The king had fallen ill. Magical healing wouldn’t touch it, not even Jor Bashi’s. He was at a complete loss as to what sort of illness had befallen him. Jor Bashi was the most powerful mage in all of Camulan. The fact that he couldn’t even identify what was wrong with him terrified Davinya.

Her father’s face was gaunt and his breathing shallow. When he wasn’t sleeping, his eyes had a strange, vacant expression. Calling his name or tugging his arm might elicit a reaction, or it might not. He barely acknowledged anyone. If he tried to speak, it was all screams or gibberish.

It hadn’t started this way, of course. At first, he was uncharacteristically tired all the time. He was one who usually rose with the sun, so to see him sleeping in was unusual. Then he would sleep longer and longer, and when he was awake, he was very short tempered, yelling at everyone, even Filliya! Her younger sister was such a docile creature it was impossible for anyone to get angry with her.

Then he started vomiting every time he tried to eat. Soon he couldn’t eat anything but his barley soup. Fortunately for the family, he had stopped doing the family dinners on a regular basis after Aeolwyn and Ulfnar had gone. No one knew what had happened to Ulfnar, though Davinya suspected Alfyn had done something to him.

Davinya sat beside his ornate four-post bed, holding his cold hand. Underneath the embroidered blanket, his chest slowly rose and fell. His face was so gaunt. She didn’t know how much weight he had lost in the last few weeks. Sir Jom could only do so much in keeping him alive.

The servants had resorted to funneling the barley soup down his throat six times a day to prevent him from starving, but it wasn’t helping his appearance. He still looked to be wasting away. She had to come to terms with it. Her father, the man who had been so big and so strong, was dying.

She was sure Alfyn had done something to him. Either magic or poison, though she didn’t know how he could have found a type of either that Jor Bashi couldn’t identify. He would have had to dig into the worst of the dark magics to find something Bashi didn’t know.

And if that was required, then that was what he would do. He would resort to anything to get what he wanted, and that included her. She had come to the realization that magic wouldn’t protect her. Nothing short of fleeing the kingdom would save her from him, if he chose to pursue her.

The large ornately carved door opened and Alfyn walked in. She couldn’t help but feel sick to her stomach as soon as she laid her eyes on him. She tried to keep her face as neutral as possible but found it difficult. Instead, she turned her gaze back to her father.

“How is he?” Alfyn asked in a soft voice. He walked around to the chair at the other side of the bed and took the king’s other hand. She couldn’t avoid his gaze now, unless she left, and she wasn’t about to leave her father alone with the crown prince.

“The same,” she said.

He looked at their father. “Father, come back to us,” he said, eyes welling up with tears. “We are lost without you.”

She knew the tears were fake. He had been able to cry on demand ever since they were little, and everyone knew it. He used to use that skill to get all manner of treats from the kitchens. Eventually it stopped working on the cooks, but it never stopped working on their parents.

“I have heard they named you regent,” she said. She wouldn’t doubt that he had pulled many strings and called in many favors to make that happen. Lord Smyton was supposed to be the king’s regent if he was sick or otherwise incapacitated. Not anymore. Now it was Alfyn.

“Sadly so, yes,” he said. “I regret that such a thing was necessary.”

He didn’t regret it in the slightest, and they both knew it. He had grown in power in the last two years. Everyone had seen how he snuck away into corners with the nobles who came to visit. He curried favor with everyone and anyone who would listen. The only one who hadn’t seen it was the king.

There was no way to stop him getting what he wanted. She only had two options: play along or flee. She had no way to flee. She was a young princess with no contacts in the outside world. Where would she go? Who would help her? No one, that’s who.

She needed to play up to him and his lust for power. Even help him if she could. Then she could befriend those who were trying to get close to him. Once she made friends outside the palace, then she could find a way to escape.

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“It is a tragedy that you were thrust so quickly into this position,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I only pray that father will recover soon, so that I may pass these duties back where the rightfully belong.”

She doubted that. Even if the king were to recover, there was no way Alfyn would give up the power he had gained during the king’s illness. He had grown too used to it. He would have his allies declare the king unfit to rule if he had to.

“Davinya, I want you to continue your magical studies. Even if father forbade them, I think they are good for your spirit. It will be good for the family to have a trustworthy mage among us. I don’t trust Jor Bashi. For all we know, he was the one who did this to father.”

“Thank you, your grace,” she said, playing up to his lust for power. What he meant was that he wanted her to spy on Jor Bashi. She guessed that the mage was resisting Alfyn’s advances. Even if magic couldn’t protect her from Alfyn’s schemes, getting Jor Bashi on her side couldn’t hurt.

“Please,” he said. “None of that.”

She smiled curtly. If magic could have done this to their father, which, of course, they had no proof of, then perhaps there was magic that could help her survive her brother. Even if it wouldn’t protect her from his schemes, maybe there was a way to bend his schemes to her will. If anyone knew, it would be Jor Bashi.

***

The Stile River was a muddy offshoot of the Tyr, the massive waterway that cut most of Laryndor in half. It joined at a location known as Branson’s Fork, a major town in Wickshire that started off as a small village but grew to a thriving city due to its importance as a junction of multiple trade routes.

This was one reason the Stile River had been chosen as a location for the Fortress of Heaven. Because of its proximity to Branson’s Fork and major arteries that lead all across Laryndor, they could spread their faith to all corners of the island continent.

A long staircase led down from the Fortress of Heaven to the docks along the Stile. From the docks, Lord Longinus could launch whatever ships he chose to spread the faith and their interests. It was convenient for them, as they could launch ships at any time, day or night, under no eyes but their own. They weren’t especially welcome in Branson’s Fork, so trying to book passage there was exceedingly difficult, and anyone could watch them and report back on their movements.

Fraius was beside Longinus on the docks. The Children were loading up the ship His Radiance had acquired from somewhere. Frauis suspected that it belonged to the king of the Fenns, but he wasn’t about to ask. It was none of his business where it came from.

But what a magnificent ship it was. It was sleek and slender with a tall mast and narrow beam. What it lost in width it made up for in length. They would be able to reach Fort Camulan quickly, and with a lot of battle-ready soldiers.

The soldiers boarding the ship had been instructed not to wear any identifying items on their person. Longinus had issued specific orders that no one was to know who was aboard. Below deck were enough tabards with the sigil of the king of the Fenns for everyone. Once they were in position, they were to don the garments and join up with the Fenn army already in the area.

Fraius was happy to be a part of this mission. He was afraid that His Radiance wouldn’t allow him to go, but he was the first to get his orders. His were different from the rest. Though he was not in command of the soldiers, they were to obey his orders until he handed them off to the general leading the Fennish army.

“You are as strong as ever, Child Fraius,” Lord Longinus said. “The time you spent recuperating has done you well.”

“Thank you, Your Radiance,” he said.

His convalescence had been a tough time for him, and his recouperation even more so. He didn’t like to be idle, and especially didn’t like leaving a task unfulfilled. If Longinus himself hadn’t ordered him to busy himself rebuilding his speed and strength, he would have made off to Fort Camulan as soon as he was healthy enough to walk.

But Lord Longinus was right to keep him here. He was even stronger and faster than Longinus knew. He would not allow himself to be bested by the woman again. Aeolwyn was his and he would kill him even if it meant his own death.

Now that the time had come, he was anxious to get underway. The delays in getting the ship and timing the attack had upset him. One night, his anxiousness almost got the best of him. Overcome with the desire for revenge, he’d nearly made it out of the Fortress when Longinus found him sneaking out the main gate. The Lord of the Fortress was kind to him when he could have had him whipped, and just walked him back to bed. He locked the door behind him though.

“You are certain of your duties? This took careful planning and everything must occur as planned.”

“Yes,” he answered. “We are to launch tonight at full darkness and keep below deck out of sight until we reach the meeting point. If the ship is boarded at any time, we are simple traders heading to Tambryne City. We may kill any such men only if they get too curious.”

“Well done. And after that?”

“Once we make landfall, we are to find General Raubin and he will assume command of our soldiers.”

“Correct. Only after our men have been integrated into his army will you be free to pursue your mission. Take advantage of the chaos and look for Prince Aeolwyn. I hear he has risen up in the ranks, so he should be easier to find in battle.”

“Yes, Your Radiance.”

Lord Longinus embraced him—an unusual act for the Star Lord. “You are my best pupil, Child Fraius. Go and sow chaos.”

With that, Lord Longinus turned to the stairs and headed back up to the Fortress of Heaven. Fraius watched him go. The Lord looked so frail. He was getting older now, and soon would be looking for a successor to replace him. Fraius needed to make sure that he was the one.