The western edge of the Terril Forest ended abruptly, the lands beyond having once been cleared for farming. Those fields were overgrown now, with weeds, brush, and small trees that had sprung up after the humans abandoned the area over fifty years earlier, but there was still a stark divide between the former crop lands and the tall tershaya lining the border.

Shavala peered up at the sky through the spyglass she’d taken from a dead mercenary at Tir Yadar. The tiny dot above her was certainly no bird, but it was difficult to track a moving target with the glass while simultaneously adjusting the lenses.

There was a faint brush of a footstep behind her, and she turned to find Dalanis, leader of one of the ranger patrols based at the western border camp.

“Is that it?” she asked him, pointing.

He glanced up. “Yes, it flies this way a few times each week. Meritia asked me to find you. The group that visited the human village has returned, so the elders are calling everyone together.”

Shavala nodded and followed him back to the large temporary camp that had been assembled under cover of the forest. The conclave had been gathering for two weeks, scouting the western border and discussing the problem in small groups, but this would be the first time they all met together.

Shavala herself had only been there for a day. She and Meritia had stopped in Terrillia along the way and waited to escort the final group of druid elders on the journey.

From Terrillia, they’d headed west, passing through the western border camp, then continuing on to the border itself. Now, eighty druids had gathered together in one location, including all of the elders who were capable of traveling. Over two hundred rangers had accompanied them, though most had been deployed along the border to watch for the dragon.

Back at the temporary camp, the elders had arranged themselves cross-legged on the ground in a loose circle. Younger druids were farther out and higher up, standing or sitting on rocks or fallen tree trunks so they could see what was happening.

Shavala joined them, climbing a tree and sitting on a low branch next to a young man whose name she didn’t know. She gave him a quick smile, but before she could introduce herself, Gylvaren started speaking. He wasn’t the most senior of the elders, but as the leader of the western border camp, he was the one who’d called the conclave.

“We all know why we’ve come together,” he started. “Some of you have had the opportunity to view the burned remains of the nearest human settlements. Others have seen the dragon with your own eyes. A threat has come to the Terril Forest, of a sort we haven’t seen in many years. The danger is only potential, not yet realized, but the dragon is now flying nearly a hundred miles into our borders on a regular basis. We must decide whether we will take action.”

“Has it made any move against the forest?” Elder Nariela asked, her graying hair tied in dozens of youthful braids.

“It sometimes lands in a clearing, and twice it’s been observed to take an unlucky deer. Usually, it just flies over. The tree canopy seems to prevent further incursion.”

“It’s a living creature. It’s not our place to stop it if it chooses to hunt a few deer. Even humans are allowed to hunt here as long as they stay beyond the outposts.”

“The dragon’s behavior suggest it’s seeking to expand its territory,” Gylvaren said. “What if it decides the western forest belongs to it? Already our rangers must keep a careful watch at all times in case it flies overhead. The next time it hunts, it may not be a deer that it takes.”

“In Cetos, the people live in balance with dragons,” said Zhailai, one of the more well-traveled druids, speaking out even though she wasn’t an elder. “Can we not do that here?”

Old Arvillin, who’d taught Shavala to call fire, made a curt chopping motion with his hand. “Cetos has beasts of great size for the dragons to hunt,” he said. “The dragons are drawn to the regions where those creatures make their homes. The people who live in that area understand the risks.”

“We’ve not all come together to fight back an intruder for hundreds of years,” said an elder Shavala didn’t recognize. “Not since the last time the humans tried to invade the forest. What we did then, I will always regret. I advise caution in our approach. A measured response.”

“But what if it sets fires?” someone called from the outermost circle, causing a discordant sensation within the tree bond. Up until that point, only the elders and the most senior of druids had spoken. “We can’t allow it to burn the forest.”

“It’s winter,” Meritia replied from where she was sitting with several other senior druids just outside the circle of elders. “The woods are too wet to burn, and we can summon more rain if we need to.”

“Can we convince it to leave the area?” asked another of the elders. “Or at least return to its original territory?”

“We can’t speak to dragons,” Gylvaren reminded the man.

“No, but perhaps someone from Cetos knows another way to communicate with it. Luring it away, perhaps?”

“I doubt luring it away will work if it’s expanding its range,” Gylvaren said. “It already returns regularly to its lair at the human’s trade keep. Where else could we convince it to go?”

The elder who’d pushed for caution spoke up again. “The dragon hasn’t attempted to harm the forest or our people. We must allow it to follow its natural law.”

“Natural law applies if it’s not harming thinking beings or unbalancing an ecosystem,” one of the senior druids protested. “What about the humans it’s killed in the free lands?”

“It’s neither our place nor our duty to protect the humans.”

The man sitting next to Shavala spoke up. “And the elven villages in the free lands?” he called out. “Shouldn’t we protect them?”

Shavala had learned of the dorvasta settlements outside the forest from a leatherworker in Tyrsall, but judging by the quiet murmuring throughout the younger members of the crowd, it seemed not everyone knew. The elders went stone-faced.

“They chose to leave the safety of the forest,” Nariela said. “They’ve made it clear they don’t want our protection.”

“Most are to the south or east, to avoid drawing too much attention,” said Tovali, another of the elders, directing her comments to those who hadn’t been aware of the villages. “I don’t know of any to the west.”

“There was one once, but they relocated when the dragon first came to the free lands,” Gylvaren said in reluctant agreement.

As the newest full druid, it wasn’t Shavala’s place to speak up, but her friends were in the free lands already. They would be on their way to Four Roads. Did they know about the dragon yet? Were they in danger?

She ignored the tree bond’s urge to keep quiet. “Are human villages any less deserving of protection than our own?” she asked.

The elders kept their faces expressionless after that remark, but they couldn’t mask their unease from the tree bond. There was a moment of silence as uncertainty rippled through the crowd.

But then the man who’d argued against taking action spoke once more. “Within the forest, natural law is clear,” he said. “Outside the forest, the humans will protect their own kind. They’ve fought dragons before, and they wouldn’t welcome our intrusion into their lands.”

That was true enough, and the unease faded as consensus was reached. The discussion continued, with plans to position druids along the border to watch for fires or any sort of attack, but everyone knew a decision had already been made.

Gylvaren kept quiet. He watched the proceedings with a look of disapproval, but appeared unwilling to fight against the accord achieved within the tree bond.

What would Shavala’s friends do when they learned of the dragon? Would they continue on to Four Roads?

What should she do?

#

“We now have two thousand soldiers and fifteen hundred mercenaries deployed to the northern border, Your Majesty,” Field Marshal Tregood said. “Those numbers include our standard garrisons as well as the reinforcements. And, of course, there are nearly two hundred knights at Fort Northtower, though they run their own patrols.”

“Is there any news out of Blue Vale?” Rusol asked.

“Our scouts report that they’re still recruiting soldiers, but … it’s Blue Vale, Your Majesty. They don’t have the numbers to attack south. We can block the pass at Northtower with just the knights and the local garrison, and if they try a different crossing, we’ll have time to move our troops around.”

That matched Yassi’s visions.

“What do you think they’re doing?”

“I couldn’t say, Sire.”

“If you had to guess?”

Tregood pursed his lips. “With Leonis dead, they might feel they need a stronger military to guard against the barbarian clans. They may not be looking south at all.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Lord Tregood, but let’s leave the reinforcements in place until we’re certain.” That sounded like a sufficiently kingly thing to say.

“Yes, Sire. Now, along the eastern passes …”

The field marshal continued to drone on about troop dispositions, but Rusol had heard it all before. He stared out the window, across the garden, to where stonemasons were working to repair the section of the ramparts that had been destroyed in the lightning blast. Rusol remembered swinging his blade, but he couldn’t remember if it had connected before the lighting bolt he’d accidentally called down had struck, hitting both him and Sharra. His divine defensive spells had snapped into place just in time, protecting him from his own elder magic as well as the twenty-foot drop to the gardens below. His mother had been killed instantly.

The royal guards on duty the day of the coronation were all part of the group that regularly watched over the family’s quarters. Over the years, Marten had influenced them to keep quiet about any magic they saw, and Rusol had reestablished his father’s fading compulsion spells in the weeks before the coronation. When the men from the nearest guard towers had rushed down to check on what had happened, it had been easy enough to make them forget Rusol had been on the battlements, convincing them his mother had gone up alone. Coming so soon after his father’s death, it seemed prudent to avoid any awkward questions that would come up if anyone knew he’d been present when his mother died.

So far, it was working. Most people seemed to believe Sharra was killed by a sudden and unexpected lightning storm. There was some muttering about bad omens, but no one had suggested the presence of magic—other than Kolvi, of course, who’d sensed the storm forming. Rusol had told her the truth, and Yassi, but he hadn’t decided whether to tell Merice. She deserved to know she wasn’t responsible for her husband’s death, but she’d still been duped into administering the fatal dose. The truth might just make things worse. And Merice wasn’t in her right mind; if Rusol told her what had actually happened, he’d have to put her under a compulsion spell to keep her from talking. He couldn’t do that to her—she was the last living member of his family.

His family. His father was dead, and his brother. His brother’s mother was half mad with grief. Merice hadn’t quite been a second mother to Rusol, but she’d always had sweets for him when he was growing up. There was little left of the woman he remembered.

And his own mother. He should have felt grief for her death, but instead there was only a yawning emptiness in his gut when he thought about her betrayal.

The wardens hadn’t killed Rikard. For five years, Rusol had believed the wardens had murdered his brother as a warning—coming so soon, as it had, after the First’s threats. But it had been Sharra all along.

Did it change anything, though? The First was a rambling lunatic, attacking Rusol in that strange dream, angered about a demonborn joining the ranks of the wardens. Leonis had been insane too, and mad with power. If his plan had worked, the Church of Pallisur would have ruled supreme throughout all the lands. He’d had to be stopped.

The wardens were dangerous, wielding too much power without any sort of oversight.

But they hadn’t killed Rikard.

A stray word caught Rusol’s attention. “Wait,” he told Tregood. “What did you say about a dragon?”

“The dragon in the free lands, Sire, at Matagor’s old trade keep. It’s attacking farther out than normal. Four Roads sent a formal request for aid, but I turned them down.”

“Shouldn’t we do something?” Rusol asked. “The knights are trained to fight dragons.” Though it had been over two hundred years since they’d last fought one, so the quality of that training was questionable.

“Yes, Sire, they are, but Sir Noris has looked over the old records, and he doesn’t believe there’s any chance the creature will reach the kingdom. If it does, it’ll hit Fort Hightower first, which has sturdy walls and defenses—an excellent spot from which to face it. Most likely, though, it’ll stop somewhere in the hills.” Tregood smirked. “That should keep the hillfolk too busy to go on raids.”

“And Four Roads?”

The field marshal shrugged. “They chose to live in the free lands. Half of them probably ended up there on the run from the law. I don’t see any reason to spend the lives of our men to protect them. I’d advise that we allow Matagor to handle it. Its their keep.”

Rusol frowned. Wouldn’t that give Matagor more influence in the region?

Then again, Marten had always stressed that the king’s role was to protect Larso and its own citizens, not their neighbors. Currying favor with the free lands was pointless—it was the weakest region in the north, with no government larger than a town council. What could they offer?

Rusol nodded. “Very well. Let Four Roads fend for itself, but check with Sir Noris that the knights at Fort Hightower are making preparations in case the dragon does reach us. Ask him to send a detachment of a hundred knights from Telfort to join them.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Do you have any other news for me today?”

“No, Sire.”

“Then I have one last order for you.” Rusol laid his hand on the man’s shoulders and quickly layered in the levels of the newest hunter compulsion.

Rusol had made a mistake before. He’d taken control of every knight at Fort Northtower. Then, after learning that the newest warden had returned to Aravor, he’d created a new unit of hunters among the mercenaries so they’d be ready if he needed them.

But he’d gone about it all wrong. Even the strongest demonborn faced limitations on the numbers they could influence, and with the priests, the knights, the hunters, the royal guards, and the family’s servants, Rusol was rapidly approaching his limit.

Controlling the individuals was a waste of power. The way to control the masses was to control the leaders.

Field Marshal Tregood was in overall command of Larso’s army, and he even had oversight of the mercenary army, though the mercenary commanders also reported directly to Rusol. While the knights and the lords would step in during times of war to coordinate units of soldiers, particularly as the army swelled to include conscripts and the lords’ own guardsmen, in peacetime the entire chain of command led to Tregood.

Influencing him and a few other key officers would give Rusol more complete control over the army than he had even as king.

Tregood’s eyes flashed red, then returned to their natural color. He shook his head and blinked as the spell took hold. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

#

Melithar pushed the stack of papers aside and rubbed his temples. It had been months and he hadn’t made any further progress on his investigation into the assassination attempts against the royal family.

Retavin di’Yedda had maintained until the end that he’d worked alone, but the man was too stupid to have masterminded the whole thing. There was a strange dichotomy between the careful planning surrounding the assassination attempts versus the careless execution of those plans. Retavin had been questioned under the truth spell, but Melithar had seen him nearly resist the questioning once. Had he managed to withstand certain questions? Or had Melithar simply asked the wrong ones?

There was a knock at the door to his suite in the ambassadorial wing of the Glass Palace. Even though he was no longer traveling to foreign nations, he still maintained his masquerade as Ambassador Melithar. It was now one of his longest-lasting identities, if he added up all the different times he’d gone by that name. It was almost starting to feel like his own.

He opened the door to find one of the queen’s personal spies on the other side. The man was young, no more than a hundred fifty years old, and was dressed as a low-ranking representative of the di’Valla trading concerns, but Melithar had observed him several times over the years taking on other identities.

“Lord Vilar,” the man said. “My name is Arisu.” The spy had been around the palace long enough to know the name Melithar was using. Substituting an older name could only mean he’d realized that Melithar, too, was an agent.

Melithar let him into the room and closed the door before responding. “Not bad, considering it was before you were born, but Vilar wasn’t a lord—he was merely a secretary. You’re thinking of Lord Eltaris.” It was best not to let the spy think about the name Vilar for too long, or what it might mean. Many of the High Councilors had guessed, correctly, that Commandant Jorel was Ellerie’s father. Some assumed he was Vilisa’s as well. As a minor noble, Jorel was an acceptable choice. Vilar, a commoner who’d become one of Revana’s closest confidantes long before she was crowned queen, was not.

“You played both roles,” Arisu said. “At the same time.”

“That was a very long time ago, but yes. You’ve done your research. Or the queen told you.”

Arisu grimaced. “The sentinels won’t allow me in to speak to Her Exalted Majesty. She sent me north to look into something, and I need to give her my report. Can you help?”

“Report to me, and I’ll see that she gets the message,” Melithar said. Not that he was permitted to see Revana any longer either, but he was at least allowed into the same room. Her condition had grown worse. She’d ordered a row of dressing panels installed to hide her bed, and only her personal maid was allowed behind the panels to see and care for her decaying body.

The spy gave a short bow of acknowledgement. “The man who used to rule Blue Vale, a priest of Pallisur by the name of Leonis, is dead. A group of his underling priests has taken charge of the city, but they answer to a woman.”

Melithar raised an eyebrow. “Pallisur doesn’t choose female priests. Leonis’s wife, perhaps?”

“I don’t know, though I did see her wearing a sword belt. They’ve started marshaling an army, but neither she nor the priests would speak to me about it, even after I explained that Terevas would like to open diplomatic relations. Leonis died at Fort Northtower, so I’d guess that may be related.”

“How did he die?” Melithar asked. He’d heard of Leonis before—had even been to Blue Vale once—but he hadn’t been paying attention to recent events. There was seldom any interesting news out of the northern plains.

The spy held his hands out in a wide shrug. “Nobody seems to know for sure, but the rumor in Blue Vale is that he was killed by soldiers from Larso.”

Melithar considered that. “And you think they’ll strike back? Blue Vale is stronger than most cities on the plains, but a war against Larso won’t go well for them.”

“What if they attacked along the border, trying to draw the Larsonian forces north? They could ambush smaller groups and disrupt their supply lines. After the North Border War, the barbarian clans might help.”

The new kid didn’t know everything, it seemed. He was thinking like a dorvasta skirmisher, not a Knight of Pallisur.

“Whatever we might think of Larso, their generals aren’t stupid,” Melithar said. “They follow the teachings of the God of War. Their armies will only cross the border if they have enough force to defeat their enemy. And Blue Vale has spent the last few years chasing off the nearest barbarian clans. Common enemy or not, I doubt they’ll cooperate.”

Arisu frowned. “Blue Vale follows the God of War too. Why would they attack if you think they can’t win?”

“Who says they’re actually planning to attack? Blue Vale doesn’t amount to much with its leader dead, and the Carved Basin was never much of a nation to begin with. Without Leonis, it’ll probably fracture into independent towns again, like the rest of the northern plains … unless the people are given some reason to remain united against a common threat. They might not be planning a war at all; they might just be posturing to keep the region under their control.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“No, it’ll be something for our military minds to puzzle out. Our role is to report what we observe.”

“You’ll tell Her Exalted Majesty, then?”

“Of course,” Melithar said, though he had no intention of bothering the queen with news about a conflict happening more than a thousand miles away. He’d tell Vilisa, but Revana had enough to worry about already. “What about the new king in Larso?” he continued. “Rusol? The old king must have died around the same time you were passing through Telfort.”

“I took the country roads to get back faster,” Arisu said. “I didn’t hear the news about King Marten until I’d reached Matagor.”

Melithar nodded. “Then I have another task for you,” he said.

Half an hour later, he was alone once more and had just returned to looking through his notes when the door flew open and Vilisa stormed in. “Where is it?” she demanded.

“Where is what?” he asked, quickly standing to show respect. There was no telling what might set her off these days.

“My spell book!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The book is missing!” Vilisa said. “You took it!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You’re the one who keeps trying to convince me to get rid of it!”

Melithar looked his daughter directly in the eye. “I promise you, Exalted, I had nothing to do with it.”

She stared back at him for a moment, and then the fight left her. “Then who did? Who could have gotten into the palace? Into my chambers? Was it one of our own people? Only the sentinels and my maids are allowed into my rooms.”

“Perhaps Retavin’s assassins weren’t only after your life, but the book as well. We need to find out who was truly behind the attempts. They may have sent another team.”

“Another of your conspiracies? Retavin is dead, and there haven’t been any other attacks. He was working alone, except for his hirelings.”

“Or so he claimed.”

Vilisa waved that off. “Enough. Unless you have new evidence to present, I’m not going to discuss this with you again—and Mother agrees. You’ve wasted enough time on it already. You can help me find out who actually took the book instead.”

Melithar gave a mocking half-bow. “As you wish, Exalted,” he said. “Or perhaps you could consider this a blessing.”

Vilisa sighed. “Not this again. Mother had that spell book for two centuries and it didn’t hurt her any.”

“Do you really believe that? Think back to what you were like before Ellerie left, or even just a year ago, and compare that to now.”

She furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll understand. You’ve changed.”

She scowled at him. “I don’t know why my mother tolerates your behavior, but she won’t be around forever. Consider carefully whether you wish to continue your role in the future.”

“The book is dangerous—it’s dark magic.”

“There’s no such thing,” Vilisa said. “Magic is a tool like any other. All that matters is the intention of the person who wields it.”

“There’s a lot more to the world than you can see here in the palace. I’ve been a wizard for longer than you’ve been alive, Exalted, and I’m telling you that there’s something wrong with the spells in that book.”

“They’re just spells.”

“Do you want to end up like Revana? Dying slowly and painfully from a wasting disease that no priest can heal? How do you think she got sick?” That was just a guess on Melithar’s part, but he suspected he was right.

“You go too far!” Vilisa snapped, but her voice wavered. For a moment, she looked like the child she still was, and Melithar silently cursed Ellerie for leaving her sister behind to deal with everything by herself. If Ellerie had remained in Terevas as the heir, the book would have gone to her, and Vilisa would still be the studious but carefree girl she’d been just a few short years ago.

“I’ve known your mother for hundreds of years,” Melithar said. “I saw how she changed after she found that book. She didn’t believe me at first either, and then later, she didn’t care. And now the same thing is happening to you.”

Vilisa was trembling. “I don’t believe you,” she said.

“Ask her.”

She stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Once Melithar was certain she wasn’t going to return, he activated the mage lock on the door, then went into the bedroom and knelt down to reach up and under the frame of a wooden wardrobe. From the leather pocket he’d nailed to the underside—out of view of anyone who might be peeking under the furniture—he retrieved Vilisa’s spell book.

He’d expected to be rid of it before she noticed it was missing, but it was warded against both regular and magical fire—a common protection for spell books. A direct magical attack hadn’t worked either, and he hadn’t been able to tear the pages in half or cut them out of the book with a knife, and those protections were much less common. His attempt to banish the warding spells had been unsuccessful.

After considering his options, he dropped the book into the washbasin in the corner of the room. The ambassadorial wing was well appointed, and each suite had an indoor hand pump for water. Melithar filled the basin until the water covered the book, then waited several minutes before retrieving it. There was no damage at all—the ink hadn’t run and the pages weren’t waterlogged. The spell book was apparently warded against water as well.

He was running out of ideas, and all the warding-spell experts he knew worked for either the queen herself or one of the other noble houses. He couldn’t risk asking them. The book was too dangerous to sell or toss away, and he couldn’t bury it or leave it hidden indefinitely. If Vilisa ever convinced Eloina to cast the truth spell on him, he’d end up telling her where to find it.

Melithar still had contacts in the city, though—contacts who weren’t above breaking the law. He couldn’t tell them the whole truth, but he could put out word that he was looking for someone able to break wards. With luck, that would be enough to find what he needed.

For now, he’d have to look for a new hiding place, perhaps somewhere outside the palace, and hope Vilisa didn’t catch on until after the book had been destroyed.

#

It was after dark when the group finally arrived in Four Roads. The inns on the east side of town were full, so Corec led his friends to Mama Wenna’s boarding house. Along the way, they passed two new large, hastily built structures with thin wooden walls, the lumber not having had time yet to weather. Judging by the silent, dirt-smudged faces of the people huddling near the entrances, the buildings were being used to shelter refugees from the biting winter winds.

The boarding house was on the outskirts of town. Wenna must have heard the horses and wagons—she rushed out of the house to greet them, wiping her hands against her apron.

“Corec!” she said. “You’re back! It’s been so long!”

Corec dismounted and gave the stout woman a quick hug. “It’s good to see you, Mama Wenna. How have you been?”

“Oh, it’s been so crazy with all the people and the talk about the dragon, and all my rooms are full. I …” She paused and glanced behind him. Corec and Ellerie had dismissed most of their mage lights so they wouldn’t draw attention, but they’d kept a few hidden in lanterns to light their way. It was enough to allow Wenna to see the full size of the group. “Oh, my,” she said. “I don’t have enough space. Even your room has an entire family in it. I put your things in the attic.”

“It’s all right, Wenna. We’ll just camp out in your garden plot if you don’t mind. We’ll pay you for it. You don’t have any winter vegetables planted, do you?”

Wenna took a moment, looking from the group to the garden behind her house. “I suppose that would be all right. There are just some carrots and cabbages, but they’re off to the side.”

“We’ll keep the horses out of them.”

“Oh, but Corec, I can’t cook for so many people! I can barely keep up with the new boarders as it is!”

“We’ll take care of our own cooking,” Corec said. “We really just need a place to pitch our tents for a few days while we decide what to do next. We’ll probably head north soon, but we’ll find a stable for the animals tomorrow so you don’t have to worry about them mucking up your yard.”

“The stables are full, all those poor people coming from down south. Some of them only managed to bring a horse or a few cows, but how are they going to pay the stable fees over the winter?” Wenna shook her head. “What am I saying? You surprised me so much I’m forgetting my manners. Why don’t you introduce me to your friends?”