King Gregory glared across the table at his wife. It had been a long time since they had shared a meal. The last was for a function attended by hold lords. A requirement they filled by acting the parts of king and queen, their hatred hidden by a curtain of faux respect.

It was a series of disconnected events that led them to share food today. A mix-up in the kitchen and the lack of servants caused by a sickness that was crawling through the castle. Margarey's sitting room, her usual place to take a meal, was being cleaned. It seems the hearth's chimney became clogged with snow and filled the room with smoke, then ash when the snow melted and gave way. Gregory smiled inside, wishing he had been there to see the panic on her face. It was the least of what she deserved.

"Sire!" The page who called followed with a raspy cough and wiped snot from his nose. The sickness was spreading quickly, but hardly deadly. Gregory thought about sending the page to his bed before the contents of the man's stomach ended up on the floor.

"Aye," Gregory replied, holding his hand out to stop the page's advance. Margarey didn't look up from the roast duck she was picking at. Trivial things like running the kingdom were beneath her.

"A rider has come, Sire. He brings word of his Eminence's imminent arrival." The page was panting. Sick, yet ran to bring word. Margarey's head rose, the duck no longer interesting.

"Is there a count?"

"Seven Brethren in all and a troop of soldiers, Sire."

"Send for Siggard."

"He's bedridden, Sire. Donnalli has recovered, though moving slow."

"Will you last the visit?"

"As you command, Sire."

"I'm afraid my commands don't control your health. Send in Donnalli, and anyone else still standing. Tell the kitchen the count and have something prepared. They won't be expecting anything extensive - wine, cheese, and bread should suffice."

"Aye, Sire." The page turned to carry out the orders. A good man. Gregory wondered why. If the truth were known, that man and the rest of Angoria would hang their king on the nearest tree. Margarey smiled at Gregory as she stood and straightened her gown.

"A visit from his Eminence. Whatever have we done to deserve such an honor?" Margarey said, knowing full well an unannounced visit wasn't to be welcomed. A thought flashed through Gregory's mind, a short happy dream of plunging the knife that lay on the edge of his plate into his wife's chest. He let it pass as he always did. Her time would come, be it from him or from the unfulfilled promises of Magna'est.

"I am sure we have failed him in some way."

"We?" Margarey said. Disgust coated the word. "It is the king who enforces the Goddess' dictates, not the queen." She turned to leave and prepare herself for the arrival. "There is no we," she mumbled as she walked away.

The King grumbled, biting back a retort. He'd have to make sure her sitting room was repaired before the next meal. Either that or ban knives from the hall to stop the inevitable. Meals with that woman were insufferable.

Meeting Magna'est in the throne room was by design. In theory, the king reigned over all including the Brethren. It wasn't the reality, but it didn't stop Gregory from being able to sit higher than Magna'est stood. He found it pleasing to talk downward instead of eye-to-eye. Superiority by elevation. Margary sat next to him wearing a feigned smile and a new dress. She could play the dutiful queen when it suited her.

Magna'est ignored the announcement of his arrival, passing the page before the man could finish. He walked with a purpose, speed to match his dire expression. Six more Brothers followed in two trailing lines of white robes. Escorts, guards, it was hard to tell. It was rare for that many Brethren to be together outside of their temples.

"You have not found the boy!" Magna'est accused, skipping the formalities.

"Good day to you, your Eminence," Gregory said. He remained calm and ignored Magna'est's outburst. He'd rather Magna'est not rule the conversation.

"The boy? How close are you?" Magna'est said as he approached the dais. His volume was lower, but the tone no less virulent.

"You wish to inquire about the boy? The one some call the Answer?" Gregory continued with casualness. It was like slapping the Magna'est across the face. The color drained from Margarey's cheeks.

"We are preparing some food and wine for you and your Brethren, your Eminence," Margarey cut in. "Perhaps a small bite will wash away some of the road."

"Aye, food," Magna'est said. His expression softened as his eyes moved to Margarey. "We have ridden hard. It is thoughtful of you to think of us, my Queen." He bowed slightly, which pleased Margarey. It wasn't lost on Gregory that there were no honorifics or genuflection for him. "Mayhap, you show the Brethren who have accompanied me, and I shall join you later when your husband and I are finished. Perhaps you can tell me where you acquired such a lovely dress."

"Of course, your Eminence," Margarey said as she rose. Gregory clinched his teeth. She didn't recognize it as a dismissal. He hated the woman, but she was his queen and not to be ordered about like a servant. Margarey smiled and led the accompanying Brethren out of the room.

"Something amiss?" Gregory asked once they were alone. "You are rarely this rude."

"The boy?" Magna'est repeated. He stood stock still, his eyes unblinking. Gregory was physically higher but still felt smaller.

"My men have searched in vain. As soon as they chase down a sighting, another occurs on the other side of Aragonia. The boy has either sprouted wings or lies are mixing with the truth. I don't have enough men to be everywhere."

"A Brother has been killed," Magna'est said.

"And this is news? Is that not why we search for the boy?"

"Another Brother! One who defied me and held a Choosing alone with only a few Hold men."

"The boy struck again? Where?" Gregory didn't try to hide his surprise. He thought the first killing a happy fluke. A second would significantly strengthen the boy's tale.

"The village of Trustwave near the southern coast," Magna'est replied. "It wasn't the boy, but someone disguised to look like him. When he appeared, the townspeople rallied and attacked. The Brother killed eighteen and wounded many others, but was overwhelmed nonetheless."

"And the Hold men?"

"Dead to the last." Magna'est shook his head and entwined his hands behind his back. He began pacing. "This boy has awoken something that must be put back to bed. It is difficult to appear invincible when the mob learns we are not." He growled at the floor. "And it must be done carefully, without the executions the situation requires. The population is on a precipice as it is."

"With what men? My soldiers are scattered here and there, no force large enough to handle a full revolt. Should they plead with the mobs and hope for compliance?" Gregory snorted at the idea.

"Double your numbers," Magna'est said with a wave of his hand. "Gather young men to your ranks, the ones most likely to cause trouble. We will siphon Nighthouse coin for the growth and augment with temple funds." The King's eyes widened. It was more than he could have dreamt. The death of the second Brother had frightened Magna'est.

"Bring back the whip and don't spare it," Magna'est slowed his pacing, then smiled. "These new men should have a stake in our success. Offer all of your men twice pay if they father a babe. Treble if they father four. They will support the stability to maintain their coin. Aye, that may work."

"Coin will flood the Kingdom," Gregory warned.

"Bah, we control the Nighthouses. Raise their tithe so they must charge more and cycle the money through." Magna'est stopped pacing. "Do you not see? It will build loyalty in your ranks and grow the population. In time, two problems will be eliminated. The Choosings could be slowed, and thus lower the risk with fewer gatherings."

"It will be as you wish," Gregory said, withholding the smile that threatened to take over his face. A doubling of his force was beyond all of his expectations.

"Create a southern and a northern army," Magna'est continued. "They will handle their respective territories and never mass as one." The King could almost see Magna'est's mind churning as he put restrictions on the doubling. Enough men to subdue a nation, but not enough to threaten the Brotherhood, especially if they could never gather as a single entity.

"It would make it easier to chase down the boy and those that copy him," the King said to reinforce the idea of doubling. A king with a real army. It was a beautiful image.

"It had better," Magna'est warned. "The Goddess does the thinking for all, not this boy. His story must die with him. I'll not have this fable weakening the stability of this land anymore."

"I'll see to it, your Eminence," Gregory said.

"Aye, you will," Magna'est said in a low voice. "My favor has limits. Do not test its tolerance." He turned and walked out of the room, following the earlier path of Margarey.

Gregory smirked as Magna'est disappeared through the door. Double the number. He had never expected the boy to deliver so much. An Unseen living past a single winter was incredible on its own. Now the story of the boy grew with each passing season, strengthening the army beyond anything thought possible. Gregory whispered a prayer to the Goddess that the boy had found safety, somewhere far away from the Brethren's reach. The boy was owed more than he'd ever know. Gregory was proud of him.

"Another?" Striker said, his eyes widening. They sat in the library, Striker uncomfortable and squirming, having been forced to bathe prior to the meeting.

"Aye," Gregory verified.

"Where?"

"Down south, near Trustwave. The sight of the Answer incited a mob. The Brother hadn't heeded the warnings and was ill-prepared." Gregory's voice lowered. "Many died along with the Brother. All the Hold men and many commoners. Too many."

"Exposed himself to a Brother?" Striker shook his head. "I have told everyone who plays at the Answer to avoid soldiers and Brethren."

"There's no undoing it now, and it wasn't for naught. I have been allowed to grow the army to twice its number."

"Twice?"

"Aye, more than I could ever hope. I could almost smell the fear on Magna'est. This story frightens him, or at least what it could do to the people. Mayhap, the army's numbers can begin to soften some of the Brethren's dictates."

"It is strange," Striker said. His eyes traveled away from the King as if he were deep in thought. "I was clear to all to avoid soldiers. There have been incidents, but not intentionally done. Mayhap, this time it was not one of mine. Mayhap, the boy has decided his time has come."

"Nay. Magna'est said this one was false. It must be one of yours." Gregory spoke before he considered the ramifications of his words. An error.

"Did you not say that the brother and all the Hold men died?" Striker asked. Gregory cringed. "How would they know he was false if no one survived?"

"It matters not," Gregory said. "Mayhap, they have spies among the commoners. Either way, as the army grows, so must the peace. It would be best if the sightings of the boy diminished. I desire to make the Brethren believe a large army is working as expected."

"The boy is Unseen," Striker pushed, his hand moved to his chin, stroking it as he thought. "Would it not take another Unseen to know him false. Are there Unseen spies among us?"

"Mayhap, the Brother called out the falsehood before he went down," Gregory said. He chastised himself for not thinking before he spoke. Subterfuge was a nasty business. Lies of omission are just as horrible to maintain as full-out fallacies. "It matters not how it was determined. It only matters that the deaths are not repeated."

"It is a puzzle nonetheless, Sire" Striker said. He shifted in his seat as wine was brought forth. Gregory was thankful for the interruption. Striker wasn't ready for the whole truth. And may never be. That, and Gregory didn't relish the idea of Striker murdering him before he had a sip of wine.

"Would you like bread, Sire?" Luran asked. She had her back to Striker and was smiling in a come-hither way. Teasing Gregory was her favorite pastime.

"Aye," Gregory replied, his face remained stone for Striker. "And some of that white cheese if there be any left." Luran bent further than necessary to place his wine on the table, revealing more cleavage. Gregory had to look away. She winked and tucked a stray wisp of her red hair under her scarf. A move she knew he found alluring. Spanking came to his mind. Luran had a perfectly shaped behind, seemly designed to fit his palm. Two can play at torture.

"At once, Sire." Luran sauntered out of the room bent on her task. It wasn't lost on the King that Striker's eyes followed that wonderful backside out the door.