Aeolwyn couldn’t tell whether morning had come or not; the darkness of his cell had consumed everything. The only reliable source of information was his ears. The guards outside were mostly quiet, but they did speak on occasion. Usually regaling tales of imaginary battles that they fought in, girls that they’d been with, and other stories popular among guards.

Star Children were supposed to be celibate, so the guards clammed up when their superior officer entered for the shift change. He yelled at them for being sloppy and not standing at rigid attention for their entire shift. He upbraided them for not having their white uniforms squared away, and he lectured them on the benefits of piety and humility. Then ordered them to someone named Brother Judas for penance.

Both groaned and shuffled out the door. Their replacements were instructed to set a better example than the last two, to which they replied with an enthusiastic, “Yes, Star Child!”

The last thing Aeolwyn heard of their superior was him closing the door behind him; then the guards were silent. He couldn’t even hear them shift their feet. He wondered if they got tired standing at stiff attention for so long. He knew he would; he practiced it regularly. It was important for a soldier to be able to stand at attention for a long period of time.

It wasn’t even a thing that Sir Jom required, he just did it on his own. Some days he would wander the halls and stand at attention next to the palace guards. He tried to stand with them for as long as he could, but try as he might, he still wasn’t able to make it their entire shift.

The guards were good sports about it, reminding him to keep his shoulders back and not lock his knees. He asked why once, and the guard told him to try it and find out. He did, and the guard had to help him up off the floor when he passed out.

Finally, after what could have been an hour, but could have been 5 minutes, one of the guards cleared his throat and said to the other, “Wanna have some fun?”

That didn’t sound very good. It sounded less good when the other soldier grunted an assent. The sound of footsteps in the guard room got louder and louder until they stopped at his cell. Keys jangled, and then the lock to his door clicked and unbolted.

Aeolwyn squinted as light flooded his cell. His hand went instinctively to protect his eyes. He could barely make out the shape of a large man in the doorway. The bright light hid any other detail about the man.

His armor jingled and his heavy boots made loud thunks as he stomped into the cell and grabbed Aeolwyn by the arm and dragged him out of the cell. At the end of the long hallway of cells, where Aeolwyn had thought only a door lay was a small cubby, about the size of three cells. There was a small table with two chairs. It had been polished until it shone and was empty save for the candle in the center.

The hallway and cubby were lit by torches, held in place by iron rings embedded into the stone. Soot stained the walls above the torches as the flame rose to the ceiling. The flickering light played with Aeolwyn’s brain after the complete darkness he had been in.

The guard pulled on Aeolwyn’s arm and threw him into the table. He tripped and slammed his face into the edge of the table. His legs gave out underneath him and he fell to the hard packed earth that served as a floor.

“How dare you,” he cried, “do you know who I am?”

He struggled to get to his feet. Some warrior he turned out to be. All the warriors in the stories were brave and invincible in a fight. He fell and was already on the verge of tears. He tried to stand and fought away his tears; soldiers didn’t cry!

“I don’t care boy,” the guard who had held him said and backhanded him with his left hand. He was struck by a soft leather glove, but that didn’t take the pain out of his hit. Aeolwyn collapsed to the floor yet again.

Once more he struggled to his feet and tried to take stock of his attacker. He was of average height for a man, which meant he had a good foot on Aeolwyn. He wore boiled leather armor underneath a white tabard with the sigil of the Star Children emblazoned on it. His fellow guard was dressed the same. The only difference between the two was that this man bore a large scar across his left eye, and his taller companion had a bushy moustache.

“My father is the king!” Aeolwyn said. “He will have you flayed for this!”

The guard took a menacing step forward. Aeolwyn tried to back away and ran directly into the table he had tripped over. There was nowhere else to go.

A muffled shout came from behind the cell door nearest the exit. “Leave him alone,” it cried. It was Egnever coming to his defense. The man had magic. Why didn’t he use it to get them out of here?

The guard grabbed Aeolwyn by his shirt and pulled him close. His breath stank of rotten food. It reminded him of the servant who had unwittingly helped him escape the palace. He wished he had gotten caught!

“Your father has no power here, boy,” the guard said.

Aeolwyn eyed the ruby-hilted dagger at the man’s hip. His sword was out of reach, and of no use in these close quarters anyway, even if he could pull it from its scabbard. The dagger on the other hand was well within reach, and much more useful.

As the guard reached back his hand for another slap, Aeolwyn acted. His hand raced out and grabbed the dagger. He pulled it out of its sheath and as quick as he could, plunged it into the guard’s neck.

A gurgled scream erupted from the man’s mouth. Blood came out in spurts when Aeolwyn pulled the dagger out. In a few short moments, the man slumped to the ground, and after thrashing about for a few more, he was dead.

The other guard was too shocked to react.

Aeolwyn hadn’t killed anything before. Sir Jom had talked about the feeling of your first kill at length. He talked about the mixed emotions, the rush you got when you were the victor in a life-or-death situation. He talked about the shock you felt at destroying another human being. He said you would feel bad for the victim’s family.

But Aeolwyn felt nothing. He just watched the man writhe on the floor until he stopped moving. All he really felt was relief that he wasn’t being hurt by the man anymore.

“You’re going to pay for that,” the other guard said suddenly, drawing his own dagger. He stepped forward, and Aeolwyn instinctively stepped back. He had surprised the other guard, but he wasn’t strong enough, or well enough trained in knife fighting to fight this one. He was going to kill him!

Just then the lock to the door behind them clinked and the door burst open. Two more Star Children came through. One, dressed like the others except for a gold braid around his collar.

“What the devil is going on here?” he shouted.

The surviving guard immediately put his dagger away and bowed his head. “Child Fraius,” he said fearfully. He gestured to Aeolwyn, “this boy killed Brother Barius.”

The man with the braid looked down at the body on the floor, then over to Aeolwyn, still holding the bloody dagger. He raised his right eyebrow and gave Aeolwyn a half-smile. “Is this true, Highness?”

The guard’s eyes bulged out when the officer addressed Aeolwyn as highness. He took a few steps back and stood at attention against the wall.

“He attacked me for no reason,” Aeolwyn said. “I had to defend myself. It’s not my fault you don’t teach your men to properly protect their weapons in close quarters combat!”

The officer, who Aeolwyn could only assume was Child Fraius stifled a laugh. Aeolwyn didn’t know what he said was amusing. He hadn’t meant to be funny, but Fraius’ body relaxed, and his gaze softened.

He turned to the guard now standing at attention. “What was the prince doing out of his cell?” he asked.

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“Brother Barius was bored,” the guard explained. “He thought the prince might be a good diversion.”

“Hrmph,” Fraius snorted. “I will deal with you later. Brother Rinus, take Brother Falis’ post while he deals with Barius’ body.”

“It shall be so,” the guard with Fraius said, immediately moving inside the little cubby.

Fraius turned to Aeolwyn and held out his hand. “You will not be harmed, child,” he said softly. Reluctantly, Aeolwyn handed over the dagger. Frauis tossed it to Falis, the guard that had been about to Kill Aeolwyn.

“Come, your highness,” Fraius said. “His Radiance wishes to speak with you.”

With no other option, Aeolwyn followed Child Fraius out the door and up into the keep. The bare walls gave way to the same shiny, whitewashed plaster that he had seen from the outside. They went down hallway after hallway, up a few flights of stairs, and the stark white hallways began to have gold decorations. Some were the sigil of the Star Children, others were strange petroglyphs that Aeolwyn didn’t understand.

He made a special effort to look for any escape routes, and especially the doors that would lead to the servant corridors but could find none. He did not see a single servant during their whole walk. Instead, the Star Children themselves seemed to be the ones who took the duties of servants. Aeolwyn could only assume that they were of a lower rank than Fraius or even the guard he killed.

Finally, on the highest floor, at what Aeolwyn judged to be the center of the keep was a set of large doors inlayed with gold that shone like the sun. He expected the gold inlays to be in the sigil of the Star Children, but they weren’t. It was just a series of vertical and horizontal bars that ran the length of both doors. Two very important looking guards stood outside dressed in a similar white tabard with their sigil on it, but instead of chainmail underneath, these guards were in a full harness of plate.

As Fraius approached, the two guards wordlessly reached out and opened both doors for him. The two entered the room without breaking stride, and what a room it was. The stout desk was, by all appearances made from wood, but it was a type of wood Aeolwyn couldn’t recognize. It was all white, and not just a light-colored tan, but pristine, sparkling white that had been polished until it shone. Like the doors, it had been inlayed with gold in a geometric pattern that traced the natural lines of the desk’s shape.

The man at the desk’s gaunt face had sunken, hollow eyes, but they seemed to notice everything, including where Fraius stood, and the undershirt Aeolwyn had chosen to wear last night. The man was dressed in a fine silk robe with the Star Children’s sigil emblazoned on the chest. A tall hat that mimicked the sigil was on a stand to his left. Below the stand was another fine silk robe that looked to be a more formal version of what he was already wearing.

“I apologize for meeting you in such a miserly room, but one has to make do in situations like this,” the gaunt-faced man said, not looking up from his writing.

If this room was miserly, Aeolwyn wondered what he thought was opulent. The room was octagonal in shape. The upward pointing triangular inlays on the cardinal walls were made of gold, including the largest one behind the desk. It was sparsely decorated; besides the desk, there was only a tall wooden stand that held clothing, a bookcase, and a small table with a pitcher and two goblets. A third goblet sat in front of the gaunt-faced man.

“You may sit,” he said. Fraius grabbed Aeolwyn’s shoulders and herded him into the single chair that sat in front of the desk, opposite the gaunt-faced man. He then hurried around the desk, knelt before the man and bowed his head.

“Prince Aeolwyn delivered as ordered, Your Radiance.”

The gaunt-faced man placed his left hand on Fraius’ temple for a moment, and then put it back on his desk. Fraius stood up and moved to a position beside the desk. He stood tall with his shoulders back, feet spread apart, and hands clasped behind his back. It was a variation of a pose Sir Jom told him all soldiers used in formal situations: his mentor called it parade rest.

The gaunt-faced man put down his quill and set both his hands flat on the desk. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“No,” Aeolwyn responded. Fraius shot a stern glance at Aeolwyn but said nothing. He had the gall to look offended. If the gaunt-faced man made no note of any disrespect at Aeolwyn’s response.

“My name is Lord Longinus. I am the Supreme Star Lord of the Courageous Order of Heavens.”

“So you’re the king of the Star Children?” Aeolwyn asked. He couldn’t help his attitude. This man might be the ruler of a ridiculous cult, but he was a prince! What respect had he been shown? None; why should he give it in return?

Lord Longinus rolled his eyes at his Star Children comment. They considered the term offensive and would prefer to be called a Child of the Courageous Order of Heavens. No one but them ever called them anything but the Star Children.

“I’m hardly a king,” he answered. “But we’re not here to talk about me or my position. You’re in a lot of trouble son. It’s within my rights to execute you.”

“You wouldn’t dare execute me,” Aeolwyn said. “My father would rain destruction down upon you and your order.” His confidence belied the icy fear that began rising up from the pit of his stomach. They wouldn’t kill him, would they?

“You may have an overinflated estimation of your father’s influence,” Fraius said.

Aeolwyn slammed his hands down on the arms of his chair. “My father is King!”

“Then why hasn’t he rained destruction down upon us already?" Longinus asked, amused. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands and stared at Aeolwyn. “The truth is,” Longinus paused for a moment to wet his lips, “your father’s rule is in a precarious position. The nobles are not happy with him, and it would take less than you think to encourage them to want a, shall we say, leadership change.

“Knowing that, I believe it would be a good strategic move for a leader in such a position to find some leverage to keep his grip on the throne,” Longinus leaned forward, tapping his hand on the desk, “now tell me, young prince, what sort of leverage did your father send you here to retrieve?”

“My father didn’t send me,” he said. Was his father’s rule in jeopardy? Had he risked it even further by coming here? They were going to want to know why he was here, but he knew he couldn’t tell them the truth, or, at least, not the complete truth. He had sworn to Alfyn not to. What would he tell them.

“We’re expected to believe that you organized this infiltration by yourself?” Longinus’s face wore an expression of incredulity. “That you and two noble sons whose fathers are friendly with the king planned this all on their own? To what end?”

“It was just a prank,” Aeolwyn said, with no better ideas in his head. “To prove that we could.”

“A prank?” Longinus laughed. It came out as a thin, hoarse rasp. “A boy died in your prank, and quite frankly, I’m not sorry that he did. You might join him still. Choose your words carefully. Why have you come?”

Aeolwyn burst into tears. He couldn’t help it. He’d tried to be strong, he tried to hold them back, but his exhaustion, combined with the fear that gripped him proved to be too powerful for him. Maybe he didn’t have it in him to be the warrior he thought he was.

He sobbed. He buried his head in his hands. He didn’t want the lord of the Star Children to see. The tears just kept on coming. They rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto his dirty green doublet. He cried so much that he struggled to breathe. It was all he could do to stay seated in the chair.

“This is getting nowhere,” Longinus said. “Guards! Take this boy back to his cell. Maybe some more time in there will loosen his tongue. Bring his friend instead. I bet he will be more willing to talk.”

The two guards came beside Aeolwyn and ripped him out of his seat. They dragged him away even before he could get his feet under him. He tried to get his balance and exit the room with some dignity, but he failed. Sir Jom would be so disappointed in him.

***

Fraius watched as the guards took the boy back to his cell. He only stayed because Longinus wished it. The boy was trouble. After killing Brother Barius, he wouldn’t be surprised if the guards escorting the boy were found dead.

He walked to the two great doors and closed them. They moved easily on their well-oiled hinges. The doors closed with a soft clink. He turned to Lord Longinus, who stared back with a soft, serene gaze.

“I don’t understand, Your Radiance, you want the boy dead. You told me to kill him not two days ago. Yet now that we have him in our hands, you stay his execution. As you told him, we are well within our rights to do so. Why wait?”

“He can't die while he is in our custody. It's one thing to suggest that we might be responsible, and quite another to confirm it.” Lord Longinus picked up the sheet of paper he had been writing on when they arrived and started looking it over again.

“Why not? He killed Brother Barius.”

“Indeed,” Longinus said without looking from his paper. “From what I understand, Barius removed him from his cell without permission or instruction. For what? To play with him? I applaud the boy for his strength against a larger, stronger man.”

How did Lord Longinus know? He hadn’t told him until just now, and he had come straight here from the cells, alone, with the prince. There were no other people in the cells to witness it, and even if there were, they would not have made it to Lord Longinus faster than he did.

“I don’t understand. Do you want him dead or not?”

Longinus put the paper down impatiently. “Yes,” he said. “But not now. As we have him, we have a bargaining tool. We will lose it if we execute him, and if you think that the king will respect our right to do so, you are sadly mistaken. Once we send his cold body to his father, we can expect furious retribution against us. Llarwyn would never tolerate such disrespect. Do you understand?”

“Not fully, but I will do as you say. What of the Thaed boy?”

Longinus scoffed. “He was just a pawn in this. We will ransom him back to his father.”

“Might I suggest some education is in order?”

He didn’t mean torture or punishment. He meant it exactly as he said it. Teach the Thaed boy some of their lower-level beliefs. Perhaps it would make him more sympathetic to their cause if he understood their goals.

“That,” Longinus said, smiling, “is an excellent suggestion. But add some reprogramming as well. He would make an excellent sleeper agent. Make it so.”

Diabolical. Having a young noble who was close to the ruling family would be invaluable. He could spy on them without even knowing it. If they chose, he could unwittingly become an instrument of sabotage or assassination.

He bowed, “As His Radiance commands,” he said. Turning, he strode from the room. He would need to visit both the Master of Lessons and Chief Inquisitor, and quickly too. He didn’t know how long they would have the Thaed boy in their possession.