ã€ŠBirthrightã€‹


 One - Jasi

    The king and his son died on the same day.

    King Thomes'' demise had been expected. For months he would teeter through the halls of Kaewold Tower, wrought with illness and made weak by age. The ceremony for his passing had all but begun by the time he slipped away, disappearing during a midday nap. Prince Athyew had been tied to Kaewold for nearly a year, kept from his own keep in Brewick in order to assist his declining father and await the impending succession. He had left for a hunt two days before his father¡¯s death and cut his hand on a poison arrow just half an hour after the gods claimed Thomes. It was an unprecedented tragedy for a royal family already beleaguered by fate, and a disaster for the kingdom over which they ruled, for Athyew¡¯s death left Thomes with no living male heirs.

    Jasi ascended to the throne almost immediately. There was no other choice for the late king¡¯s eldest daughter. It was not unheard of for a queen to reign in Erest, but it was rare, and pretenders and claimants would have used any time she took for mourning to pry the throne from her hands. It took her a week to finish the coronation rites, but the crowning ceremony commenced before the sun had set. And so, within a day, power had changed hands twice in Erest, from father to son, from brother to sister.

    And then the rumor began.

    She¡¯d heard it first from the constable. A servant had arrived in the gardens, small and young and doing everything in his power to control his breathing¡ªclimbing Kaewold Tower was hard on the body, to the rooftop gardens especially. Still, the man was a servant to the queen, and so he managed some semblance of composure while delivering his message. He bowed and spoke, ¡°Your Majesty, Lord Othgan wishes to meet with you in his study.¡±

    For a month, Jasi had met with every noble, cleric, patriarch, merchant prince, and royal craftsman twice. She¡¯d had a meeting every waking moment of the day, not including the regularly scheduled meetings with her council. Today was the exception. She had put on a lighter gown after the morning¡¯s meetings and moved to the rooftop, sitting under one of the many tents between the green, high above the world below. Servants had carried for her a bowl of fruit and The Book of Gere, and she had prepared herself for an afternoon of study.

    At least, it was meant to be. Jasi tried not to let her annoyance show¡ªher father had always scolded her for giving too much away with a look. Now, as queen, his advice was especially important, and practicing on the servants helped make good habits. ¡°Did he happen to say what for?¡±

    ¡°Only that it was urgent, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Not urgent enough for him to have brought it up just an hour ago during the council meeting, apparently. She looked away from the servant for a moment, lifting a small hand mirror from the table before her. Brunette braids held her hair up, and golden yellow draped over her shoulders. Elegant, angular features looked back at her. The face of a queen, she told herself. It seemed these days that¡¯s all she was ever doing, telling people she was the queen. Often she had to tell others, often she had to tell herself. Jasi put the mirror down. She would have preferred to have her hair down, to be wearing a less casual gown. But she was the queen, and Othgan was Othgan, and so it would do.

    ¡°Let him know I¡¯ll meet with him soon,¡± she said, standing and motioning to her servants.

    The boy left and Jasi¡¯s entourage of guards and servants followed her down the Tower, pausing only briefly in her quarters to return the tome and to give the young servant time to inform Othgan. Then, they continued down to the Great Hall and through it, emerging into the upper courtyard. A number of royal guards trained in the center. Above, doves and gulls circled the keep and the city. Othgan¡¯s study was just across the courtyard, opposite the Hall. When they arrived, Jasi informed her guards and servants to remain outside, and knocked on the thick, walnut door. It opened after just a few moments.

    ¡°Your Majesty, I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice.¡± He was a gaunt man. Slim and tall¡ªOthgan towered over her, heads above her own¡ªbut muscled, certainly, beneath the simple white tunic. His narrow features were surrounded by a mane of grey hair. Othgan moved from the doorway to let her in, bowing slightly as he did.

    Jasi moved into the constable¡¯s study stopping only in the center, where she was sure the train of her gown had followed her into the room. It was a large chamber, but he¡¯d wasted no time in covering it with pelts and trophies. Bookshelves lined the leftmost wall, a fireplace on the right, dark in the late spring. Windows on the far side betrayed the height of Kaewold Tower, overlooking the lower courtyard and city far below. An ornately carved walnut desk, crowded with a pitcher, goblets, and books was just below the windows. It was more than a constable needed, if truth be told. Far more. His place was below, across from the barracks and offices of the city guard, with the men he commanded. But Jasi¡¯s father had respected Othgan, often seemingly more so than any of his other advisors, and so the constable enjoyed more luxuries than he should have.

    Luxuries like this study, and like being able to summon the queen to see him. She would have to change that. It was important Othgan stayed as faithful to Jasi as he had her father, but her rule was tenuous as it was. Such concessions to her vassals would only highlight her weakness. ¡°In the future, Lord Othgan, I would see you in my own study.¡±

    There was a light in his eyes that faded slightly at her words. A warm friendliness, dulled. But his face did not change completely. A familiarity remained, flanked by respect for her office and respect for her. It was a welcome look. In the last few weeks, she had seen in the eyes of almost everyone she had met pity or condescension or lust. A pity about her family, an understanding that such a poor little girl likely needed the rules of court explained to her, an endless grasping for her power. Othgan¡¯s eyes were devoid of all but a recognition of the Queen Jasi, Daughter of Thomes, Rightful Ruler of Erest.

    He bowed slightly once more. ¡°Of course, my queen. My apologies.¡± He stood up straight again and looked her in the eye. ¡°I swear to you, however, that I have a good reason for your visit.¡±

    She took a breath and looked him over. ¡°So your servant said. What was so urgent?¡±

    A quiet moment passed between the two of them, and Jasi could feel nervousness begin to creep up her spine. Eventually, he spoke. ¡°Would you like a drink?¡±

    Mead. He meant mead. Othgan wasn''t noble born¡ªhe had grown up halfway across the kingdom in a fishing village, where the best they could afford was mead, and he¡¯d never taken to the wine they drank in the capital, even now, decades after his appointment to constable. Jasi was sure he didn¡¯t even have a bottle of it in the study. Making the queen drink mead. Another one of his luxuries that would have to go. She bit her tongue. ¡°Yes, a drink would be nice.¡± Whatever he was about to tell her, she felt a drink would make it easier. And besides, one culled luxury was enough for today. But she swore to herself that the damned mead was next.

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    Othgan made his way to the desk, where he filled two silver goblets with brown liquid. ¡°You know, when I first met your father, we were enemies.¡±

    Jasi knew the story. She¡¯d heard it a dozen times from him and Thomes at celebrations growing up. He could tell she was nervous, and was obviously trying to calm her down with a familiar story. And¡­it was working. She let him continue. A warm thankfulness bloomed in her stomach, but the anxiety remained. What news could he have that would make him be so cautious?

    ¡°I¡¯d just been captured, and your father had demanded to see me, to see the man who¡¯d led a revolt against him. ¡®By the gods,¡¯ he told me. ¡®I don¡¯t think I have ever seen my constable so exasperated.¡¯ He was entertained, mostly, at what I could do with a bunch of peasants that not even the Frami Lords could do with their armies.¡± He handed her one of the cups, now brimming with mead. ¡°So I told him, ¡®Fuck off, pretender king,¡¯ and he threw me in the dungeon.¡±

    As he laughed, Jasi took a sip of her drink and struggled not to grimace. She let the foul taste and the story distract her from the growing worry in her chest.

    ¡°Bah, bad couple of days, those. Your father knew what he was doing, though. Broke that bullheaded resolve of mine. And then he took me out and told me I could keep my head if I talked to the peasants that¡¯d risen up and got them to settle down. Once I did, he gave Aelrer the boot and brought me on as constable.¡±

    As a kid, Jasi thought the story entertaining. When she got older, she thought it was an example of how strong a diplomat her father was. Now, she knew it had been stupid. Aelrer was a powerful lord, and the slight against him had caused a revolt. Jasi pulled her thoughts back to the conversation, surprised to find Othgan talking about revolt himself.

    ¡°We spent nearly four months outside that damned castle. The men were thinking about deserting by the time they surrendered. And then¡­¡± Othgan stopped himself, his eyes catching Jasi¡¯s for the first time since he started talking. ¡°Apologies, ma¡¯am. I get away from myself sometimes.¡± He took a breath. ¡°What I mean to say is that your father and I spent a fair few years together on the battlefield. I knew him well, and I¡¯d dare to say better than most others. And as long as I knew him, he was only ever singularly focused on a single thing: your mother.¡±

    Fear sprouted in every corner of Jasi¡¯s body, mead and bedtime stories be damned. Her tongue seemed to go numb and swell, and a belt tightened itself around her chest. The words worked to climb their way out of her mouth. ¡°What is it, Othgan?¡±

    He signed deeply, finishing his mead and turning to pour another. An authoritative voice in the back of Jasi¡¯s mind, emboldened by her swirling emotions took charge. ¡°Do not turn your back on your queen! Tell me why I have come here!¡± Another voice¡ªit sounded like her father¡ªbegan to sing of regret the instant the constable turned around. How many times must I tell you, Jasi? the voice asked between verses. Do not let your emotions control you. Do not let them shape your face. Pity was written across Othgan¡¯s face. Whatever he had looked like before, now he seemed no different than everyone else.

    ¡°It is¡­a sensitive matter, ma¡¯am. I¡¯ve spoken with the head of the city guard. Two days ago, they arrested a man for spouting treason in the square. Unfounded rumors. The ravings of a madman or a drunkard. But, last night, they arrested another. A merchant who had just come into town. He was spreading the same rumors.¡±

    She managed it this time, though perhaps too well¡ªthe words were tight, without emotion. ¡°What were the rumors, Othgan?¡±

    The words didn¡¯t seem to come naturally to him. Even this upset, Jasi could see the pain on his face as he uttered the words, as if by informing her he was, himself, slandering his old friend. ¡°Both men were saying that you were an illegitimate heir. A bastard, born of your father and another woman.¡±

    A knot rolled in her stomach. Her heart pounded in her ears. It had taken a tremendous amount of work to get the throne. She had missed the window to properly mourn her father and brother to do so. And still, Jasi had known this was coming, expected false claimants to begin to slither out of the woodwork. Her early actions had made open opposition against her difficult, had created a demand for more insidious attacks against her. She thought she had steeled herself enough that she wouldn¡¯t be caught off guard when they arrived. But now the enemy was here. Someone had made their first move. And it slandered her, tarnished her name, her father¡¯s name, her mother¡¯s. It grabbed her throat and squeezed. She thought she might collapse.

    Jasi could see it, clear as day. Her cousins would hear of it. Her uncles. The other lords. They would let it fester. And then they would use the rumor like a banner and wrap their armies around it. They would march to Kaewold and steal her birthright. The smell of the dungeon filled the study. The words weren¡¯t hers. They were their own, and they spoke themselves. ¡°Who is responsible?¡±

    The pity in Othgan¡¯s face deepend, emblazoned by a clear shame radiating from within himself. ¡°I¡­do not know. That¡¯s an area where I¡¯m sure Lord Cemaer would be more helpful.¡±

    Cemaer. Cemaer should have told her first. Should have caught wind of this before it landed in the capital¡ªher capital. He was either incompetent or in on it himself, the slimy cretin. Jasi lifted the goblet to her lips and emptied it. Her tongue was numb to the taste. She moved to the desk, placing the goblet back onto the platter, next to the pitcher. The words and numbers in Othgan¡¯s books seemed to dance themselves into scribbles before her, and she turned her eyes out the window. The city at the foot of the Tower bustled, people and carts and animals moving from street to street, like raindrops sliding down panes of glass.

    A fleeting memory of a childhood summer flickered through her mind. A horde of wild boars had swarmed the city from the eastern forest, and her father had put a bounty on them: one bolt per boar head. Her cousins had come to town to visit Athyew, and the lot of them had decided to try to claim some of the bounty themselves. Athyew wound up with a broken arm, and Robern still carried scars on his side from where the tusks had pierced him.

    The anxiety in her stomach began to reshape. Still, it lit her spine and ate her appetite, but from it anger began to boil. These were her people. This was her city. Her kingdom. She would not let it be taken from her. She would not let her name, her parents¡¯ name, be twisted into a hammer and used to strike her down, especially not by her brutish, thickheaded cousins. She would see the streets run red with their blood before she gave any one of them the crown. Fear and fury swirled within her, and she turned back to Othgan.

    ¡°I will speak to Cemaer. Still, learn what you can. Tell no one I¡¯ve asked you to do so. Tell the guards to strike anyone they hear repeating these vile allegations.¡±

    ¡°As you wish, ma¡¯am. However, such leniency with the city guard could result in more brutality than you want.¡±

    A voice in her head cursed her for the shortsightedness, for revealing her inexperience to him. Othgan was right, but she was the queen and had already given the order. Backtracking would only invite more second-guessing. Think before you speak, Jasi. ¡°You are the constable. Make sure they stay in line.¡±

    Othgan gave her another short bow, his face indecipherable.

    She needed to think. To breathe. To be away from the likes of Othgan, away from people who could use this distraction against her until she sorted herself out. A word to Othgan ended their conversation, and she slipped out into the courtyard, entourage in trail. Even outside in the sun, she felt suffocated. She heard the rumor, Othgan¡¯s words, in a dozen different voices. They washed over her. She needed to figure out who was spreading it. Who was challenging her power. Who to break. That wasn¡¯t enough, though. Her head wouldn¡¯t stop spinning, the swirl of emotions wouldn¡¯t stop tearing through her. Securing her throne wasn¡¯t enough. Stopping the rumors wasn¡¯t enough.

    She needed to know if they were true.

 Two - Ancin

    The messenger had come for Ancin right as the sun rose.

    He¡¯d come at dawn, clad in armor on the back of a great, obsidian palfrey. An unusual messenger, to be sure, and an unusual visit. The reliquary wasn¡¯t used to any visitors at all, much less those fit for war and bearing the green and yellow charge of the royal family. But there he was nonetheless, sparkling in the early morning sunlight, yellow sword on green background draped over his horse. His arrival had frightened a number of the silents, sending them scurrying through the reliquary whispering of war and the knight who had come to conscript them.

    The first voice pointed the messenger towards the library at his request, and he clinked and clanked through the otherwise quiet halls until he found his target, a young man wrapped in a speaker¡¯s red robes hunched over one of the oak tables between the stacks. He didn¡¯t look up at the messenger and turned a page in the tome before him with a hand covered in ornate markings. The messenger¡¯s voice was clear, commanding, and loud, ¡°Speaker Ancin of Gawic. I have come to take you to Kaewold by order of the queen.¡±

    Ancin was not startled, as his peers had been, by the armored man. Exhaustion insulated him. Instead, he turned to face the messenger, his eyes taking a moment to grasp the three-dimensional man after spending so many hours staring at the glyphs on the pages before him. The sounds crawled across his mind, slowly configuring themselves into words against the pull of fatigue. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what?¡±

    The messenger¡¯s face hardened. It dawned on Ancin for the first time that it had never really been soft, and that his question had angered an already irritated man. ¡°The queen herself has requested your presence in Kaewold immediately. You are to depart with me today.¡±

    More questions bubbled in Ancin¡¯s mind. He was too tired to exert restraint. ¡°The queen? What does she want with me? I¡¯m just¡ª¡±

    ¡°I am not here to answer your questions, speaker.¡± The word dripped with venom, and still, Ancin could tell the messenger was holding back. ¡°You are to come with me to meet with the queen of your own will or I will bring you to her by force.¡±

    Anger sparked in Ancin¡¯s chest. Here on behalf of the queen or not, who was this messenger to come into the reliquary¡ªAncin¡¯s home¡ªand demand that he drop everything to travel to the capital? To look down on him and refuse to give him any reason as to why? The messenger shifted and the hilt of his blade caught the newly risen sun. With the gleam came a weariness, and Ancin closed the tome in front of him and sighed, rubbing his face. ¡°You¡¯ll need to speak with Master Inghard. I can¡¯t just leave our work without his approval.¡±

    ¡°You will speak to Master Speaker Inghard. You will inform him that you have been called upon by the royal family to travel to Thetford.¡±

    ¡°Thetford? I thought I had been called to the capital.¡±

    The messenger¡¯s face rippled with annoyance. ¡°You will tell him that you have been called to Thetford. You will tell anyone who asks that you have been called to Thetford. Am I understood?¡±

    Ancin couldn¡¯t help but smile at that, despite the frustration that the messenger continued to stoke. ¡°Master Inghard isn¡¯t the type of person you deceive. He¡¯ll know if you lie to him.¡±

    The messenger smiled back, a cold and insidious grin coloring what little of his face could be seen underneath his helm. A placed a hand on the hilt of his blade. ¡°Then you best find a way to convince him.¡±

    A shiver ran down Ancin¡¯s spine, but before he could respond, the messenger spoke again. ¡°I have ridden through the night to find you. My horse is tired, as am I. First Voice Brima has offered to provide me with lodgings for the morning. Take the day to pack your belongings and set your affairs in order. Make sure to take your books. At noon, I will meet you at the south road. If you are not there, I will ride you down and take your body to the queen myself.¡±

    -

    It wasn¡¯t uncommon for speakers to be threatened, to be spoken to like animals. In the early days of magic, when the first glyphs of the Silent Tongue had been found out west, carved into the Monolith of Seley, there had been a rush to wield their power without concern for right and wrong. After all, with the power to reshape the world in one¡¯s hands, what were such petty concepts worth? The glyphs took to flesh better than anything else, and a wave of human sacrifices washed over the entire realm. Blood pooled in every reliquary. Miserable, dark times, whose scars stretched across centuries.

    The messenger¡¯s demeanor wasn¡¯t new to Ancin. In the years he¡¯d studied under Master Inghard, he¡¯d seen his fair share of abuse. All-in-all, the prejudice was fading, and most didn¡¯t care about the spells he had tattooed on his hand, but the clerics refused to change their tune: the Silent Tongue¡ªthe Godstongue¡ªwasn¡¯t meant for man, and its use was a perversion; and so still, in most towns and cities there would be a few that wouldn¡¯t look him in the eye. It didn¡¯t help that most of the speakers Ancin met were miserable old crones, recluses obsessed with their work and little else.

    Ancin frequently wondered if that was his fate.

    On his way through the reliquary, he thought, as he often did, of a life elsewhere. He had a few chemora trinkets to sell, all of them worth enough bolts to buy a plot of land. Freeman Ancin of¡­somewhere. Somewhere else. Maybe he¡¯d go back to Gawic and tend to the gardens. Maybe he would go to Thetford, farming just by the coast. Maybe he¡¯d go all the way to Cayhyrst and live in the mountains and snow. He had always loved the cold. Ancin passed into the reliquary¡¯s courtyard. It was a huge area, unpaved and wild, with only stepping stones from each of the halls surrounding it. The paths all led to the center, where the Ergrove Monolith stood, surrounded by silents and speakers who flocked to its glyphs. A quiet wonder stirred in his chest. The monoliths had once filled him with it¡ªbut years, as few of them as there were, in truth¡ªhad tempered his awe.

    Perhaps he would leave. Perhaps he wouldn¡¯t. A decision for another day.

    Ancin made his way through the courtyard, passing speakers and silents with quiet recognition. Master Speaker Inghard¡¯s quarters were on the opposite end of the reliquary as the library. It had proven to be an annoying fact of life since he and Ancin had come to Ergrove from Gawic five years earlier. Inghard¡¯s research was intensive, and he had entrusted only his personal apprentice¡ªAncin¡ªwith assisting. Ancin briefly wondered how much time he¡¯d spend going back and forth with this book or that, the wrong notes and then the right ones. How many days, in total, did those trips add up to? As a teenager he¡¯d thought about counting the seconds, once, tracking the number of trips and then one day confronting Inghard with the absurd number to get the old man to stop sending him across the reliquary. He¡¯d given up on counting within the week.

    A small huddle of silents passed him, whispering about the knight who had come to Ergrove, speculating about who it was Erest was at war with. Ancin shuddered at the thought of traveling with him. It was only a day¡¯s ride to Kaewold with haste, but that was still far too long for Ancin to be comfortable. He mulled over the messenger¡¯s words. It had been years since he last saw Jasi. King Thomes had sent Prince Athyew north, to Brewick, to study under the tutelage of Sir Behrito, but he¡¯d sent Princess Jasi to Gawic to study under the bailiff¡¯s wife, Abel. Ancin had been raised in the keep there by Master Inghard, and between their studies, the Silent Ancin and Princess Jasi would steal away into the gardens to talk and read and play dice.

    But she was the queen now, and he had passed the Trials and become a speaker. Surely she had some real reason to call him to the capital beyond an interest in an old friend. And whatever it was, the messenger had insisted on secrecy, refusing to be forthcoming even to Ancin. As he passed back out of the courtyard and back into the halls of the reliquary, Ancin tried to shake the foreboding feeling that had wrapped itself around his heart. He tried to focus on what he would tell Master Inghard. It would be foolish to lie to him. He was a Master Speaker of the Silent Tongue, one of the foremost Augurs in Erest. There was little that escaped him. At least, that¡¯s how it had been. Ancin wondered if he truly might be able to lie to Inghard now, with his condition.

    When he finally arrived at the door to Inghard¡¯s quarters, Ancin still didn¡¯t know what to tell him. He resolved to tell the truth. Who would the old man tell? What would he even say? Ancin nicked and opened the heavy oak door. Inghard¡¯s quarters were small for a man of his rank. The walls, made of the same thick, granite stone blocks as the rest of the reliquary were draped in ornate tapestries, sprawling splotches of color depicting events from the history of the realm. A fireplace burned between two small windows on the far wall, making the already warm room unbearably hot for anyone other than Inghard, who Ancin secretly believed to be cold-blooded. Light poured in from the windows, illuminating a number of manuscripts open and stacked atop each other on a long table across the wall to the left of the door. To the right, a well-kept desk for inscribing spells and tinkering with foci sat unused. In the back right corner, beneath one of the windows, Master Inghard sat up in bed.

    ¡°Ancin, my boy!¡± His unkempt mane of grey would have made him a vagabond anywhere other than the reliquary. ¡°I overslept, I am sorry.¡±

    In a single sentence, Ancin knew Inghard wasn¡¯t himself. He wondered how long the episode would last. Ancin gave him a weak smile and closed the door behind him. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, master. I was up all night, so it¡¯s only right you get to sleep for the both of us.¡±

    Far too gracefully for a man of his age and appearance, Inghard climbed out of the bed and stretched. He grunted at Ancin and made his way over to the small looking glass just above the table. ¡°How was the moon, boy?¡±

    ¡°Stingy. She kept her insights from me.¡± It wasn¡¯t a lie, not entirely. Perhaps it was easier to deceive the old man than he thought. It weighed heavily in his stomach regardless. How would he say that he had to leave? Inghard couldn¡¯t complete his research without him, and he was an aging man without much time to wait.

    ¡°She always does, that bastard.¡± Inghard moved across the room and began to pull his robes over the tunic he had slept in. ¡°I have a meeting with Master Dradar this afternoon, the miserable little man. He¡¯s been keeping the best of the new references for himself. And then I¡¯ll have to meet with Master Frada myself, since you won¡¯t be around.¡±

    Ancin had turned away to flip through the books on Inghard¡¯s table, but the comment caught him off guard and his head snapped to look at the master speaker. Simply knowing things had always been Inghard¡¯s game, but his condition had made it even more of a common occurrence. Ancin swore to himself. All the stress, and for what? He should have known. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t tell you myself, master.¡±

    ¡°No to worry, Liamond wouldn¡¯t have liked to have given you the extra time. And besides, you heard the queen, it¡¯s dangerous to be open about these things.¡±

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    Inghard continued on with preparing for his day, but the worry in Ancin¡¯s stomach shifted. It was nice to not have to tell Inghard about having to leave Ergrove, but it was a reminder of how poor of a state the old man was in. He was talking gibberish, rambling on about things that hadn¡¯t happened yet, or might happen, or could have happened. It¡¯d been a while since Ancin last tried to make sense of the things Inghard said. He moved over to help his master get ready. How would the old man survive without him here? Ancin¡¯s parents had brought him to Ergrove as an infant, as poor parents often do. A mouth they couldn¡¯t feed, but one the reliquary could. Stories about speakers killing babies to power their spells still whispered their way through the realm, but sometimes it was better to not know than to watch your other children starve. Inghard had been a father to him instead. He took the young boy under his wing when the bailiff of Gawic had called for an agur to help with poor crop yields, and Ancin had been with him since.

    It was hard to watch him wither away. Harder still, he thought, to leave.

    When Inghard finished dressing, he turned to Ancin. ¡°Can¡¯t leave yet. You¡¯ll need some things.¡± He scurried over to the desk, where a marble box, inlaid with ornate gold swirls and frays, gleamed in the light. He lifted the cover and produced from within it a large crystal, opaque white and shimmering with wavy lines of color in the sunlight. Dozens of the boxy, intricate glyphs of the Silent Tongue were engraved on it. Ancin knew it well. It was a divination focus, a chemora crystal with parts of a divination spell carved into it, so that a speaker wouldn¡¯t have to write the most complicated part of a spell over and over again every time they cast it. As part of his studies, Inghard had made Ancin copy the glyphs on the crystal over and over again until his replications were perfect.

    Inghard handed it to Ancin, the backs of his old, wrinkled hands covered in tattoos. ¡°Take it, take it. You know you need it.¡±

    Ancin took the crystal, if only to get Inghard to shop shoving it at him. ¡°Master, I can¡¯t take this. I¡¯m already packing references, and this is too valuable. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do with myself if I lost it on the road.¡±

    Inghard waved him away and turned back to the desk. ¡°Nonsense. Weren¡¯t you paying attention? You need it. Here.¡± He reached behind the desk, pulling a long walking stick from the small gap between it and the wall. The greatwood was pale in the sunlight, but its own deeply-carved runes were clear to see. This too, Inghard handed to Ancin. ¡°You need this too.¡±

    ¡°Master¡ª¡±

    ¡°Silence, boy!¡± The almost dream-like state Inghard had been operating in until that point seemed to vanish. All the nonsense he¡¯d spoken about seemed to go up in smoke as the strict, authoritative, master speaker that had raised Ancin seemed to return in an instant. ¡°I have told you what you need, and given it to you. Don¡¯t question me until you can See as I do.¡±

    A boy again, Ancin bowed his head in respect. ¡°Yes, master.¡±

    Inghard returned to the looking glass. ¡°Pack your things. You only have so much time before Liamond will decide you¡¯ve tried to run.¡±

    ¡°I will, master. Thank you again for being so understanding.¡±

    ¡°Who am I to question the will of the king?¡±

    Ancin winced. ¡°I don¡¯t know when I¡¯ll be back, but I¡¯ll ensure that it is as soon as I can be.¡±

    ¡°Take your time, boy.¡± He adjusted his hair as best he could in the mirror. ¡°Monarchs are fickle creatures. Take the time to double check your inscriptions. Get it right the first time. Don¡¯t let them think you aren¡¯t what they think you are, or you might pay dearly for it.¡±

    His chest tightened as the foreboding feeling there swelled. It was one thing to worry about himself, it was another for a Master Speaker trained in augury to tell you to be worried. Suddenly the hefty weights of both the crystal and the staff became comforting. The fear of losing either valuable talisman seemed to vanish in the face of what they might protect him from. His grip tightened on both, and he gave his mentor another slight bow. ¡°I will. Thank you again, master.¡±

    The old man grunted and gave him an approving nod in turn, and Ancin departed from Inghard¡¯s quarters, headed for his own.

    -

    However heavy the staff and crystal were, the reference books weighed more. It¡¯d been years since Ancin had last needed to travel any significant distance with books on his person, and he¡¯d forgotten how miserable the experience had been. His bags tugged aggressively on his shoulders. The messenger was perched by the south road, waiting for him. His horse¡¯s color shone under the midday sun, no longer hidden by the caparison that bore the royal family¡¯s crest. The messenger himself had doffed his armor, saddled in just a lightweight blue tunic and trousers. Without the helmet, he was far less intimidating¡ªfar more a man than an iron golem. Where once there had been a sharp, angled helm, there were now soft handsome features and a well-maintained tail of blonde hair. His clear disdain for Ancin and the Silent Tongue had not left his face, though.

    Beside him was another horse, one less impressive than his own, but clearly one from the reliquary¡¯s own stables, and very likely their best. As Ancin approached, the messenger spoke. ¡°Do you have what you need?¡±

    Words slipped between Ancin¡¯s teeth as he hoisted his bags up and over the unclaimed palfrey. ¡°I¡¯ve taken all I could think to take.¡± When done, he turned to face the messenger. ¡°It was hard to prepare when I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m preparing for.¡±

    The messenger ignored his complaint and looked away. ¡°The first voice said his name is Bori. Get on. We¡¯ll be riding hard until dusk, and then again at dawn.¡±

    Ancin glared at the man for a moment before climbing onto the riderless horse. ¡°And what¡¯s your name?¡±

    Still the messenger did not look at him, instead beginning to ride away. ¡°I am Liamond of Lastow.¡±

    Ancin¡¯s stomach twisted. The knot held, even as they departed, through the few miles of open meadow between the reliquary and Ergrove proper, the small village that it was. Trees dotted the landscape around them, dark emerald splotches running in lines through viridescent fields. They passed through Ergrove¡¯s eponymous grove, riding over streams and brooks through the little wood before emerging into the little village. They passed through it, sun still high overhead, though it bustled with bondsmen and animals and children. It was there they met the main road, Kaewold Road, which ran across the kingdom from its eastern border to its west.

    From there, the Ancin and Liamond traveled east, simply following the road. They emerged from Ergrove and watched the landscape around them shift; turn to long but narrow tracts of field, small and curated thickets, mild and sloping hills. Neither man said a word to the other, Liamond clearly unwilling to speak to the blasphemer he had in tow unless necessary and Ancin too gripped with worry about what was ahead of him to be willing to put up casual conversation, especially given the demeanor of his traveling companion. Other travelers, pilgrims and merchants and freemen in search of land passed them on the road, but neither spoke to any of them more than brief niceties. Near dusk, they crossed the Berden River and could see Cheybrook on the horizon. Another hour or so of riding at the pace they had would bring them to the town¡¯s outskirts, where they could find an inn and rest for the night.

    ¡°We¡¯ll ride closer to the town and set up a small camp in that copse there.¡± He pointed to a small gathering of trees on the northern side of the road just before Cheybrook.

    ¡°Camp?¡± Ancin furrowed his brows. ¡°Cheybrook¡¯s right there. We can get lodgings for the evening.¡±

    Perhaps he was weary from the road, or perhaps he simply did not wish for Ancin to make a scene. Either way, Liamond was forthcoming with his response. ¡°We are not to be seen together, especially this close to Kaewold. We will camp for thee night outside Cheybrook and pass through, but we will spend no longer there than the time it takes to do so.¡± He rode off, ending the discussion.

    Still running on day-old sleep, Ancin¡¯s aggravation bloomed into anger as he followed the messenger. He was tired, sore from the journey, and unwilling to spend the night in the dirt when a bed and hot meal were just up the road. When the two reached the small grove, they slowed, Liamond dismounting. Ancin did not. ¡°I¡¯m going into town. I¡¯ll meet you at the eastern road at dawn.¡±

    Without waiting for a response, he rode towards the town. A part of his mind whined that it was foolish, but indignation overcame him. Liamond had shown up to his home, torn him from his work and the people who needed him, refused to give him reason, and now demanded he deny himself basic comfort. He had seen men like Liamond before, men who thought themselves extensions of lords and rulers, who insisted that men bend to them the same way they¡ª

    A powerful force tore Ancin from his horse. It slammed into his back in a flash of pain that promised to hurt more later and sent him spiraling to the ground. Bori whinnied somewhere far away, the sound barely registering over the ringing in his ears. He could feel cool soil, damp with nighttime dew on his face and hands. His nose was overwhelmed with earthy smells. The world spun in his eyes for a moment, stabilizing slowly as he tried to pull himself up onto his knees. Before Ancin could stand, an arm wrapped around his neck and pulled him up straight.

    ¡°I told you what would happen if you ran, filth.¡± Liamond¡¯s voice seemed to come from the sky itself. ¡°I lead the queen¡¯s personal guard. I won the melee in the prince¡¯s tourney in Brewick. Did you think I could not run down a miserable iconoclast like you?¡±

    Ancin grabbed the arm around his neck with both hands. The pressure was brutal. Almost without thinking, Ancin pressed his left index and middle fingers together, running his thumb across them both. The glyphs tattooed onto each finger hummed in his bones, and he poured will into them, into the glyphs of creation on his thumb, of flame on his index finger, both bound by the control glyphs on his middle finger. The air popped at the tip of his thumb and burst into flame. The fire was small, no larger than on a candle, but it was enough. He pressed his flame into Liamond¡¯s forearm.

    The messenger let out a bark of pain and released Ancin, pushing the speaker away from him. He cradled his armas Ancin gasped for breath. ¡°If the queen did not need you,¡± he spat, ¡°I would cut you down where you stand.¡±

    Ancin struggled to collect himself, managing to stand and sway only slightly, while glaring at Liamond. He did not have words to say, and wasn¡¯t sure if his throat would let him say any regardless.

    Whatever his glare may have been, Liamond¡¯s surely surpassed it. ¡°Get your horse. We are camping here for the night. Try to leave again and I¡¯ll take a limb.¡±

    -

    It was a cold and uncomfortable night, made worse by the growing bruises on Ancin¡¯s back and shoulders, but it was over soon enough. The moment the sky began to lighten, Liamond demanded they get back on the road. They passed through Cheybrook without problem, passing the locals as they began their day. Ancin glanced at Cheybrook Keep as the two moved by, remembering how he looked on it as a child when Inghard took him to Gawic. It was the first castle he¡¯d ever seen, the first building larger than the reliquary he¡¯d ever seen, until they arrived in Kaewold the next day and the Tower, high above the Shorough River, had made the world seem small.

    All these years later, it still had that effect on him. It was the first thing they saw of Kaewold, rising high above the horizon, even when it was still far enough away to be a thin line in the sky. He wondered of how it had been built, of how centuries ago Great King Helmond the Lily had commissioned the tower¡¯s construction for the seat of his capital, of what stories the walls had to tell. Liamond handed Ancin a cloak and donned one himself as they approached. Reluctantly, Ancin followed suit, bruises aching as he lifted his arms over his head to do so. Ancin wasn¡¯t sure the cloaks made them any less conspicuous. The colors were muted enough to not catch the eye, he supposed, but Liamond¡¯s horse was clearly expensive, and both men¡¯s bags were larger and heavier than most of the other travelers they passed approaching the city. Even more, Liamond¡¯s bags clanked with his armor and the staff Master Inghard had given Ancin displayed the glyphs on them clerly. As far as Ancin could tell, though, no one on the outskirts of Kaewold paid them much mind. Liamond acted the whole way as though they were the center of attention, nonetheless. Ancin decided to leave the man be, instead watching the city pass as they moved through it.

    Kaewold was situated right on the banks of the Shorough River, at a sharp bend in the river¡¯s path so that the city was nearly a peninsula. It was vertical, the top of the Tower somehow taller than Ancin remembered. It looked over the city as it sloped down, tiering itself like a cake split in half. The keep and inner city sat beneath the tower, and beneath that the city proper, filling the narrow strip of land as tightly as it could before spilling out below, through the outer walls and covering the land in houses and shops and roads like a wave of civilization.

    The trek through the outer city had taken nearly an hour, a whirlwind of sounds and smells and sights; the squeal of cartwheels and babies, merchants shouting about their wares, the scents of fresh food and rot, of excretion both human and animal, of incense and freshwater. It was overwhelming for Ancin, who had not been anywhere beyond Ergrove in years. A small part of him was almost thankful for Liamond¡¯s presence, worried that he might be swallowed by the bustling city without the knight. When the two arrived at the city gates, Liamond tightened his hood and spoke as little as he could to the guards collecting the entrance toll, telling them lies about their reason for entering and handing them a fistful of bolts to enter, the long, narrow rectangles gleaming briefly in the sunlight while changing hands.

    After passing under the portcullis, Ancin spoke to Liamond for the first time that day. ¡°Where to now?¡±

    ¡°Now,¡± he said quietly, ¡°we see the queen.¡±

 Three - Jasi

    A hundred and twenty years earlier, King Elres II Doriene had killed all three of his heirs.

    He had been a paranoid man, Elres the Second. Not entirely without reason¡ªthe other houses had been conspiring against him¡ªbut only because his paranoia had seeped into his reign like a weed, its roots eroding the foundations of the realm. In his old age, the paranoia consumed him completely. Possessed with fear that his children were plotting his demise, he called them to Kaewold Tower for a feast and beheaded them. Within a month he was dead himself, before the effects of his tyranny could boil over into rebellion, but the succession crisis that followed was arguably bloodier than a usurpation would have been. The War of Silver, it was called.

    Artis Valonde, then a duke, won in the end. Newly crowned, Artis I found in his new castle at Kaewold a maze of hidden passages and escape tunnels, freshly installed by his predecessor in the event of a siege¡ªfor all the good it had done him. Jasi¡¯s great, great, great grandfather decided to keep the tunnels in place, passing the knowledge of their existence down only to family and the most trusted of the royal guard.

    It was through these tunnels that Jasi had instructed Liamond to bring Ancin to her drawing room. She wasn¡¯t sure exactly how long she¡¯d kept them waiting, only that Suse, one of her chamberers, had informed her of their arrival and that the council meeting had run late. When the discussion between her advisors finally ended, she lifted the bottom of her gown and made her way up the stairs of the Tower, passing servants and maids, what was left of her personal guard without Liamond in tow. The drawing room wasn¡¯t her favorite in the castle. One of her least favorite, in all honesty. How her mother, her father¡¯s mother, and his father¡¯s mother had managed to spend much time at all in it was beyond Jasi¡¯s understanding.

    It was one of the larger rooms in the castle, behind the king¡¯s drawing room and the throne hall itself. The ceiling, like many in the Tower, was lower than those in other castles. Vaulting made for difficult second floors, but there was beauty in it, and so scores of dark wood beams crossed from one side of the room to the other, strips of grey and beige stonework between them. The wooden floor was covered by a number of ornate rugs, luxuriously carved benches and seats and tables atop them. A hearth was pressed up against the wall opposite the door, flanked by two large windows overlooking the Shorough River far below and the forests and hills that stretched to the horizon beyond it. The walls were bare for the most part, broken by beautiful tapestries and, Jasi¡¯s least favorite part of the room, at least a dozen oil portraits of her ancestors. The room was longer than it was wide, and between the door and the windows and the fireplace and the tapestries, there wasn¡¯t much room for the portraits, but someone had spent a tremendous amount of time squeezing in as many as they could, until there was nowhere in the room one could go without feeling the eyes of long-since dead family members burrow into your skin.

    One of the tapestries, far to the left, was rolled up¡ªthe ground-to-ceiling textile tied into a roll where the ceiling met the wall, revealing a hidden wooden door behind it. At the center of the room were two men: one tall, blonde, and well-built with muscle, the other shorter, slimmer, and sporting a messy tuft of black hair. A warmth rolled over her at seeing them, and a smile threatened to tug at the corners of her lips, but Jasi restrained herself. It was good to see Liamond¡ªhe had been gone only two days, but he was devoted to her, trustworthy. People like that were few and far between, especially these days. And it was good to see Ancin. They had been close, back in Gawic, and though that was years ago, what was left of her childhood reeled with joy in the back of her mind. For a moment, she forgot that he might have changed, that he might not be trustworthy, that half a kingdom was plotting her demise in one way or another.

    The moment ended the instant Liamond saw her and knelt. ¡°Your Majesty. I have done what you asked.¡±

    Ancin bowed, pausing halfway at Liamond¡¯s devotion, clearly unsure if he should kneel as well. He decided he should, and knelt alongside the knight. Jasi took a second to straighten her posture and spoke. ¡°Thank you, Sir Liamond. You¡¯ve done well.¡± She wanted to apologize for making him wait, but knew she couldn¡¯t, not with Ancin here. He answered to her whims; it was his place to wait, and so long as she was unsure of how Ancin had changed in the last five years, she couldn¡¯t risk undermining her own authority in front of him. Instead, she said, ¡°You may both rise. I appreciate the haste with which you¡¯ve carried out my order, Sir Liamond. But you must be very tired. Please, wait outside while I speak with Speaker Ancin and escort him to his lodgings once we¡¯re done. Then, return to your quarters and take the remainder of the day to rest. I would see you at your best by my side tomorrow morning.¡±

    He stood, bowed his head slightly to her at the dismissal, and lifted his bag¡ªno doubt hefty with the armor inside¡ªfrom where it leaned against one of the benches. ¡°Thank you, my queen.¡± The floor creaked under his weight as he left the room, his feet thudding quietly on the rugs. The hidden tunnel¡¯s door creaked terribly when he opened it and again when it closed, but once the drop-latch clinked back into place, silence fell over the room, leaving just Jasi and Ancin and the eyes on the walls.

    He had stood back up at her command, and she took a moment to look him over. He¡¯d barely changed since the years they¡¯d shared at Gawic. He was taller, but not especially so, and his hair was longer though a bit less well-maintained. But apart from that, she saw the same diamond-shaped face, the same straight and striking features¡ªnow just dressed in stubble and not spots. His eyes, colored like moss, had changed the least. Only two major changes caught her eye¡ªthe bright red of a speaker¡¯s robes hidden beneath a tattered cloak, and the lines of tattoos that ran from knuckle to nail on every finger of his left hand. She regarded them quietly for a moment before speaking. ¡°I see you¡¯ve passed your trials. You¡¯re a speaker now.¡±

    Ancin didn¡¯t respond immediately. She could practically see the wheels spinning in his head. She¡¯d chosen the words, her tone carefully. She washed away a layer of formality with them, inviting him to speak freely if he so wished. If he refused, or if his response was stilted, she would know that he feared her, feared what she might do to him if he was too casual. It would give her insight into how their relationship had changed, and how she would have to speak to him in the future to get what she needed from him.

    ¡®How a man responds to power shows you nearly all you need to know about him,¡¯ her father had said to Athyew, to his heir. But she had listened, like she always had, more than the brute that had been her brother.

    When he finally decided to speak, Ancin¡¯s voice was exactly how she remembered it. ¡°You¡¯re a queen now.¡± A pale shadow of jest filled his eyes with the words.

    As friends, then. Jasi smiled. ¡°The queen,¡± she corrected, somewhat stiffly. It would help if he were comfortable with her, but become a problem if he were too familiar. She motioned towards a side table with a baroque pitcher on it. ¡°Please, pour us some drinks and then come sit. There¡¯s much we have to discuss.¡±

    She took a seat on one of the benches, gracefully taking the wine from him once he handed it to her. He faltered, slightly, lifting and maneuvering the pitcher. Fleeting pain came and went as he moved. Jasi filed the observation away, it would be a different point of conversation for later. When he had finished, he sat across from her, in a similarly cushioned seat. She gave him another smile. Jasi had maneuvered the conversation so far so that he would speak comfortably with him, but would still wait to be spoken to. It was her favorite stance. ¡°I am pleased that you were able to make it here so quickly. I would say that Liamond outdid himself, but he¡¯s always performed admirably. For as long as I¡¯ve known him, I¡¯ve never found an equal.¡±

    Something on Ancin¡¯s face shifted. An unreadable expression for anyone without the context clues to piece it together. But Jasi knew exactly what it was. She had sought it out and caught it on the first try. It was true, Liamond was a phenomenal soldier, an excellent guard, a servant for whom the word ¡®reliable¡¯ did no justice. But he was a pious man who was quick to act. Jasi knew exactly how he would treat Ancin. ¡°How did you find him? Was he a good traveling companion?¡±

    Again the wheels spun in Ancin¡¯s head. She could see the social calculus he was performing. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­had better. Though, I¡¯m sure he saves his best for when he¡¯s on the road with you, ma¡¯am.¡±

    It was a part of the truth, but not the whole of it. So he was trustworthy, to an extent. Willing to tell the queen her favorite knight wasn¡¯t all she thought he was, but not willing to tattle about their differences. A good man, though the slight hint of anger in his eyes let on more than he wanted. She took a sip of her wine. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that. Tell me about your work. What has life in a reliquary been like?¡±

    He placed his cup on the side table closest to him and grimaced, lending forward in the chair. ¡°Forgive me, but what am I doing here, ma¡¯am? Is there something you need from me?¡±

    ¡°Relax, Ancin. Can¡¯t a woman long to see an old friend?¡±

    ¡°I have a feeling I¡¯m here for more than just that.¡± His response was quick, almost immediate. And it was a good response, too. He was smart, Jasi could see, and comfortable enough to push back against her, even if only slightly. Things were going well.

    But his question was a reminder of why she needed him, and that soured the wine in her mouth. In its sudden absence, she realized that she¡¯d been having a good time. He was easier to read than almost anyone she¡¯d talked to in weeks. And he was a friend. It was pleasant to speak with him again. It made her willing to share more than she should have to convince him to keep talking. Jasi cleared her throat. ¡°In time. My councilors spent more time complaining about Bregelian trade routes today than they did breathing, so I¡¯ve a reason to excuse myself from the midday meal. We have time to talk, so let¡¯s take it.¡±

    That seemed to quell him at least slightly. Ancin leaned on the back of his chair again. ¡°Forgive me. It¡¯s not that I¡¯m not happy to see you again, it¡¯s just¡­¡±

    ¡°Unnerving to be swept away to the Tower without reason. I understand.¡± She smiled again at him. ¡°Your work. Tell me about your work. Are you still with Master Inghard?¡±

    Ancin¡¯s eyes seemed to gloss over for a moment. ¡°I am, yeah.¡± He spoke softly, as if he had to force the words out of his mouth.

    He hid it well. A passive observer might¡¯ve thought he was simply upset that he wasn¡¯t being told why he had been summoned, or that he was just tired from the road. But Jasi could see that he hurt. A deep, longing hurt, one buried in his chest, not unlike her own for her father. She saw herself in him briefly and pushed it away. She had promised herself that she would mourn when there was time, when it was appropriate. It wasn¡¯t time. It wasn¡¯t appropriate. She steeled herself for the next question, already knowing the answer. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen him since the last time I saw you. How is he?¡±

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    There was a pause in the conversation before she got her answer. Then, Ancin cleared his throat. ¡°Old. He¡¯s getting old.¡±

    No, he wasn¡¯t. His mind was falling apart. She would¡¯ve sent for them both if it wasn¡¯t. But he was loyal, which was good. And he still wasn¡¯t willing to lie to her, not outright. It would be seen if that was a good or bad thing. But again she saw the pain in his eyes, and a pang of guilt rolled through her for asking the question, for prodding the answer. But she needed to know how he would respond. If he would winge about his master or if he¡¯d show that he was loyal. Jasi gave him a sympathetic look. ¡°We used to be so afraid of him,¡± she mused. ¡°He would get so angry if he caught us in the fields together, you away from your studies and me away from mine.¡±

    He laughed. ¡°Sometimes my knuckles still hurt when I look at daffodils. He would always complain when he got done with me that you were out there distracting me, that a proper lady ought to have better friends than a wayward silent.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please. My ladies-in-waiting were all so dull. Only Stona was ever worth spending time around, and then she was betrothed to a lord on the other side of the country. Do you remember that?¡±

    ¡°Of course I remember Stona. The bailiff¡¯s girl. Betrothed to Duke Wulfa''s youngest son. She was always so nice.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t she?¡± It dawned on Jasi that she felt wonderful. A few of her ladies-in-waiting were still the girls she learned at Gawic with, and most of them were still just as insufferable as they had been back then. It was the first time she¡¯d been able to talk to someone like this in¡­gods knew how long. ¡°Oh, I miss her.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you should summon her to Kaewold next.¡±

    She shot him a stark look and smiled slightly. ¡°Don¡¯t get too familiar. I can just as easily have Liamond drag you down to the dungeons as I can have him take you to your lodgings.¡±

    He stiffened, but only slightly. ¡°Of course, my queen. I meant no offense.¡± Light-heartedness still danced in his eyes.

    ¡°He was right to be upset, though, wasn¡¯t he? I hear augury takes the most practice.¡±

    Ancin shrugged and rolled his wine between his hands before drinking. ¡°Not more than any other discipline, really. And definitely less than some others. I guess the spells are a bit more complex, but spells are always complicated.¡±

    There was a point to the conversation; Jasi had a direction she wanted to go in, a destination she needed to reach, but briefly she was overcome by fascination. Magic, the Silent Language, the Godstongue¡ªit was a child¡¯s dream to bend the world like the Speakers did much like it was often a child¡¯s dream to be a gleaming knight, save for the children taught that speakers were out to eat them, to use their blood to fuel spells and rituals. It was one of the reasons she¡¯d so taken to Ancin when they met in Gawic, his field of study alluring to no end. Perhaps their conversation now could withstand a diversion or two to appease her interest. ¡°Explain it to me,¡± she said.

    He knitted his brows. ¡°Explain what?¡±

    ¡°The Silent Tongue. My father never kept a Royal Speaker after Master Raffin died, and I can¡¯t say I remember much of what you told me when we were fourteen.

    ¡°That¡¯s a complicated question.¡± He shifted somewhat uncomfortably in his seat. ¡°It would take a long time to properly¡ª¡±

    ¡°Simplify it then.¡± The demand had been a bit stronger, a bit colder, than she intended, but it seemed to work just the same. He straightened his posture and seemed to think for a moment before beginning.

    ¡°The Silent Tongue is a language. A written language, one whose pronunciations are lost to time, hence the name.¡± There was another pause while he looked for words. ¡° No one knows where it came from or who spoke it originally, but whoever they were, they made the monoliths before they vanished. There are a few theories as to who they were or why they made the monoliths, but no one can seem to agree, and not all of them hold up. Master Alyce had the best theory, I think, but it still has its problems¡ªmostly that we need more physical evidence to prove¡ª¡± Ancin stopped himself and gave Jasi a small smile.

    ¡°Simplified,¡± he said, as if to remind himself. ¡°Sorry. No one knows who made the monoliths. But they¡¯re still around, these big pillars made of pure nela stone covered with glyphs. As far as we can tell they don¡¯t say anything specific and they¡¯re not one big spell. Instead, the glyphs seem to be random on each one. Sometimes the same glyph shows up several times on the same monolith, sometimes once on a couple of different monoliths, and sometimes only once on a single monolith. There¡¯s no real rhyme or reason anyone¡¯s been able to figure out.

    ¡°But the glyphs have power. Each one relates to some¡­primordial element, some fundamental force, some concept of being. Spells come from stringing the glyphs together to create more abstract concepts or commands, or things like that, and years of research¡ªmostly trial and error¡ªhave found that some glyphs have more than one meaning, or that their meaning changes when surrounded by certain other glyphs.¡± He seemed unhappy with his own explanation, and leaned towards her, left hand extended. Jasi moved in closer to see, curiosity and excitement running through her like a river.

    ¡°This one is the glyph for fire. It¡¯s straightforward enough. But the rest of them,¡± he motioned to four other beautifully ornate symbols so rich with deal and shape that they almost made her eyes gloss over, ¡°they¡¯re more abstract. More concepts of will. Forgive me, I don¡¯t really know how to describe them to you, the books I¡¯ve learned their meaning from took hundreds of pages to impart their meaning to me.¡± He turned his hand slightly to highlight three glyphs on his thumb. ¡°These ones are also more notional than not. The one at the base is a¡­command, I guess, the one above it one for existence, to some degree. Together, the three are a creation spell, but without more glyphs to define what¡¯s being created,¡± he returned to his index finger, ¡°or what¡¯s called a ¡®control ring¡¯ to define how much of that thing is created,¡± now he showed her the tattoos on his middle finger, ¡°they¡¯re meaningless.¡±

    Jasi arched an eyebrow, and without looking back up at him, asked, ¡°But if you don¡¯t speak it, and you need all three to cast a spell, then how do the spells on your hand work?¡±

    ¡°Touch,¡± he told her, pressing his thumb, forefinger, and middle finger together. ¡°All spells need to be written. More complex spells need more glyphs, more definitions for the scope and scale of the spell¡ª¡±

    ¡°But they¡¯re so intricate. It must take forever to write anything.¡±

    That got a small laugh out of him. It was short and rueful, and Jasi knew it wasn¡¯t at her. ¡°It does. It can take weeks, months even, to write out a spell. The glyphs have to be perfect, aligned perfectly, written perfectly¡­it can be a real pain. When you cast a spell, you touch it, and imbue the glyphs with your will. But your will, your energy, it¡¯s powerful. Destructive. Whatever the spell is written on¡ªwe call it the conduit¡ªhas to be able to handle it, otherwise it will destroy itself. That¡¯s why we use tattoos. Flesh, living flesh, can handle it without burning away. Chemora can too, but that¡¯s expensive and rare, and greatwood can survive a few castings depending on how old the tree it was taken from was, but for small, useful spells, ones you use often and don¡¯t want to have to rewrite every time like calling drinkable water or lighting a candle,¡± he pushed his thumb up both fingers, making a small flame dance on its tip, ¡°the tattoos are helpful.¡±

    Wonder rolled through Jasi¡¯s mind at the fire. Jealousy scratched the bottom of her stomach, and she simply watched it dance for a moment. ¡°And what about augury? Your discipline? How does that work?¡±

    Ancin snuffed out the flame. ¡°It¡¯s more complicated. The end goal isn¡¯t as simple as a little fire or a small gust of wind. It¡¯s less tangible, more theoretical. The spells can be massive, even the simple ones.¡± He held up his right hand, back facing her, pale skin unmarked by the artist who had covered his other hand in the beautiful runes. ¡°Most speakers, once they devote themselves to a discipline, use their right hand for spells related to their discipline, sometimes using the whole hand for just a single spell. But not even the simplest augury spell is small enough to fit on one hand. That¡¯s why Master Inghard used to be wrapped in so many trinkets¡ªthey¡¯re all talismans, greatwood and chemora etched with glyphs so he doesn¡¯t have to rewrite the spells so often.¡±

    Jasi shifted on the bench. It was captivating. How fools had convinced themselves that such power was to be shunned was beyond her. Her interactions with Prophet Sueda had almost always left her frustrated, though, the narrow-minded old woman chittering on and on about dogma. So perhaps she had some understanding of what type of ignorance was needed. She swirled the wine in her cup slowly, thinking over Ancin¡¯s words. In another life, perhaps she would have become a speaker.

    No. What misery that would be, locked away in a reliquary, surrounded by paranoid old men, obsessed with tiny scrawlings on ancient papers. Her fascination faded. It had been interesting, but it was time for her to return to the task at hand. Ancin had been brought to Kaewold for a reason, one beyond their history and her hope for trust. She finished the final sip of her drink and placed the empty cup on the side table next to her. ¡°Augury is about information, yes? Fortune telling, scrying. Learning things about places beyond yourself?¡±

    Slight surprise crossed Ancin¡¯s face. She was used to such looks¡ªoften the lords at court would have the same look when she showed that she was not a ditz, that she held some knowledge of statecraft. Normally it would infuriate her, to be seen as such a helpless child, but for now it pleased her. She truly had little knowledge of the Silent Tongue, and it was fine for people to be impressed by what she did know. He nodded slowly at her. ¡°That¡¯s a very apt way to put it, yes.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s not what your area of study is, is it? I vaguely remember you speaking about your studies with Master Inghard.¡±

    Something foreign and uncomfortable seemed to take hold of Ancin. Jasi had been too direct, had let her hand show just slightly. She bit her tongue. He again nodded slowly, clearly apprehensive about her intentions. ¡°Master Inghard¡¯s research is about looking into the past, not the future. He thinks that it might give us more insight into the Silent Tongue. That it might let us see the First Speakers or restore the glyphs that have eroded away in the years since the monoliths were made.¡±

    ¡°And how have you fared in your research?¡±

    ¡°Slowly. He¡¯s been working on it for as long as I¡¯ve been with him. He thinks he has the right spell, but¡­¡± He trailed off.

    Jasi didn¡¯t give him a moment to recover. ¡°But what?¡±

    Ancin licked his teeth and looked at her. He was putting the pieces together and slowly figuring out why he was here. He was realizing that she might have already known more about him and Inghard than she let on. ¡°But like I said. He¡¯s getting old. I¡¯ve had to do most of the research recently. Why did you bring me here?¡± The final question had an edge to it, a subtle anger. Perhaps Jasi shouldn¡¯t have indulged herself, let him explain the Silent Tongue to her. He was clearly realizing that much of this conversation had been designed, and had been allowed to get comfortable enough to show her how much he disdained it.

    But then¡­he had shown that he was trustworthy. Loyal. He had made her feel like she had a friend again. And he clearly wasn¡¯t the type of person to put much effort into hiding himself from others. He was useful. Good to have around, in more ways than one. So Jasi ignored his overstep. It was time to let him know why she had summoned him. She met his gaze and pressed it. ¡°There is a rumor going around. You may have heard it coming in, though I doubt Liamond would have let you dally in the city before meeting me.¡±

    Ancin didn¡¯t look away.

    ¡°It is, no doubt, provoked by my enemies within Erest so that they might see me dethroned. But I cannot investigate it. Not outright. Doing so might lend credence to it, give it life beyond what it is due. I cannot even be seen to have acknowledged its existence beyond a passing annoyance, like a fly, else my enemies might know that I am onto them.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why all the secrecy with bringing me here.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Do not interrupt. The rumor is that I am illegitimate. That my father bedded a woman other than my mother, producing me.¡± A fire burned in her chest, even as she said the words. A fury at such a disgusting accusation built in her every time she thought of it. She knew that her anger wasn¡¯t hidden. It should have been, and her father scolded her from beyond the grave, but she didn¡¯t care. ¡°I will seek out the filth who has started it. I will strike them from this world and salt their lands. But you¡­¡±

    Her voice faltered. Revulsion turned her stomach at the thought of the rumor, but still at the heart of it was a seed of worry that it was true. It sprouted another root with every moment she thought of it. ¡°You will perform your ritual. You will look into the past and see the truth of it.¡±

 Four - Ancin

    ¡°Can you do magic?¡± Jasi had shown up to his chambers the day after he and Master Inghard had arrived in Gawic, a gaggle of ladies-in-waiting behind her. They had giggled when he answered the door, and again when she asked.

    He had told her that he could, the words barely slipping out from beneath the anxiety of speaking to a member of the royal family¡ªand worse than that, a girl.

    ¡°Then do some magic for us.¡± Her entourage had snickered again, and her head snapped over her shoulder to glare at them. The malice was drained from her face when she looked back at him.

    ¡°I-I can¡¯t. Not today. It uh¡­it-it takes time.¡±

    Jasi had spent a moment perplexed by the issue, but then had told him, ¡°Fine. In that case, I¡¯ll be back tomorrow at midday. You can show me then.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re supposed to go swimming tomorrow, Jasi.¡±

    ¡°I think the river will still be there the day after, Sarina.¡± There had been a venom that Ancin had never seen or heard before that dripped from the words. But, like before, it was there in one sentence and gone the next; she had turned to him and said, ¡°I have better things to do tomorrow.¡±

    And so he had spent that night laboring over a spell. It was a simple one, he knew that now, but back then it had taken hours to get right. When Jasi had turned up the next day¡ªalone and without the other girls¡ªshe took him into the daffodil fields, beneath an old, knotted tree there, and watched with awe as his right hand, pressed against the parchment with the spell written on it, lit up a pure, white light, before fading almost instantly, the parchment burning away. She had asked him then, too, to explain how it worked. They spent the whole day there, under that tree, as Ancin spewed enormous amounts of misinformation about the Silent Tongue¡ªthe rumors and misconceptions of a young boy corrupting what little he actually knew. When the sun began to set, they returned to Gawic Keep, and he had slumped in his quarters, exhausted, and unable to stop grinning.

    He felt no such joy after explaining it to her this time.

    Instead, anxiety had brewed with each finished sentence, tempered only by the comfort of their shared reminiscence earlier. Part of it was that he was still that little boy¡ªshaken by the prospect of speaking with the royal family, doubled now that she was queen. Part of it was that the years had been overly kind to her, and the woman before him, with a square face and narrow, umber eyes, was likely the most beautiful woman he¡¯d seen in years. A not insignificant portion of it was the inescapable feeling of being slowly wrapped in something sinister. Most of it, though, slithered up from the fear of what she had called him here for, of what had driven Liamond to bring them up the Tower under shadow and through tunnels.

    So when she finally asked, it felt like a relief more than anything.

    That the request was absurd was its own problem, but Ancin took a moment to let the relief of knowing wash over him. He looked at Jasi. He had never been good at reading others¡¯ emotions, but Jasi¡ªthe Jasi he remembered¡ªhad never been good at hiding them. As a boy he had known her to never want to hide them, reveling in her ability to use her favor or ire to maneuver the people around her. But, he supposed, the will of a thirteen-year-old girl was a different sort of power than the will of a queen, and one demanded more of a mask than the other. She had been unreadable for the entirety of their conversation. That, more than most things, had unsettled him. But then she spoke of the rumor, of her request, and a pure rage had crept out with the words.

    He was certain that telling her that the request was beyond his doing would be bad for his health. But was it? A voice in the back of his mind pushed away the questions about Jasi or the rumors, or what it meant that the queen herself was questioning her own legitimacy, and instead focused on the spell. Could he cast it himself? It was a question he¡¯d been asking himself for months, as Inghard¡¯s condition worsened. The spell¡¯s construction was complete. He knew what glyphs were needed and where, but Inghard was the only person who could review his work, and that had left the final leg of his research unchecked. If he was wrong¡­

    ¡°I can¡¯t do it,¡± he said weakly, before he could stop himself.

    Jasi arched a brow at him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    He cleared his throat and tried again, cursing himself. ¡°I um¡­I can¡¯t cast the spell. It¡¯s not ready.¡±

    ¡°I thought you said you had the right spell.¡± Her eyes seemed to run him through. Briefly, he wondered if it might have been better to let Liamond kill him on the road.

    But she was right. He had said it. ¡°I meant¡­we think we know what the right spell is. It hasn¡¯t been tested. We need more time to complete our research before trying.¡±

    She leaned forward and poured herself a new cup of wine. ¡°How much time?¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯d have to go back to Ergrove and talk to Master Inghard, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°I appreciate your loyalty to the old man, Ancin, but enough with the games. Inghard is senile. That¡¯s why I called for you and not for him. You¡¯ve done most of the research. You said so yourself.¡±

    An anger bubbled up in his chest. Ancin had suspected that she knew more than she was letting on. There had been a few choice words here and there in their discussion that led him to believe so, and when he realized he was right he¡¯d been angry with her for a moment, and then angry with himself for not expecting it from the most powerful and well-connected woman in Erest. But that had been drowned out by the request. Only now did it begin to resurface, bolstered with a need to defend Inghard. Before he could stop himself, the words tried to carve a hole into her. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare speak of him in that way.¡±

    For a moment, he was sure Jasi¡¯s gaze would set him alight. That the sun itself would emerge from her center and melt the flesh from his blackened, charred bones. Just by looking at him, she made it hard to breathe. His stomach nearly burst with regret. And then¡­it seemed to melt away. Not entirely, but something in her softened. Her voice was almost comforting. ¡°I meant no offense to Master Inghard. I remember him fondly. And I know what it is like to watch someone you care for wither away.¡± She paused, and Ancin couldn¡¯t figure out if it was on purpose. ¡°But the facts are the facts. He is not who he used to be. I need someone who is capable and in control of their faculties to complete this investigation. You are both.¡±

    A long moment passed between the two of them. The windows in the drawing room were closed; they were on the top floor of the tower, where the wind would be uncomfortable, especially with the summer heat still on its way. But Kaewold was loud, and through the thin panes, faint shouts could be heard from the city below, punctuated every now and then with a hawk or gull¡¯s call. Ancin listened quietly before lifting his wine to his lips and finishing it off. He leaned forward and poured himself another cup. ¡°He¡¯s not senile. It¡¯s an affliction called Cassi¡¯s Tears. It happens to augurs, especially older ones. They get to a point where they can¡¯t tell the future from the present, here from there. They lose track of time and space.¡±

    Jasi watched him drink. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that.¡± She let him sit in peace for a short while longer before pressing the topic again. ¡°You will test your spell here, on my issue. You will do it alone, and you will tell no one of what you¡¯re doing.¡±

    ¡°And if I can¡¯t? If the spell doesn¡¯t work?¡±

    ¡°Then when my uncle¡¯s army gets here¡ªwhichever one is undoubtedly spreading this rumor¡ªI will either give him the throne and be married off to some foreign king to produce heirs for the rest of my life, or I will resist him and have my head become a permanent decoration in the throne room.¡±

    Her reply had been quick and solid. As far as Ancin could tell, it wasn¡¯t a threat, it was a statement of fact. He looked down at his cup and drank the rest of it in a single go. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and told her, ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll try. But I¡¯ll need supplies.¡±

    She furrowed her brows. Clearly, she wasn¡¯t expecting to have to provide him with anything. ¡°What kind of supplies?¡±

    That¡¯s a damned good question, he thought. ¡°I¡¯ll need access to your library, first of all. I brought books with me¡­¡± briefly, he was reminded of Inghard¡¯s warnings, of how he insisted that he would need the books to help the queen. ¡°...uh, I brought books with me, but they won¡¯t be enough. I don¡¯t know what you have in the Tower¡ªI know your father refused to keep a Royal Voice, but I don¡¯t know if that means he emptied all the Silent texts from the city.¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think he did,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure you have access. What else?¡±

    He shifted uncomfortably. ¡°I¡¯ll need a¡­a part of you.¡±

    Jasi gave him a blank look. ¡°A part of me?¡±

    ¡°A lock of hair, a vial of blood. An item of yours might work, something you hold dear, but it¡¯d be less potent. And¡­¡± The anger he¡¯d pulled out of her seemed to have subsided, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he wondered how far he could push this before it came back. Carefully, he chose his words. ¡°And I¡¯ll need the same from either of your parents. Your father, really. Something from your mother might be¡­dormant.¡±

    Again, Jasi gave him an unreadable look. She was otherwise completely still. It scared him almost as much as her wrath did. ¡°You wish to defile my parents¡¯ graves?¡±

    His stomach did flip-flops. ¡°I¡­the spell¡­it won¡¯t work otherwise.¡±

    She took a long sip of wine. ¡°Tell me why.¡±

    Ancin thought for a moment, wishing he hadn¡¯t finished his second cup of wine so quickly. ¡°When you make a decision, any decision, you make an¡­an echo. A ripple in time. Like touching a pool of water. The more people an action affects, the larger the ripple. The louder the echo, the larger the ripple, the further it travels through time, across space. That¡¯s the first part. The second part is that spells require touch in order to be cast. The object you want to manipulate must be touched, same as the glyphs. When you want to know the outcome of a decision, you can listen for these echoes coming back through time, using a piece of whoever it was that made the decision to filter out the echoes of other people¡¯s decisions.

    ¡°Master Inghard¡¯s research has always been into listening for the echoes of decisions already made¡ªtracing the¡­the ¡®ripple of consequences¡¯ back to their source to get a glimpse of something that happened in the past. But for it to work, you need a piece of the consequences¡ªyou, in this case¡ªand part of the person who made the decision¡ªyour father.¡±

    Jasi didn¡¯t seem to need any time at all to take in the concepts. ¡°But something a person owned would suffice?¡±

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    He shrugged. ¡°It could. There¡¯s¡­something. A connection of¡­some type of energy. It¡¯s hard to explain, and no one¡¯s been fully able to understand it. But if there¡¯s something important to you, something that you carry with you everywhere you go, or something that you cherish a great deal, it¡­connects to you. Becomes a weak part of yourself. You can use that kind of item as a substitute for a piece of the self in a spell. Not well, though. Auguric visions can be hard to decipher as-is. The spell isn¡¯t efficient enough, probably because we¡¯ve replaced some glyph we don¡¯t know about yet with a dozen other glyphs strung together to do the same thing. But using an item instead of part of a person makes it worse. Makes it harder to understand.¡±

    That seemed to give her some pause. She sipped on her wine and looked over her shoulder, out the window behind her. A part of him longed to know what she was thinking. To know her as well as he used to. Another part of him screamed to run away. To get out of this mess, to avoid the pressure of Jasi¡¯s enemies and demand that he cast the most complicated spell he¡¯d ever worked on. Eventually, she turned back to look at him. ¡°I¡¯ll have Liamond provide you with a lock of my hair. But I won¡¯t have you disturb either of my parents¡¯ ashes. You¡¯ll be provided with my father¡¯s coming-of-age ring. I have it still, in my quarters.¡±

    A hard task, made harder. But Jasi¡¯s mask was slipping, ever so slightly. Beneath it, he could see a hint of pain. Her father and brother dead, her extended family plotting against her. And though the reliquary was secluded from the rest of civilization, he was sure the people weren¡¯t happy about bowing before a female ruler. No wonder she had been so quick to push him about her authority. ¡°How long will it take? To put the spell together.¡±

    ¡°Three days, maybe four. I¡¯m lucky enough to have a talisman with a fair few of the required glyphs already written, but I¡¯ll have to find references in my own books and the library before I can make copies. And that¡¯s if I don¡¯t make any mistakes.¡±

    For the first time, she looked him in the eye, and let enough of her guard drop for him to see the exhaustion in her eyes. Her words were barely more than a whisper.

    ¡°Thank you, Ancin.¡±

    He gave her a tight smile and a short nod. She stood up from the bench, the large sleeves of her emerald gown swaying as she did. He stood with her, and the two spent another moment in silence. ¡°I¡¯m sure lunch is over with by now, which means I have to attend court. The people of Erest await my rulings.¡± She turned to the hidden door and called for Liamond.

    In an instant, the man was there, as tall and straight as a greatwood, though his knightly appeal suffered in the commoner¡¯s clothing he¡¯d put on. ¡°Yes, your Majesty?¡±

    ¡°Please escort Speaker Ancin to his lodgings. Ensure that the room is paid for for the remainder of the week, and that the royal name is left out of it.¡± She paused for a moment, looking Ancin over. ¡°And please refrain from harming Speaker Ancin any further, lest he endangers myself or other members of the royal family.¡±

    The bruises on his back, dulled by the wine, suddenly flashed with a faint twinge of pain. Somehow, she¡¯d pieced together that he was injured, and that Liamond had injured him. He shuddered at how easily she¡¯d seen through him. Liamond didn¡¯t seem to notice, or to care. Perhaps he thought Ancin had told her, or perhaps he knew her well enough to realize how capable she was. ¡°Of course, ma¡¯am. Might I speak with you in private briefly before we depart?¡±

    A spark of concern lit her eyes, tempered immediately by whatever willpower she had kept her emotions hidden behind so far, and she addressed him. ¡°Of course. Give us the room, Ancin?¡±

    Ancin gave her a short bow. ¡°At once, ma¡¯am.¡± He moved towards the hidden doorway, feeling Jasi and Laimond¡¯s eyes on his back as he went. When he finally emerged into the cool, bare passageway, took a deep breath. His hands began to shake. The task at hand was larger than any he¡¯d been given before, and he wasn¡¯t even sure it was something he could do. Writing a spell like this would take hours and a precision that he was all but certain was beyond him. Not everyone passed their trials¡ªmany silents mustered out and vanished into the countryside before becoming speakers. But even fewer speakers kept the position. Most, in time, realized they weren¡¯t going anywhere with their studies, that becoming a master speaker wasn¡¯t for them.

    He thought again of tilling the fields on a farm in Cayhyrst. The imaginary farm seemed to call to him from across the kingdom. Duke Giles was here, in Kaewold. He was Jasi¡¯s chancellor. Maybe Ancin could meet with him in private and convince the man to let him become a bondsman. The dream turned to sand and slid through his fingers as Liamond came up behind him, closing the hidden door. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he said, hoisting his bag over his shoulder, and motioning to Ancin¡¯s.

    Ancin gathered the bag and lifted Inghard¡¯s staff, following the knight down the grey stairwell.

    -

    Helmund¡¯s Road was steep and long. It wound down from the tower into the upper city, and then through the inner gate, continuing its slope through the lower city, and even splitting in three to pass through each of the outer gates and into the outer city. But Ancin followed Liamond only into the lower city, walking past the large, stone shops and houses of wealthy shoemakers and goldsmiths and bankers and cloth merchants in the upper city, to where the buildings were wooden, sagging and leaning against one another with age.

    There, the two were harassed almost constantly by merchants¡ªhatmakers, food purveyors, pastrycooks, clothes menders, furniture menders; the mob of salesmen went on and on. Liamond fended them off viciously, cutting through them like enemy combatants without much of a second thought, but Ancin hardly seemed to notice them. Their cries and rhymes and poorly-played lute jingles washed over him and vanished, like they weren¡¯t even there. He was tired, still. The previous night¡¯s rest had barely been cold and painful and barely deserving of the term rest. What few hours of sleep he had under his belt were from the night before Liamond arrived. How many days ago was that? Ancin tried to count, but gave up. Jasi¡¯s request had blurred the hours together, its presence in his mind a great raincloud, muddying whatever thoughts he might otherwise have.

    He shifted the weight of his bag from one shoulder to the other, wishing Liamond had let them take the horses, but according to him, ¡®There was reason to get to the castle quickly. There¡¯s no reason for you to drink in a tavern quickly.¡¯ He was a prick. Ancin¡¯s back and legs were sore from the walk, his head spun, reeling from the day''s events, and he still wasn¡¯t sure where they were going. Just before he had mustered the will to ask, Liamond¡ªseemingly unbothered by the physical activity¡ªturned to him and pointed at a tavern, a yellow sign depicting two candles hung above the door frame.

    ¡°Here. This is where you¡¯ll be staying.¡± Liamond didn¡¯t slow down. He brushed his way past the tavern¡¯s wine crier and entered.

    Ancin followed slowly, tempted to take the sample the crier offered. Instead, he gave the boy a tight smile, and ducked through the low doorway, passing from the warm midday sun into a dimly-lit room filled with smoke, the smell of piss and ale, and the clattering of dice. The tavernkeeper behind the bar looked them both over. He was old, maybe in his late fifties, and as close to being shaped like a perfect circle as one could get.

    ¡°Take a seat, boys. Brona¡¯ll come by for yer drinks.¡± His voice was raspy, clothed in a thick Pesorian accent.

    ¡°We¡¯re here for lodgings,¡± Liamond told him. ¡°My business partner¡¯s just come from from the Crescent and needs a place to stay until we finish our negotiations.¡±

    The innkeeper looked between the two of them, stopping to stare at Ancin as he wiped absently at an empty flagon. ¡°And what kinda business are ya and yer partner in?¡±

    The glyphs on the back of Ancin¡¯s hand began to itch. He shoved it into his pocket and did his best to hide the glyphs on the staff with the cloak. Liamond took a moment to glare at Ancin before unclipping a coin purse from his belt. He pulled it open and dropped a handful of bolts, the narrow, silver rectangles clinking against each other. ¡°The kind that makes money.¡±

    The innkeeper pulled the bolts apart with his middle finger, looking them over in silence for a moment before saying, ¡°That¡¯s a good business. Got a room for ya upstairs. Seven and a half a night.¡±

    Liamond took a small fistful of bolts from the bag and placed them on the bar, next to the rest. ¡°He¡¯ll be here for a week. Maybe longer. There¡¯ll be more once this runs out if need be.¡±

    He nodded, dragging the bolts into his hand. ¡°I¡¯ll get ya yer key.¡± The old man disappeared into a room behind the bar.

    The knight turned to Ancin. ¡°Not here for even a day and you¡¯re already causing problems. I told her you¡¯d be more trouble than you¡¯re worth.¡±

    Ancin stared him down, but knew that the sworn guard of the queen could cut him head to toe if he wanted. ¡°She doesn¡¯t seem to think so.¡±

    Had he not just spent the afternoon in a room with Jasi, Ancin thought that Liamond¡¯s glower might have shaken him. ¡°When you inevitably fail her, I will personally send you to the next life.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not very godly of you.¡±

    ¡°The gods want nothing to do with the likes of you.¡±

    Someone in the back of the tavern shouted, either happy or furious with the outcome of a dice game. A barmaid slipped by the two of them, dripping ale of one kind or another onto the floor. The innkeeper returned, a thick iron key in hand. ¡°For ya. Room¡¯s all set, whenever ya need. I¡¯ll be by for more payments at the end of the week.¡±

    Ancin took the key from the old man, and tucked it away into his pocket. He adjusted the weight of his bag over his shoulder, and looked Liamond over one last time. ¡°How can I contact her when I¡¯m ready?¡±

    An uncomfortable scowl shaped his lips. ¡°Ask for me at the keep gate. And buy some fucking gloves before you do.¡± Liamond went to leave, but stopped himself before he had gone more than a few steps. He returned to Ancin in a huff, pulling from his pocket a small item wrapped in paper. ¡°Here. This is from her. Do anything perverse with it, and I¡¯ll slit your throat.¡±

    He took the small package from Liamond, knowing as soon as he did that it was the lock of hair he had asked Jasi for.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be by tomorrow with a pass to the library. In the meantime, keep your head down. Someone¡¯s been watching us since we arrived.¡±

    Ancin had no idea if it was true. Between his own issues and the inescapable stream of stimuli a city like Kaewold offered, he hadn¡¯t been properly paying attention. He watched Liamond walk by him, out, into the street, and shrugged off the knight¡¯s words. He was probably paranoid, in the same way he was miserably hostile to Ancin over not understanding the Silent Language. Ancin made his way through the tavern, pushing between patrons until he made it to the stairs. The ceiling was low, making the climb short, but his knees were tender from the hike down Helmund Street, and by the time he¡¯d made it to his room¡ªa bare, wooden chamber with just a wool bed on the left, a tiny wooden desk on the right, and a window overlooking the city at the far end¡ªhe collapsed into the bed and nearly fell asleep.

    But he couldn¡¯t sleep¡ªnot yet. Jasi had asked a lot of him, and he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that getting involved in a conspiracy to erode the legitimacy of the queen might put him in an unfortunate position. So he rummaged through his bags until he found the chemora crystal Master Inghard had given him, unfurling the layers of cloth he had wrapped it in for safekeeping. He placed it on the ground, gently, and knelt next to it, pulling the remainder of his books from the bag. He pulled a loose sheet of parchment from one, and flipped through the rest until he found what he was looking for. Slowly, carefully, and with painstaking diligence, Ancin copied the glyphs from his books onto the blank parchment. Each glyph was a piece of art in itself, a masterpiece whose replication needed to be perfectly precise to work.

    Not for the first time, he cursed the First Speakers for their decadence. Surely, the glyphs could be simpler. But they weren¡¯t, and so Ancin lost track of time as he copied each one slowly, meticulously drawing connection lines and glyph groupings from one cluster of glyphs to the next. He built the spell until the sun set, and continued afterwards for gods knew how long. By the time he had finished, the stars were high above. He placed, in one spot where he had made a circle with the glyphs, the crystal. Lines connected the spots where its own connecting glyphs were carved to the ones that Ancin had drawn. Then, he opened the small package Liamond had given him.

    Three-inch-long strands of Jasi¡¯s ash brown hair, seemingly black now that they were on their own, sat tied with a small string. She must have given it to Liamond during their conversation. Gently, he placed them in another empty spot in the spell¡ªa symbol of the decision. Finally, he placed his own hand in the final empty spot, the glyphs there layered in concentric circles. He was a symbol of the decision himself, the limiting factor, and the origin point for the spell. It made for a complicated glyph cluster. Briefly, he muttered thanks to Master Inghard for saving him the hassle of redrawing the glyphs on the crystal. When he was done, he took a deep breath, and pressed his will into the spell.

    His room in the inn fell away. It pulled itself apart, turning to sand and blowing away in an intangible wind. When it was gone, Ancin knelt in a black nothingness. Then, from beneath him, a battlefield grew out of the void. Swords sprouted upwards and mounds of bodies began to ebb and flow like waves. And then, grass spread across them like a mold. Flowers bloomed and sunlight abounded. His surroundings seemed to sway from life to death and back to life, clouds swirling overhead only to vanish into blue sky.

    It ended abruptly. Reality shot back at him like daggers, forming around Ancin like a mirror un-fracturing itself. He collapsed to the ground, the spell drawing nearly all of what was left of his energy from him. Auguric visions were always vague. He had told Jasi as much just hours earlier. But never had he listened for echoes of the future¡ªfor the consequences of his own decisions¡ªonly to be so consumed by such incomprehensible imagery. Helping Jasi was important. He knew that for certain now. But would it bring him to ruin? Would it shower him in prosperity? Would it let him go home?

    Between labored breaths, Ancin pulled himself up onto the bed. He missed his feather mattress in the reliquary. A question for tomorrow, he thought, before the world went dark and he receded into sleep.

 Five - Jasi

    Jasi had spent the remainder of the day cursing herself for skipping lunch.

    Pangs of nausea had called away her attention and made her irritable through her afternoon meetings, and by the time she was through with them all, she was certain only half of them had been productive. Most of them had been meetings with merchants and artisans in the city below, and so she had follow-up meetings scheduled with all of them. Then, in the evening, when she would have otherwise taken time to read in the gardens and eat to her desire, she had decided instead that a visit to the temple was in order.

    She had never quite cared for the gods. She took after her father in that respect¡ªit was said her mother was a particularly devout woman. And still, the Queen Consort Lila had not ascended in a great glimmering light as the texts said the devout would. Instead, her soul was whisked away to wherever it was souls went before rebirth. Jasi had seen more noble families than she could count, spoken to more noble parents and noble children than there had any right to be, and so she knew that beliefs and opinions were not always passed from father to son or mother to daughter. Still, Jasi found that the ocean of discrepancy between her and her mother bled heavily these days.

    Jasi had never truly known Lila. She had died when Jasi was only three, taken by sickness that neither alchemy nor prayer could alleviate. It had never bothered her. How could she miss that which she never truly had? But now she wondered. The questions about Lila that she had never asked Thomes or Athyew seemed unavoidably heavy in her mind. And apparently in the minds of others, she thought in the palanquin ride to the temple. It was the reason she was wasting her time visiting the temple, the reason she was sitting in this miserably stuffy box, the reason she would suffer Prophet Sueda¡¯s carping: the people were questioning her legitimacy. Her ability to rule. She was a woman, and that in itself was enough for a revolt, but she was also not known for keeping the faith particularly well, and now her lineage was questioned.

    So she had decided that visiting the temple on her own, beyond the regular morning visit, and making a show of it by traveling in the gilded box with a full complement of guards, might earn her favor with the faithful of Erest. With luck it would help absolve the sin of being female, would help wash away the accused adultery of her father. Wishful thinking, to be sure. Eventually the jostling of travel stopped, and she felt the palanquin touch the ground. The door opened, Sir Willew¡ªthe second-in-command of her personal guard¡ªoffering his hand to help lift her out into the street.

    She thanked him once outside, and looked up at the temple. Kaewold was often likened to a cake, the Tower on the keep on the upper city on the lower city. But it was too steep for that, the buildings too rectangular, too tall for the comparison to make proper sense to her. The First Temple, though, fit the description perfectly. It was a squat cylinder, embellished with stained glass and chiseled depictions of the gods and their lives. Atop it, another cylinder, slightly smaller, but even more gaudy: the glass and marble were replaced with golden reliefs depicting the ascensions of the gods. They glimmered in the late sun.

    ¡°Your Majesty!¡± A middle-aged man called to her. He wore thick robes, colored blue to signify his devotion to Gilan. They swayed with each step. When he reached her, he knelt before her. ¡°We weren¡¯t expecting you.¡±

    Jasi clasped her hands over her stomach. ¡°Yes, well, I felt it prudent to spend extra time in reflection today, and the reflection room in the Tower lacks the¡­supreme guidance of the First Temple. You may rise, Disciple of Gilan.¡±

    Her words overjoyed him. ¡°How wonderful! I am Colmer, forever your servant, ma¡¯am. Shall I take you to a reflection room?¡±

    A crowd of commoners had peered on and followed Jasi since she left the keep. She looked out to them now, held back by her guards. It was a good audience. ¡°Is Prophet Sueda unavailable?¡±

    Colmer¡¯s cheery smile faulted for a moment. ¡°I-I¡¯m afraid Prophet Sueda is tied up in a meeting.¡±

    Thank the gods. ¡°How unfortunate.¡± She gave Colmer a reassuring smile, trying her best to keep the genuine happiness out of it. ¡°Though I¡¯m sure your words of guidance would be most helpful.¡±

    ¡°I would¡­I would be honored, Your Majesty.¡± He beckoned to the temple. ¡°Please, this way.¡±

    Jasi followed him as he led her to a reflection room. She was somewhat disappointed that she had missed the opportunity to see Sueda¡¯s face at learning Jasi had come for meditation of her own will, but between the disciples and the crowd out front, it wouldn¡¯t take long for word to reach her. Another wave of hunger-driven nausea rolled over her, and she pushed it away with annoyance. She admired the interior of the temple as a means of distracting herself.

    The center chamber was massive¡ªmeant to hold an entire district at a time for reflection services. Rows and rows of pillows for kneeling in meditative silence covered the room, split only by the aisle and the reflecting pool at the center. Long and narrow and waist-height, the pool ran from the entrance to the altar at the far end, where one of the prophets would lead a sermon from one of the texts and guide meditation. Colmer led Jasi through the center of the room, by the pool, rather than around the edges. She glanced at it as they went, the bottom a pristine mirror, and the clear water so still that there was no distortion in the reflection.

    Just as the water must be at peace for you to see yourself, so too must you be at peace to reflect upon the teachings of the gods. She¡¯d heard the words countless times in the countless services she had attended as a member of the royal family. Jasi glanced around. The temple was mostly empty at this time of day. A few commoners and disciples sat with their eyes closed, in meditative silence, while others scurried along the curved walls, reading the passages from scripture engraved in them or moving in and out of the many arched doorways. As far as she could tell, no one watched her.

    It was an uncomfortably unfamiliar feeling, to be unseen. How long had it been since she was last in public, unwatched by any? Too long. But the sacredness of the temple kept eyes off her, even if just for a moment. And so she reached down quickly, and touched a finger to the pool. The ripples sprouted forth, bouncing off one another and the edges of the pool. Her reflection below began to warble. It had been a favorite form of rebellion for her as a child, a silent push against the endless, boring hours duty demanded she spend in the temple. As an adult, as the queen, such blasphemy might have brought righteous fury down on her. But none watched her, and seeing Ancin had reminded her ever so slightly of the joys of childhood, and so she indulged.

    Colmer walked ahead of her in silence. He was leading her to the doors behind the altar. There, the greater of the personal reflecting rooms sat, used only by the prophets and nobles. Two of the four of them were already occupied, thick dark oak doors hiding their contents. Jasi wondered briefly who else shared the temple with her this evening. Colmer ushered her into an empty room, closing the door behind her. It was small and bare, as a reflecting room should be. Well-kept marble walls glimmered in the light of a single torch on the right wall. A white pillow¡ªthe color of Tane, god of devotion and faith¡ªsat in the center of the room for Jasi to kneel on. She maneuvered her gown and took her place, while Colmer sat in front of her, in the only chair in the room.

    After an intentional moment of silence, Colmer asked, ¡°What might I help you with today, my queen?¡±

    Jasi closed her eyes, as is customary. It was time to play the part, to pretend she needed the advice of a fanatic. ¡°I seek the guidance of Gilan. I seek to know how best to strengthen the realm.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. I see.¡± Colmer took a moment to reflect on her question. ¡°You are lucky to have met me first, then. Dare I say, luckier than had you met Prophet Sueda, who, is of course, a disciple of Tain. The Cerulean Codex is my specialty.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°In it, Gilan teaches us that¡­¡±

    Jasi let his voice trail off. He continued on, as disciples did, for entirely too long, laboring over the teachings of a centuries-dead king everyone thought a god. He told her to think about this or that in her meditations, to remember one teaching or another. But her stomach churned, unhappy without sustenance, and when he stopped speaking and began meditating, a tempest of anxiety began to storm through her mind. It had raged for weeks now, since her ascension, taking years off her life no doubt. She soaked herself in the thoughts.

    It brought out the weariness in her¡ªall she had done all day was think, and overthink, and plot and plan. And that¡¯s all she had done the day before, and all she would do the day after. And the day after, and the day after¡ªuntil she died. Briefly, she wondered if it might be better to let Artis or Elres take the throne. But no. It belonged to her. It would fall to her children¡ªshe shuddered at the thought of bearing any¡ªand their children after. She wouldn¡¯t surrender it to either uncle or any of her brat cousins.

    Briefly, she thought of Liamond. He¡¯d be furious with her if he knew she was making such a mockery of the faith. He was a worshiper of Gilan himself. Part of her shrunk at the fear of disappointing him. He was her lesser, and to worry about his disappointment was no more significant than worrying about the disappointment of an ant. But he was also her friend. And he had been good and kind to her, and the guilt of using reflection as a political tool against a prophet bit at her, if only slightly. But then she thought of Ancin, of a black eye he¡¯d suffered when they were kids. A group of young boys from Gawic had held him down and beaten him until Master Inghard had dispatched them with a thick, greatwood staff. The memory made her feel sorry for Ancin. Sorry for sending Liamond to find him, for whatever injury had befallen him as a result.

    Liamond saw his faith as a tool for good. But he was na?ve. It was a tool, for good or for bad. And today she was wielding it. Perhaps one day she¡¯d convince him of that.

    But maybe she wouldn¡¯t. She tried to count her allies in her head, and they were so few that it almost made her shake. She had lied to Ancin when she told him her life depended on his findings. Whether or not he found the truth would not change what the people thought of her, what the other lords thought of her. It would only give her personal solace. But that did not mean she was safe from danger. Whoever was behind the rumors meant to kill her, and they would unless she found them before they could rally their troops. Thoughts about handing the throne to her uncles were lies she told herself more than anything¡ªthey¡¯d likely kill her for it, to cut out any other claimants.

    The lords of Erest weren¡¯t her only problem, either. Jasi thought of the crowd of commoners that had followed her here. How many of them thought well of their queen? How many spat insults and cursed her name behind closed doors? Erest¡¯s last true queen had been Queen Sabel I, over a century and a half ago. Under her rule, the kingdom never saw a day of war. It survived a famine that nearly fractured Somyard, and she revitalized Kaewold Road, which had spent nearly five decades being washed away by rain and snow. The history books listed the songs they sang when she died. Her house didn¡¯t even exist anymore.

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    Jasi wasn¡¯t sure how much time had passed when Colmer spoke. It startled her. ¡°I hope not to interrupt, Your Majesty, but you have finished a full reflection. Would you like to continue?¡±

    She opened her eyes and looked at him. ¡°No, thank you. I think I¡¯ve reflected enough for today.¡±

    -

    ¡°I¡¯m not really sure one problem at a time really applies here, Jas.¡± Esri pulled the brush through Jasi¡¯s hair.

    Jasi winced as it caught on a small tangle. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t quite focus on my legacy and the threats to my throne at the same time. I¡¯d sooner lose my mind.¡±

    Esri stopped brushing and looked at Jasi in the mirror. ¡°You have to deal with these things in tandem. You know that. How you deal with the rumors will be part of your legacy. And how you deal with the next problem, and whatever comes after that. There isn¡¯t a whole lot of ¡®now¡¯ in your position.¡±

    When Jasi turned fifteen, she had demanded that her father allow her to return to Kaewold. She was determined to learn the rules of court, and Thomes had thought there might have been an opportunity to find a young lord to betroth her to, so he had let her. But the move meant that Jasi was returning to the care of the royal household and was in need of a new master of wardrobe. Esri, daughter of the royal family¡¯s chamberlain, and only a few years older than Jasi herself, had seemed the ideal choice. The two had grown close, as personal servants and their lieges often did. The two were in Jasi¡¯s chambers. Jasi sat before her vanity while Esri helped her prepare for bed. While she worked, Jasi had asked for advice about her thoughts in the temple.

    Jasi sighed at Esri¡¯s answer. She was right. She normally was, Esri. Sometimes Jasi envied her, to have spent her whole life in the castle, watching the players at court, watching them maneuver around each other, while Jasi got sent to frolic in the flowers down in Gawic for half a decade. But Esri was lowborn. A servant with no name, with no inheritance. Her time at court had been at others¡¯ feet, unseen and unheard. ¡°Well. I¡¯ll keep that in mind once I¡¯ve figured out who¡¯s behind them.¡±

    Esri nodded. ¡°Your friend, the mage, will he help?¡±

    ¡°No, probably not.¡± She thought back to her conversation with him earlier. ¡°I fear I might have asked too much of him. But I put a point on the request, made sure he knows how important it is he follows through.¡±

    The brush hit another snag. ¡°And if he doesn¡¯t?¡±

    Jasi winced and then scoffed. ¡°Gods, I don¡¯t know. Another bridge I¡¯ll cross when I get to it. But either way, I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll be terribly helpful with finding the source of the rumors.¡±

    Esri knitted her brows. ¡°If the rumors have any truth to them¡ª¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t.¡± Jasi hadn¡¯t even thought the words before she spoke them.

    Esri looked up from Jasi¡¯s hair and stared at her in the mirror again, her pale blue eyes catching Jasi¡¯s brown, striking and apologetic. ¡°If you thought that were true you wouldn¡¯t have called him to investigate.¡± When Jasi looked away but didn¡¯t respond, Esri put the brush down and laid her hands on Jasi¡¯s shoulders. They were warm and familiar and kind. Something in Jasi¡¯s chest called for tears, but she refused it.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re nervous about this,¡± Esri told her. ¡°I know what it would mean if the rumors are true. I know the pain that would cause. But you have to consider that there might be truth behind the words. You have to prepare yourself for that.¡±

    The words fed a small hole in Jasi¡¯s stomach. It stirred beneath the horde of other thoughts she had buried it beneath. For a second, it stole her voice. Eventually, she asked, ¡°How are the preparations for my uncles¡¯ arrival proceeding?¡±

    Jasi felt Esri¡¯s eyes, but her master of wardrobe pulled away eventually, taking up the brush again. ¡°Well. To a degree. The Tower¡¯s meant to host. It can be prepared for a feast on short notice relatively easily, but Prince Artis¡¯ ever-expanding retinue is putting it to the test.¡±

    The same day she¡¯d called for Ancin, Jasi had summoned both of her uncles, the Princes Artis and Elres, to Kaewold. ¡®To swear oaths of fealty to the newly crowned queen and the realm over which she governs,¡¯ the official summons had said. There was truth to it¡ªall of the lords of the realm had sworn oaths of fealty had been sworn to Athyew on his selection day, when he¡¯d become the crown prince, but not to her, not yet. And it made sense for the remaining members of House Valonde¡ªas those with the greatest claim to her throne¡ªwould swear them first. But the greater truth of it was that Jasi knew one of them would have been responsible for the rumors.

    If a lord wished to see her deposed, then all they needed to do was to claim that she was unfit to rule, convince enough of his peers of it, and march on Kaewold to prove it. But by calling her legitimacy into question, the rumors appealed to the tradition of inheritance¡ªsaying that she could not have the crown, but another member of her house should. A different house making such claims could rally troops against her, but would find themselves fighting against the next in line as well. It only made sense that the claims came from within. So she had called them to Kaewold, to swear before the whole realm that they would not rebel, and interrogate them about who was plotting to rebel anyway.

    The messengers she¡¯d sent had told her that Elres had packed light, taken a complement of guards, and ridden off on horseback. Artis, however, had decided to ride south from Cadun with his wife, the Countess Eryel, three of their four children, and a small army of servants. The exact numbers seemed to increase with each scouting report. Ersi¡¯s mother, Wena, was the Tower¡¯s chamberlain, and had expressed more than once her displeasure at having to organize such a large feast for their arrival.

    ¡°What a nightmare,¡± Jasi told her. ¡°What are the chances a hurricane sweeps them away before they arrive?¡±

    Esri let out a short laugh. ¡°Are they really so bad?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re¡­I don¡¯t remember much. I haven¡¯t seen any of them in years, and last I did neither Artis nor Eryel paid me much mind. I was a child, so I was sent to play with the children. And they¡¯re all bad, the whole lot of them. The boys are practically animals. Robern used to pay the bondsmen to spar while he and Athyew watched. Nieles is younger, but would follow Robern around like a mockingbird. Equally as terrible, that one, if for an especially miserable reason.¡± She grimaced at the thought of seeing either of them again. ¡°The girls aren¡¯t much better. Jaine¡¯s a raging bitch. I hear she¡¯s been married off to the Tiergels, though, so thankfully I won¡¯t have to see her ever again. And Ceci¡­once she asked me how the mills would work once the windmills used up all the wind.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you think you might be a little too harsh?¡± Esri finished with the brush and moved to the bed, peeling back the covers and preparing the pillows. ¡°You were children. It¡¯s been years. They might have changed.¡±

    Jasi stayed seated, staring blankly at herself in the mirror. ¡°I can only hope.¡±

    ¡°And what about the other one? Prince Elres? Is he as bad as your cousins?¡±

    Memories of Elres fostered a smile. ¡°No. No, Elres has always been wonderful. I saw him just last year, though still for the first time in a while.¡±

    Esri finished with the bed and sat in a chair just off to Jasi¡¯s right. ¡°Any ideas as to which one is trying to screw you?¡±

    For a moment, Jasi just looked at her, thinking. ¡°Probably not Robern. He might be stupid enough to try something like this, but not with his father between him and the throne. And I don¡¯t think he has the patience for intrigue. He¡¯d sooner raise an army and fight a war over it. But, maybe. So long as my family wears the crown, Cadun wanes in Kaewold¡¯s shadow. But that goes for Artis, too. I don¡¯t remember much of what he¡¯s like. He could very well be a snake. He is next in line, after all. I won¡¯t know until he gets here and I can speak to him.

    ¡°Elres¡­I don¡¯t know. He never married, never sired any heirs. It might be that he¡¯s fine with letting Thetford return to crownlands once he passes, but it might be that he''s not interested in watching his own legacy disappear. And Thetford¡¯s suffered in recent years. House Faleress has played hard at controlling the ports down there. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they wronged him in some way, if he thinks he could exact a toll on them as king.¡± She sighed again and rubbed her eyes. ¡°Othgan says he¡¯s interrogated the merchants who came to town spreading rumors.

    ¡°They¡¯re all poor. No extra goods, no extra bolts. They all came from the east, pockets just as empty as any other trader¡¯s. Either the rumor¡¯s especially popular among the commoners out that way, or someone paid them before they left home.¡±

    ¡°Word doesn''t spread like that,¡± Esri told her. ¡°How many have they arrested now? Five? Six? All with the same story? If it were spreading naturally, you¡¯d have heard eight different tales from those six men. They¡¯re being told what to say. And if they¡¯re coming from the east¡ª¡±

    ¡°Then that¡¯s Cadun, Artis.¡± Jasi finished for her.

    Esri leaned forward in her seat, surrounding herself with the thought experiment. ¡°But only if Elres wouldn¡¯t be smart enough to send his agents another way, maybe even from a direction that implicates his brother.¡±

    Kaewold was crawling with spies. Such was the nature of a capital city. Foreign spies¡ªfrom Somyard, from Pesoria, Arb, Bregelin¡ªcertainly, but even more from the houses of Erest, great, minor, and petty all alike. A word whispered in the Tower was certain to be heard in the Spike and the Crescent alike. Advisors and merchants made for good spies, but the best were always servants. The right bolts in the right pocket bought nobles ears that went everywhere and were seen by none. Lord Cemaer, the royal spymaster, had his own army of them, but a good monarch knew better than to rely on another lord for all their information. So the servants of the royal family scrubbed the floors and tended the fires and passed on sensitive information from one noble to another, as they had since the first castle was built.

    As chamberlain, Wena was the royal family¡¯s personal spymaster¡ªnot the realm¡¯s¡ªand her daughter Esri had learned to play her part wonderfully. It made her a good sounding board for such conversations, and in the years since she¡¯d returned to Kaewold, Jasi had found her friend and servant a more than capable agent. ¡°I need a favor,¡± she asked Esri.

    A smile flickered across her face. ¡°Anything.¡±

    ¡°When my uncles get here, I need to know everything. They¡¯ll have their own servants, but I trust that won¡¯t be too much of a problem.¡±

    Esri shrugged. ¡°It will slow things down. But I¡¯ll speak to mother. If it''s what the queen commands, it will be done.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± The two sat silently for a moment, bathed in candlelight and moonlight alike. Owls called from outside her window, and murmurs of the retiring city below filled the quiet space. In the silence, Jasi¡¯s mind began to wander. It didn¡¯t get far¡ªstopping just at the far wall of her chambers.

    The lady¡¯s chambers weren¡¯t hers. They were, by right and by law, but she had not slept here until her father¡¯s passing. It had instead been her mother¡¯s room, left empty after her own death years earlier. When she ascended, Jasi claimed the room and found herself surrounded by the decor of her mother¡ªuntouched save for the cleaning staff. A great oil landscape of the Wolf¡¯s Den, a valley far in the north, hung over the hearth, hung opposite the vanity. It had been a gift from Thomes to Lila.

    ¡°What do they say of him?¡± she finally asked, the words far weaker than she intended.

    Compassion lines framed Esri¡¯s face. She dropped her head for a moment, and Jasi knew she was searching for the right words. ¡°They say very little, Jas. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Jasi chewed on that. Her eldest uncle, Wulfa, had died as a boy. It was how her father had come to be king¡ªWulfa had ascended at the age of five, and the crown fell to Thomes. The King that Would Have Been, they called him. The Boy King. Wulfa Brief. Sometimes the titles came in jest, in vicious mockery of a child who died before his time. Sometimes it was in reverence, in commiseration of an unfortunate boy. Thomes had grown furious when the names reached his ears, regardless of the intention.

    But it was a title. It had kept Wulfa¡¯s name in the mouths of the common folk, just as Helmond the Lily was, or Masym the Brave. Jasi felt relief and misery at the idea that her father¡¯s name would slip into the histories like the dozens of other kings lost to the common people¡¯s short memories. She took a deep breath. ¡°I think I¡¯d like to be alone now, Esri.¡±

    Her servant, her spy, her friend looked at her for a moment before moving. Then, she stood, placing a hand on Jasi¡¯s back. Comfort radiated from the touch. ¡°Of course, my queen.¡±

    And then she was gone. Jasi stood and blew out the candles before wandering slowly to the bed. She climbed in. She let her thoughts wrap around her, just as she wrapped herself with the covers. She thought of the father that loved her, of the brother that she hated, and of how they had both left her on the same day, left her alone and lost in a throne too big for her and a crown so heavy it threatened to crush her with its weight. She thought of how they would never come back, of how she had not been able to mourn them.

    And then, as she had done for twenty-eight nights in a row, she cried herself to sleep.