“Shavala? Wake up, Shavala.”

The voice slowly nudged her out of the darkness. She opened her eyes and found herself staring straight up at the sky. Her vision had returned to normal, no longer tinged with red. Zhailai’s face hovered above hers.

The little dragon stuck its head between them and licked Shavala’s cheek. Zhailai’s gentle concern came through the tree bond, as did a sharper spike of anxiety from another source.

“What happened?” Zhailai said. “Are you all right? I was collecting mushrooms when the dragon came to find me. It’s worried about you.”

“I think I did something I shouldn’t have.” Shavala tried to push herself up but got distracted at the sensation of the wind blowing against her wings, causing them to billow out. No, not her wings. There was too much information in her brain. She could feel herself lying down and standing on all fours at the same time.

“What do you mean?” Zhailai asked, helping her to sit up.

“I—” Shavala was suddenly looking up at herself from the dragon’s height. Her vision started to go red again and she had to close her eyes. How could she speak when she wasn’t even certain which thoughts were hers?

Like this, the staff said, helping her to buffer the bond, showing her how to hold it at arm’s length. The feelings eased until they felt more akin to the normal tree bond. The staff explored the new connection in delight, examining the dragon in ways Shavala couldn’t follow.

“Shavala?” Zhailai prompted again.

“I’m sorry,” Shavala said. “It’s getting better now. How did you know he was worried?”

“He?” Zhailai asked. “How did I know? I …” Her eyes widened. “I felt it through the tree bond. What did you do?”

The spell had been successful. Not in quite the way Shavala had anticipated, but she’d be able to communicate with the dragon now—within the limitations of the tree bond.

If she wanted to go beyond that, giving up the protections the staff had taught her to separate her mind from the dragon’s …

She shivered, despite the warmth of the sun shining down between the saplings.

The tree bond would have to be enough.

#

Treya let go of the little girl’s forehead as the fever faded. “There, you’re all better now,” she said. Turning to the child’s mother, she added, “The coughing should go away by tomorrow, but if it doesn’t, use some of the tea Sister Merill gave you.”

As the two left the room, Mother Yewen appeared in the doorway. “How do you like our new house of healing?” the old woman asked, gesturing around. “We’ll have to reinforce it before winter comes again, of course, but it’ll do for now.”

“You’re keeping it, then?” Treya asked. They were in the refugee shelter which had been built in the chapter house’s courtyard. The building was an eyesore, and she’d expected Yewen to have it removed as soon as it was no longer needed.

“Now that the refugees are gone, it provides a place for the herbalists and chirurgeons to gather—the ones who aren’t affiliated with any of the temples. And, perhaps, traveling healers, such as one of our own wayward daughters.” The woman gave her a pointed look.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to come here very often,” Treya said. Leena had been willing so far, but the Sanvari woman couldn’t keep up her current pace forever, and even after the road was cleared, it would take Treya nearly a week to reach Four Roads on horseback.

“Are things really so busy at that fortress of yours?”

“You knew what would happen now that the dragon is dead, didn’t you?” Treya asked.

“I suspected, but why don’t you tell me about it? I delivered Corec’s proclamation to the council, of course, but beyond that, all I’ve heard is what you mentioned in your letter, and a few bits and pieces from Leena and young Nedley.”

“How did people take the proclamation?” Treya asked.

“There were complaints, but not as many as I suspected. It helped that he limited his claim to the dragon’s territory, but it’s still a great deal of land. Some of our citizens are muttering that it should be free for anyone, as it was before.”

“There were too many people asking for our protection,” Treya said. “We can’t afford to watch over them all unless we tax them, and we needed enough land for anyone who comes.”

“I see,” Yewen said. “That was not adequately explained in the proclamation. Who wrote it?”

“Ellerie or Bobo, I think.”

“Not you? You’ve been through enough of the concubine training to contribute, and communication has always been the Orders’ highest priority.”

Her tone suggested the words were more than just a suggestion.

“I’ll try,” Treya said. “I’ll do better.” She’d offered to help Corec with correspondence, but she hadn’t fully considered what that would entail. Perhaps she’d spent too much time looking down on the role of the concubines.

Yewen nodded. “Let’s see,” she said. “What can we add to the initial announcement? A tax will be assessed to better protect those who settle in the region. The funds will be used to … what? Maintain the roads and raise an army?”

“I think so.” Treya hadn’t paid close attention to the details. Ellerie had gradually taken over the money side of things.

“You should know. Half the concubines in town are trying to figure out how to reach Corec on behalf of their patrons. I have a letter from a granary owner suggesting he’ll set a discounted price for the next year in exchange for regular orders, and another looking to purchase. I assume that one’s planning for the future, and not for this season. There’s a horse-breeder asking whether Corec would be interested in a line of warhorses, though I can’t imagine where the fellow got those from. It’s not just men with concubines, either. Farmers are saying their workers are heading south, leaving them without enough hands to get the spring planting done, and two men have written to complain that you’re buying all the mules and driving up prices, and would you kindly stop.”

“If you give me the letters, I’ll take care of them,” Treya said. She could still do that much, even if she hadn’t figured out the rest of it yet.

“He needs a real concubine,” Mother Yewen said. “A concubine must be able to speak with her patron’s voice, and a man will always be closer to a woman who shares his bed than to a hireling. If you’re not going to do it yourself, then convince him to come for a Presentation ceremony. Here, or South Corner, or Tyrsall. Somewhere!”

“I’ll talk to him,” Treya said. Though about what, she wasn’t sure.

Yewen gave her a skeptical look, but just said, “Good. Now, tell me what’s actually happening down south.”

Treya sighed. “It’s hard to keep up with everything that’s going on. We’ve got close to four hundred people already and more show up every day. Most of them are at Hilltop, but we’ve convinced some to spread out to the two nearest villages to the east. The farmers don’t mind being farther away, but they don’t want to wait for us to survey the area. They all want to pick out their own land now, so we’ve just got to point them to the right spot and hope it works out. Corec’s letting them claim what they think they can clear and plant in the first two years, and then we’ll have to make up any differences at tax time.”

“Do you need anything from Four Roads?” Yewen asked.

“I’m supposed to ask Nedley to hire more carpenters and builders, but I also brought a request for you from Katrin and Nallee.” Treya handed over the message. “I agree with them.”

Yewen opened the letter and read through it. “Interesting.”

#

“There, boy, see?” Gren said. The white-bearded trapper gestured to the fortress on the far side of the bridge. “It’s right where I told you it was.”

“I never said it wouldn’t be, Grampa,” Ferd replied.

Razai had run into the pair on her journey south from Four Roads. She’d passed a dozen wagons along the way, traveling either in small groups or on their own, but Gren and his grandson were on horses and able to keep up with her. They could also handle themselves around a campfire, so she hadn’t objected to their company.

From a distance, the fortress looked much as she remembered, other than the collapsed section of wall to the left of the gatehouse. The village seemed different, but it took her a moment to realize why—the wooden buildings in the northeast part of town were gone now, including the administrative offices the Matagorans had once used for coordinating trade between the locals and the trading houses. New structures had begun to take shape in their place.

“Don’t sass me, boy,” Gren said. “There’s good hunting around here—or there was, back in the day. Always an adventure, dodging the soldiers. They didn’t like me trapping near the keep, but they never caught me!”

“Mmmhmm,” his grandson said.

“Besides, this place has history. It’s the last remnant of Meftil from before she fell to the plague. The capital was down south, but they burnt it to the ground to kill the last of the sickness.”

“Yesterday you said the Matagorans built the keep.”

“I … I … that’s not the point, is it? Meftil may have fallen, but something still stands in its place. Doesn’t matter who built it or when. You have no appreciation for the past. We’re from here, you know. Meftil, I mean.”

“Mmmhmm.”

Razai interrupted before Gren could launch into another diatribe. “Are we crossing,” she said, “or did you come all this way just to talk about it?”

The trapper grunted. “You’re not much better than he is, young miss. Don’t know that I trust that bridge, though. Came down here, oh, about twenty years ago and there was a big hole in it. How’d they fix it already?”

The bridge did look odd, with one section of stonework appearing markedly different than the rest.

“You came down when the dragon was living here?” she asked.

“It didn’t catch me, no more than those Matagorans ever did. I didn’t stay long, though—some things ain’t worth the risk.” Gren might talk too much, but he wasn’t stupid. He reminded Razai of Renny, as strange as that comparison was.

“The bridge must be fine,” Ferd said. “People have been coming south for weeks. How else would they be getting over the river?” He clucked his tongue and his horse stepped out onto the bridge.

Razai followed him and Gren brought up the rear, muttering under his breath the whole time.

On the other side of the bridge, the road split, with one branch heading west and another to the south, and a smaller path leading up the hill.

The two men stopped at the crossroads, Gren eyeing the work going on in the village.

“Well, now, that’s a bit busier than I expected,” he said. “We’ll just go along on our way. I’ve heard this new feller has soldiers too—wouldn’t want them finding out about me already. It’s more fun if I make them work for it.”

“Good luck,” Razai told him. “Want some advice? If you see a wood elf, run the other way. They don’t like trap hunting.” Shavala didn’t, at least, and she’d be somewhere around if she’d ever returned from her trip home.

Gren cocked his head to the side. “Why would an elf be all the way out here?”

“You never know. The forest isn’t that far away.”

“The Matagorans didn’t catch me, and neither did the dragon,” the old trapper said with a grin. “No elf ever will.” He glanced down each branch of the road. “South, I think, for now. Let’s see what we can find.” He winked and waved, then headed down the Farm Road. Ferd shook his head and followed, giving the village one last, longing glance.

Razai took the path up the hill, careful to keep her horse and mule away from all the activity. She had to stop and wait as four men dragged a trimmed log over to one of the new buildings under construction.

When she drew closer the fortress, she found that someone had assembled a tall crane and pulley system right next to the broken section of the wall. As she watched, a group of workers began to heft a large stone block back up to where it belonged.

There were two soldiers near the front entrance of the gatehouse. They seemed to be watching the builders rather than actually guarding the place, but she figured she should ask before just going in.

“Where can I find Corec?” she said. “My name is Razai. He’s expecting me.”

One shrugged, but the other said, “He’s in the courtyard. Come with me.”

He led her through the gatehouse tunnel, though there weren’t any actual gates to block the way—the rusted portcullises had been removed and were leaning against the inside wall. They found Corec at the eastern corner of the fortress, examining a jumbled pile of fallen stone near a partly collapsed lookout tower.

“If she wants it, she can have it,” he was saying to a man in dusty work clothes. “The walls are the priority. We can rebuild the tower with wood if we have to.” He saw Razai and gave her a broad smile.

“Excuse me,” he said to the worker, then came over. “Razai, welcome back. Ludlo, could you go find Harri to take care of her animals?”

The soldier nodded and trotted off.

“Harri?” Razai asked. “What happened to Nedley?”

“He went to Four Roads for supplies. He’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Harri’s our new groom—Ned’s a soldier now.”

Weeks? Razai had planned to get her pay and head straight out, but she couldn’t ask someone else to relay her message to Nedley. Telling a man his brother was controlled by demon magic was the sort of thing that should be done in person. But two weeks of rest wouldn’t hurt. She’d been on the road for a long time.

“Is there some place I can stay?” she asked. “I have a message for him from his brother.”

“Oh, you found him? Ned’ll be glad to hear that. We set aside a room for you in the keep in case you wanted to stick around.”

Razai grunted. “Just until Nedley’s back, then I’ll be on my way.”

Corec nodded. “Leena told me about what you’d found in Larso. I didn’t realize you were going to talk to Rusol yourself.”

“The opportunity came up so I took it.”

“She said you offered him a truce?”

“Something wrong with that? You’re the one who’s always making excuses not to kill people.”

“No, no, it was a good idea. But Leena said he didn’t take you up on it?”

“Not yet. I thought he might, but then he realized you’d bonded me and he figured I’d come to kill him. I had to dodge his guards on the way out.”

“What?” Corec said. “Bloody hell, Razai! Why didn’t you tell us about that before?”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” she snapped. At the time she’d spoken to Leena, she’d still been trying to figure out a way to avoid mentioning the incident at all. Where was she supposed to draw the line? Corec was paying her to gather information, but Rusol was her own blood. And then there was Vatarxis, watching over them all.

Corec visibly calmed himself. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. It’s not good news, but he didn’t like me anyway. I don’t suppose this will make it much worse. Hopefully he’s realized you weren’t trying to kill him.” He gave her a suspicious look. “You didn’t try to kill him, did you?”

“Of course not—you didn’t pay me enough for that. Did Leena mention the compelled troops? It’s not just the mercenaries; he’s used compulsion magic on others as well. Some of his royal guard, at least.”

Corec nodded, then stopped. “Wait, he’s the demonborn?”

Razai glared. “You have a problem with that?” she asked. She had no idea how she was going to keep Corec and Rusol from going to war with each other, but she had to try.

“I have a problem with him,” Corec said. “The men he was controlling murdered the people of Jol’s Brook. Ask Nedley how he feels about it the next time you see him.” His voice was firm.

Razai looked away. She didn’t have an argument for that, and she couldn’t think of any way to change the path her nephew was on. If Rusol had just listened to her, she could have convinced him to use his powers in more subtle ways and not do anything to attract any attention. As both warden and king, he could have done a lot of good for their people. But he hadn’t given her a chance.

“Yes, he’s demonborn,” she admitted, “but passing as human. I don’t know for sure if he’s the one casting the compulsion spells, but how many other demonborn mages can there be in Larso? Both groups avoid the place.”

“A bastard half-sibling, maybe?” Corec said. Then he shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter—it’s either him or one of his bondmates. Is there anything else you can think of that might help?”

“Give him a couple of the other wardens and he’ll be more likely to accept a truce.”

“I wouldn’t do that even if I could. Did he say why he dislikes the wardens so much?”

“Not to me. He doesn’t even seem to know who any of them are. He was surprised by your name—Corec. That it sounded Larsonian.”

Corec went still. “He didn’t already know my name?” he said.

“No.”

“He didn’t know my name when he sent the red-eyes after me, but he does now? You told him?”

“I just said that.”

“Where’s Leena? I’ve got to get to Larso.” Corec rushed off without another word.

Hells of my fathers, Razai thought to herself. Now what?

#

“How’s this?”

Corec peered around the sun-dappled glade. “Where are we?” he asked. The air smelled familiar.

Leena pointed east. “If you look through those trees, you’ll see the village.”

He moved to get a better view, but he still didn’t recognize the place at first. Tarwen Village had grown larger than he remembered, with dozens of buildings he’d never seen before. Looking farther in, though, he found the familiar sweep of the temple’s roof, and a few of the taller storefronts along the main street.

“No one saw you?” he asked.

“I had to walk into town to ask if I was in the right place, but nobody saw me teleporting. It only took three tries to find this spot.”

Corec nodded. “What do I do with these?” he asked, holding out the four copper coins Leena had given him. She’d taken them to Sanvar and back while he’d been donning his armor, but she hadn’t had time to explain.

She looked him over, as if considering how to respond, then knelt down and tapped his right boot. “If you want me to come get you before the three days are up, put the first coin in your boot. Leave it there until you can sense me waiting in this direction. If you want me to bring help, use the other coins. If all four are in the boot, I’ll bring everyone as fast as I can, but that’s only two people per day, spaced out. Maybe more if I don’t do anything else. Who do you want for two or three coins?”

Corec thought for a moment. He had no idea what sort of situation he was walking into. “For two coins, Treya,” he said. Someone might need healing, and she could fight if needed. “For three, Sarette if you can bring her back from Snow Crown. Otherwise …” Ariadne would be the next best choice, but she was in Snow Crown too. “Boktar.”

Leena counted out the options on her fingers. “Leave early, Treya, Sarette or Boktar, everyone.”

Corec nodded. “You’ll bring them here?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll try to leave a note explaining the situation.”

“Be sure to use the coins in the order they’re marked,” she told him. “I’ll have to Travel somewhere close enough that they’re within my range, and then it’s still a lot of Seeking on top of that, searching for very tiny differences in location. If I have to check all of them, I can only do it once a day, but if the first coin isn’t in the boot, I don’t have to check the others.”

Corec gave her a wry grin. “What if I’m a prisoner and someone takes the coins?”

“Keep the coins and the boot near you at all times. If they’re too far apart, I’ll send Razai to find out what happened.”

“I doubt she’ll want to mount a rescue mission. Especially since I forgot to pay her before we left.”

“I’ll make her come,” Leena said, her voice curt. “She should have told me. I should have asked better questions!”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not hers, either. Not really. I thought Rusol already knew who I was. There was no reason to believe otherwise. I should have come back before now to check on things.” But the letters his father had sent hadn’t indicated any trouble, so Corec had used the work at the keep as an excuse to delay his long-promised visit home.

Leena gave a brief nod, but it was clear she was still angry. “I’ll see you in three days if everything goes well,” she told him.

“Thank you,” Corec said. He’d tried to avoid sending her into Larso, where magic was prohibited in most regions, but the news that Rusol had only recently learned his identity was too worrisome to ignore. Before leaving, Corec had verified with Razai that she hadn’t mentioned his surname, but with news of the dragon getting out, it wouldn’t take long to connect Corec’s name to his family.

At least, out of all of them, Leena was the best able to avoid trouble. It was unlikely Rusol had any forces in the area able to stop her, if they even knew who she was or what she could do.

After she left for the keep, Corec headed for the village on foot. It took him fifteen minutes to reach the outskirts. The new buildings he’d seen from a distance turned out to mostly be homes, but they were poorly constructed, as if put together in a hurry. They weren’t sturdy enough to withstand the depths of winter in the mountains.

The few people out and about were wearing clothing which appeared to be hillfolk in origin, but Corec’s father had never allowed the hillfolk to settle in the valley before. They were likely refugees from the dragon—when the creature had attacked the hills, people had fled in all directions. Some had ended up in Four Roads or Dalewood, but others had gone into the mountains. Some of those, it seemed, had made it as far as Tarwen Valley … and, for a change, Ansel hadn’t turned them away.

The new neighborhood was small, and it didn’t take long for Corec to reach the old part of town. Here, the villagers wore more traditional garb. Most stopped and stared as he passed. It was rare to see a man wearing plate armor in Tarwen Village, especially one without a horse. A few faces seemed vaguely familiar, but not enough for Corec to put a name to them, and no one gave any indication of recognizing him. He hadn’t been back in years, and had rarely spent any time out in the village during his infrequent visits.

The manor house was near the center of the village. There were no guards posted, but that was normal—Ansel had never needed his soldiers for protecting the family home. A few of the armsmen were likely somewhere in the village keeping the peace, while the rest would be on patrol around the barony or watching the border crossings.

Corec knocked on the heavy door. It opened a moment later, Mr. Melvin standing on the other side. He looked much older than Corec remembered. The butler stared quizzically at first, but then his eyes widened in surprise.

“Young Master Corec!” he exclaimed. “Come in, come in! I didn’t recognize you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Melvin.” Corec stepped into the mud room. “I trust everything is well with you?” he asked, slipping into the pleasantries he’d learned in his youth.

“I can’t complain, can’t complain. Your father’s after me to retire, but if I do, who’ll watch over things?” Melvin wasn’t acting as if anything was out of the ordinary. Perhaps Corec’s worry had been for nothing. Then the butler shook his head. “But you! The stories they’re telling out in the village—the dragon—are they true?”

“That depends on the story, but it’s dead now, if that’s what you mean.”

“Corec?” a woman’s voice called out from another room, then more loudly, “Corec!” Isabel rushed in and grabbed Corec in a hug, then stepped back and slapped his arm, wincing and holding her hand after it bounced off his vambrace. “What did you think you were doing trying to hunt down a dragon?”

He gave her a hug in return. “Someone had to do it, Isa. I was already there, so …”

“You could have died! What would Moira think if something happened to you?”

“I didn’t do it alone—I had plenty of help. There were fifty of us, including a squadron of knights.”

Isabel blinked and took a moment to compose herself. “You were with the knights? Did they take you back?”

“I doubt they want me back, and I wouldn’t accept it if they did.”

“But why not? You could come home!”

Melvin cleared his throat. “I’ll go fetch tea, shall I, my Lady?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Melvin.”

As the butler walked away, Corec considered how to respond without hurting Isabel’s feelings.

“There are other things I need to do,” he said. “I have friends in the free lands, and we’re fixing up an old keep there. I’m getting married soon.”

“Married?” Isa said, her face lighting up. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Katrin—she’s a bard. I met her out east.”

“A bard? I didn’t know women could do that. She’s educated, then? Highborn?”

Ansel’s arrival saved Corec from having to answer.

“Corec,” his father said, no expression on his face. “Welcome home. When the stories came, we thought we might finally see you, but I’d hoped you would send a messenger first so we could prepare.”

“You don’t need to go to any trouble—I’m only here for a few days. I arrived sooner than I thought I would, so there wasn’t time to send word ahead.”

Ansel nodded. “And you came alone? You didn’t bring this betrothed of yours, or your concubine?”

“They’re busy back at the keep, but now that we’re in the free lands, I’ll bring Katrin to visit when I can. Treya isn’t my concubine, though; she’s just a friend.”

Isabel gave a little sigh. “Just a friend? I was hoping it was more.” The news of the betrothal seemed to help blunt her disappointment.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” Corec said. “I should have been more clear in my letters. Maybe you can meet her when there’s a chance.”

“Well, when is the wedding? You’ll have it here, won’t you?”

“Here?” Corec said in surprise. “Ahh, we haven’t really talked about that, or about when it’ll be.”

Isabel gave him a look he couldn’t interpret. “You’re betrothed, and you don’t know when or where you’re getting married? What does your Katrin think?”

Corec hesitated. “I don’t know?” he said. “I figured we’d probably hold the ceremony at the keep, but there’s been so much to do, we just haven’t gotten around to figuring it out.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Take off your boots and your armor and come to the sitting room for some of Mr. Melvin’s tea. We’ll discuss plans for the wedding. Someone’s got to.”

“Isabel,” Ansel started, “I’m not sure now is the best time for this.”

“When else will we do it?” she asked. “Who knows when we’ll see him again? If we don’t decide on a date, he’s liable to go off and get married without us.”

#

“You’re looking well,” Ansel said. He’d finally managed to extract his youngest son from the wedding discussions, inviting him to his study for a brandy and a private conversation. “When I received the message that your arrival would be delayed by the dragon, I didn’t realize you intended to take it on yourself.”

“We didn’t have much of a choice,” Corec said. “Larso and Matagor refused to send help, so we had to handle it on our own.”

He no longer reminded Ansel of Moira. The tall young man sitting before him was practically a stranger, and had little in common with the boy Ansel had sent away from home when he was only ten years old.

The last visit had been … five years ago? Had it really been so long? Priest Calwell had threatened to have Corec imprisoned for practicing dark magic, and Corec had offered to kill the man if he tried.

Ansel had reacted poorly, shouting at Corec in front of the entire family until the young man stormed out, leaving a week earlier than planned. After having a few days to calm down, Ansel had written to the capital to demand that Calwell be reassigned, but by then it was too late. Corec stopped visiting home after that, making excuses about the caravans running all winter long.

“We?” Ansel asked.

“My friends and I, and the men we recruited. I only led the expedition. My friends paid for it—the people I went to Cordaea with.”

He seemed to be trying to shift attention away from himself, but his name was attached to too many rumors for Ansel to believe he was still just a caravan guard. What had changed? After being expelled from the knights, Corec had spent years shying away from any real responsibility, yet now he was leading a small army against a dragon?

“These friends of yours,” Ansel said. “Your letters didn’t say much about them—just that you had to go to Cordaea for a job.”

Corec hesitated for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. “There’s a historian, Lady Ellerie di’Valla—she was searching for an old city there. We signed on to accompany her.”

The name Ellerie didn’t mean anything to Ansel, but di’Valla was familiar.

“The Terevassian royal family?”

“She’s related. And she was with us when we fought the dragon.”

Ansel nodded. “And the others?”

“My friends are mages,” Corec said in an even tone. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear about it.”

“You’re consorting with—!” Ansel clamped his mouth shut, forcing himself to stop talking. The Church was clear about the dangers of magic, but with Isabel’s urging, Ansel had tried to accept that his son hadn’t had any choice in being born a mage. That had been easier with the Corec he remembered from five years ago, who’d been embarrassed—or even ashamed—about the matter. The Corec of today was almost flaunting it. Why would he seek out other mages on purpose?

Perhaps the more outlandish rumors about the dragon were actually true—the stories about fighting it with lightning and other magics. Stories that most of the townsfolk were too afraid to mention within Ansel’s hearing.

Asking about Corec’s companions had seemed like a safe way to learn more about Corec himself, but now it would just make things worse. The last time they’d argued, Corec had disappeared for five years. If Ansel allowed it to happen again, this might be the last time he ever saw his son. He needed a new topic of discussion.

“Your earlier letter,” he said, “why were you so concerned about trouble if you were to visit? Do you mean from the new priest? He’s not like Calwell.”

“Has anyone come around looking for me?”

“No. Why? Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“If so, it’s not through anything I’ve done. What about Rusol’s mercenaries? Are they still causing problems?”

“That’s King Rusol, and no. There weren’t any big problems, just little complaints when the hillfolk mercenaries were passing through the valley on their way to Telfort. Some things went missing, there were a few scuffles—nothing serious.” Ansel shrugged and gestured in the direction of the new enclave at the edge of the village. “Now we’ve got hillfolk living here.”

“How did that happen?” Corec asked. “You never wanted them around before.”

“I couldn’t turn them away in the middle of winter.”

Corec nodded. “Are they going to leave now that the dragon’s dead?”

“I don’t know. This group hasn’t caused too many problems yet. If they want to stay, I’m willing to work something out. What does that have to do with your question?”

“Probably nothing, but what about Rusol? Have you heard anything unusual about him? Or the people around him?”

Ansel frowned. “Why not just tell me what it is you want to know?”

“This is important,” Corec said. “Can you think of anything strange?”

Ansel thought back to the times he’d met the new king.

“I suppose you could say the mood at the coronation was off,” he said. “Some of the western lords are still pining for Prince Rikard, and everyone was dismayed about King Marten dying so young—they were both quite popular—but that’s no excuse for the things they were saying about King Rusol. He’s a quiet young man, but I rather liked him. Why are you asking this? Is someone threatening him?”

“Did you notice anything else?”

“There was something odd. The king’s mother—Marten’s concubine—died the night of the coronation. It was quite a coincidence coming so soon after Marten’s death, but it couldn’t have been an assassination attempt; she was struck by lightning.” Ansel stopped to consider the rumors he’d heard about the dragon. “Unless … are you saying a wizard is trying to kill His Majesty?”

“No. I’m saying he’s trying to kill me.”

“What?”

“He’s sent his mercenaries after me three times. The last time, we were able to take prisoners. They confessed, and told us who was responsible.”

“What are you talking about? Why would the king want to kill you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met him, and this is the first time I’ve been to Larso in years.” Corec paused, looking thoughtful. “Well, I don’t know why he tried to kill me before, but now he knows that I know he’s demonborn and a mage. I imagine he’s not happy about that.”

Ansel scowled. “Don’t be absurd. I don’t know what sort of rumors you’ve heard about the king, but they’re not true.”

“You need to take this seriously,” Corec said. “He’s using magic to force his mercenaries to obey him. The last group he sent murdered dozens of innocent people.”

“I’ve met His Majesty,” Ansel said. “He’s not a mage, and he’s certainly no demonborn. I would have seen it.”

“You didn’t know I was a mage,” Corec pointed out. “And not all demonborn have horns and fangs. Some can pass as human.”

“I’ve never known you to be a liar before,” Ansel said. He’d hoped to mend his relationship with his son, but these wild accusations didn’t make any sense.

“And I’m not lying now!” Corec snapped. “It’s why we’ve taken that keep in the free lands. We’ll be able to handle any smaller forces he might send, and he’ll have a hard time justifying a larger force. I sent a … messenger who offered him a truce, but if he doesn’t accept it, we have to be prepared.”

“This is nonsense. King Rusol isn’t a mage, and he’s not trying to kill you. You say someone attacked you? Fine, I’ll believe you, but it wasn’t the king. If you’re sure they were from the mercenary army, perhaps they were a group of deserters.”

A look of frustration crossed Corec’s face. “Just listen to me for once, will you?” he said. “I know for certain that Rusol is a demonborn mage. With news of the dragon getting out, he’ll know my name soon, if he doesn’t already. That will lead him to you.”

“And what, exactly, do you think he’s going to do about it?”

Corec sat back in his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. It’s been over a year since the last attack, but that was before he found out I knew what he was. You have to be ready for anything.”