwin's eyes grew wide in shock. "Not in the least, my liege! You are correct in all things." He released Claighan's arm and walked quickly around the couch to stand by the king. "You are right, my lord, I was overindulgent with him. I forgave him much because he was a former student, but you have shown me my error." He turned to us, an apologetic look in his eyes, then looked back to the king. "I will make an example of them, Your Majesty. None will dare stand against you again!"

Before the king could respond, before I even knew what was happening, the old man whirled to face us and threw his arms out, shouting some terrible word of power that made the whole room shudder. Bright light flashed in blue and red and blue again, blinding me, and in the same instant a fierce heat flashed through the room. It wrapped around me in bands hair-thin and strong as steel, and before I could find breath to scream the bands began to tighten, digging into my skin. Then I felt a wash of sudden cold all around me, the crushing bands were gone. I sensed darkness outside my tight-shut eyelids.

For a moment I thought I was dead, destroyed by the wizard's magic, but then I felt a touch light on my arm and Claighan's voice drifted softly to my ears. "We haven't much time, Daven. We must move quickly. Come." When I opened my eyes I was staring at a wall of crude wooden slats. Suddenly the smells and sounds of a stable flooded me, and I realized somehow the wizard had cast us out of the castle. I peeked out the front door and saw we were still in the palace courtyard.

Claighan turned away from speaking with a groomsman and said in a whisper, "We must move quickly, but everything is prepared. Hopefully we can escape without the king's notice. As soon as the carriage is brought around get in quickly. We have a long ride ahead."

He started to turn away but I caught his sleeve. "Claighan, will Edwin suffer for this?"

He looked down at me, the hint of tears in his steely gaze. "Not if we are careful, Daven. Not if we are swift. Come, the carriage is here." We hurried across the courtyard and into the carriage, and as night deepened the king's own horses took us surely and swiftly from the palace where the king raged against us. That is how I met the king, and how I left his audience.