Caile let out a weary sigh as he plopped down into a chair in his father's study, high in the upper reaches of Castle Pyrthin. King Casstian Delios, too, breathed heavily as he sat and stared into the flames of the fireplace before them. It had already been late by the time Caile, Taera, and their procession reached Kal Pyrthin, and then there was the formal reception with the well-rehearsed greetings and the state dinner in the dining hall where nothing but pleasantries could be uttered for fear of being overheard. That was all thankfully over now, and it was well past midnight. The two of them—king and son—sat silently for a long time, staring into the fire.

"Taera told me of Cargan," Caile said eventually. "I'm sorry."

"As are we all," his father replied, not looking up from the fire. "He was a fine man. He would have made a fine king."

"Have you learned any more of what happened? You can't believe this nonsense about him dying in a drunken brawl?"

"So was the word from Col Sargoth, so it was."

"Father," Caile said, leaning forward in his chair, "you know as well as I do that Cargan was a better man than that."

"A better man than you, for sure, but what can I do? Shall I call the Emperor a liar and bring his wrath down upon Pyrthinia? Is that what you want?"

"Or course not," Caile snapped, immediately regretting losing his temper and reminding himself to stay calm. "I'm not the foolish boy I was when I left, Father."

"Then what of this business on the road with the firewielder? Are you mad? Trying to speak reason to such a person. You would have been killed if it weren't for Lorentz."

"She was a girl, no older than me, not some vile creature. When I left, you had an arrangement, offering amnesty for any sorcerers who turned themselves in and agreed to live here under your watch."

"That was five years ago. Times have changed. Emperor Guderian..."

"Emperor!" Caile spat. "This is no empire. This is the Five Kingdoms, and you are the King of Pyrthinia. Guderian is the King of Sargoth, nothing more."

"I'm afraid the Five Kingdoms are no more, son. With each passing day he wrests more power away from us. Nothing can be done."

Caile thrust himself back into the cushions of his chair, and neither of them said anything for a long while. Caile stared with a mixture of sadness and disgust at his father, a man who had seemingly shrunk since he'd last seen him. Five years before, the King of Pyrthinia had been a robust man, exuding energy and confidence. Now, Casstian Delios was old beyond his years. His arms and chest were still thick but lacked the hardened, muscular definition he was once known for. His face, too, was thin and ashen, and his once glorious mane of golden hair now hung limply above his shoulders, thin and mottled with gray.

"Do you mean to send Taera to Col Sargoth?" Caile finally asked.

"What choice do I have?"

"Send me. That's why you had me return from Valaróz, isn't it?"

King Casstian snorted. "The imperial mandate states I must send my eldest child as a ward to Col Sargoth."

"There are exceptions. Tell Guderian that Taera is too ill to travel, that I'm coming to Col Sargoth in her stead. All he cares is that he has his hostage."

"But she's not ill. Would you have me forge false documents? I don't take lying as lightly as you, especially when it means treason."

Caile could feel his face flush with anger. His father clearly was not one to let the past go. "If you ask me, it's better to lie to an evil man than to sign your daughter's death sentence."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Casstian demanded, sitting up in his seat, his face taking on some color and life.

"Don't pretend like you don't know, Father. She's a sorceress."

Casstian slumped back as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

"She's a seer," Caile continued. "She's the one who warned us to the presence of the firewielder today. She saw it in her visions. You can't send her into Guderian's grasp. That monster of his will sniff her out in an instant and they'll kill her just like they've killed every other sorcerer. I've met him, Father—I've met Wulfram. In Sol Valaróz. He's not human. He can see inside of you. He'll know. Sending Taera to him would be sending her to certain death."

Casstian was silent for a long moment. "And you think you will somehow fare better than Cargan or Taera?"

Caile sat up straight. "I have no magical ability to put me in danger. I've lived these last five years as ward to that usurper Don Bricio, and I stayed alive, bit my tongue while vile lies poured from his mouth. I met Wulfram and avoided his scrutiny. I know how to stay alive in a den of lions."

Casstian laughed without humor. "King Bricio and his court in Valaróz are a pack of kittens compared to what you'll find in Col Sargoth, boy."

Caile shrugged. "So be it. I'm not afraid."

"You should be."

"It makes no difference. I want to go and you can't send Taera. You love her more than me, I know. We're the same in that regard. She means more to me than you ever will."

King Casstian Delios looked into the flames of the fireplace and said nothing.

"Well?" Caile asked.

"Go then. Tell my porter to send for the physician, and I will compose the letter to Guderian."

"Thank you," Caile said, standing.

Casstian nodded and watched his son leave. It pained him that Caile could see through him so easily. He bore Caile no ill will, but it was true he loved Taera and Cargan more. He simply couldn't help it. Casstian's wife, Hedia, had died shortly after birthing Caile, and as much as the King tried to tell himself he could not blame his son, the resentment had faded little over time, especially with Caile being so stubborn and overly-confident as a boy. That boy is the heir to my throne now by Sargothian law, Casstian mused, but that only reminded him of Cargan and fresh tears came to his eyes. He pushed the thoughts aside and wiped his face clean. He was King of Pyrthinia and could not be seen crying, not by the physician, not by anyone.

~~~~

Taera was sitting on her bed with the lamp at her nightstand still burning brightly when Caile knocked at her chamber door.

"Still awake at this hour, Brother?" she asked as she ushered him in.

"I was worried you'd be the one asleep."

"So I could go back to my visions?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

She smiled for him. "It's not your fault. The visions are my concern."

Caile snapped out of his reverie and grabbed her in a nervous embrace. "No, it's all of our concern. That's why I've come to say goodbye."

She hugged him, then pushed him away, not unkindly, and straightened the leather jerkin he wore. "Goodbye? Is Father sending me off so soon then?"

"No, you're staying. I'm going to Col Sargoth in your stead."

"But how—"

"Please don't argue with me," he interrupted her. "I've convinced Father that it is best this way. I'm leaving now before he changes his mind."

"But you've not yet slept and you've been on the road already for weeks, and today, the firewielder..."

"Don't worry, I've learned to sleep in the saddle," he said with a grin. "Besides, I'll be safe in Col Sargoth—I'm no danger to the Emperor. Your job is the more difficult one."

"Oh?"

"You have to pretend to be deathly ill. And you need to get Father back. Remind him that he's the king."

Taera closed her eyes. "Be easy on him, Caile. He's weary. He must choose his battles with the Emperor. It's not easy."

"A king hasn't time for weariness. That's what he always used to tell us."

"I know."

"Remind him. Make Pyrthinia ready. I mean to find out what happened to Cargan. I don't know what will come of it, but it may be trouble."

Taera could only nod in agreement. As scared as she was for her brother, she knew it was pointless to try and stop him, for she had already foreseen him in Col Sargoth in her dream visions. Her own path lay in another direction. A ship. A cavern of ice. A beautiful girl. Whatever end fate awaited each of them, she could not say, but their paths were clearly set out for them in her mind. She kissed Caile on the forehead.

"Be careful, Brother."

"Careful is the way of old men. I'll stay alive. You do the same, and be wary of having too many visions—the houndkeeper here can sense magic as well as the ones in Col Sargoth and Sol Valaróz."