It was a violent and angry night. The wind was relentless, carrying with it freezing rain which coated the palace walls in heavy sheets. The thunderous cracking of the ice sheets echoed through the halls. Sleep would not come to King Edwin, partly because of the ominous weather, and partly because his mind was preoccupied with the litany of crimes written upon his soul.

He reached up with his right hand, slipped it into his robe, and clutched the golden gavel which Heritor Maxius had given him. The metal always felt cold against his breast, but it brought him peace.

Is he real? Edwin wondered.

Who? the voice replied.

This startled Edwin. It was rare that his Elemental spoke to him. He was not a witch after all, and he doubted that even the legendary Reyndell would have had access to the kind of power required to summon this particular Elemental. She had even said as much, once.

The Lawgiver, Edwin replied in his mind. I want to have faith. I want to have hope. But my heart is filled with doubt.

How can anyone know something like that, silly? the Elemental asked.

Her voice was always somewhat mocking. It was a voice that Edwin found vaguely familiar, on account of his memories from previous reincarnations. However, it was not the voice any mere peasant would use when speaking to a king.

Sometimes the hopes and dreams of an entire people can be used to will a new Spirit into existence, the Elemental continued. Perhaps there exists a Spirit of the Lawgiver, in the domain of Mother's sister-self. If you were not trapped here, perhaps you could go find out for yourself.

You seem very talkative tonight.

You should be weary on this night. Something dangerous lurks nearby.

Edwin shivered involuntarily.

"Is something wrong, my king?" one of the nearby guards asked.

"I just felt a chill," Edwin replied.

A bolt of lightning shone down through the overhead windows, illuminating the immaculate red rugs and banners in the hallway. Guards were stationed at every doorway, standing at attention as he meandered slowly down the hall. When the fit of lightning passed, his vision darkened. King Edwin did not see the master servants glide silently beside him, but he did see the white fur collar of the heavy coat that they offered. Skillfully, they slipped it about him. He had many such garments, and the servants cycled them through some sort of steam-powered garment warming device. On this night he relished the warmth.

Something dangerous? he thought. Like what?

She is not quite human, the Elemental replied. I don't think she has a brain.

Edwin froze. Where is she now?

I am sorry, I am not familiar with humans. Not like the daughters of the Original Three. She is coming into the palace now. I do not think you can hide from her. Even if she doesn't have a brain, she still knows where you are.

"Damn," Edwin hissed.

"My king?" a nearby guard asked.

"Seal the palace," the king commanded. "Take me to the throne room."

"It will be done!" the guard promised.

Edwin made his way through the Aden family quarters to the entrance to the rainbow bridge which supported the Hanging Throne, trailed by a pair of guards. He ascended the narrow stairway through the arch, up and up to the tiny solar hiding just above the dais. The room was, strangely enough, already occupied when Edwin arrived. It was one of the men who came to the palace with Maxius the Younger, a bald assassin covered in scars.

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"King Edwin!" the assassin said. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know you were going to be here!"

"No worries friend," Edwin said. "Pour me a drink, please."

"Yes, my king!" He slid an empty glass across the table, then began measuring out a respectable quantity of amber whiskey. "Maxius left this bottle behind when he fled. It's a lovely blend of oak-aged whiskeys from the Eternal Forest."

"My king," one of his guards said. "I'm sorry. We did not see this man enter."

"That is quite alright," Edwin said. "He does not have an aura, so you need not fear for my safety. Wait for me beside the throne."

The guards saluted and then descended the secret ladder to the Hanging Throne. Edwin sat down opposite to the assassin and took a sip of whiskey. The man was right, it was quite lovely. Spicy and oaky, with a strong vanilla flavor. The alcohol immediately helped calm his nerves.

"I would ask a favor," Edwin said.

"Anything you need, my king."

"I would ask that you give me the Lawgiver's blessing this night."

This request inspired a symphony of well-rehearsed charlatanism from the assassin, though Edwin did not find the many promises of eternal salvation to be unwanted. He finished his whiskey in silence, poured himself a second glass, and descended the polished wooden ladder down to the platform behind the Hanging Throne. There he waited, drinking away his fear and regret, as the hallway leading to the throne room was rapidly consumed with the sounds of violence.

The flash of lightning revealed a battle on the floor just ahead. The sound of thunder drowned out the sound of screaming guards. The assassin from the Theocracy appeared at Edwin's side, grasping the daggers on his belt, his face uncertain.

"It's just one man!" the assassin said. "My king, do not stain your hands with this filth."

The assassin leapt off the platform and landed with a cat-like grace. Lightning flashed, and then the man fell over, his head rolling on the floor, leaving black smears on the red rugs. Neither the halo of crimson flames behind the throne, nor the flickering crimson torches which lined the room, were enough to fully illuminate the tall figure who stood below Edwin. The king saw only a towering shadow, armed with what appeared to be a greatsword which took both hands to swing.

The last of his guards cried out in death, and then the hall was silent.

"You have done well," Edwin said. "Who challenges the King of Lyn in his own throne room?"

The figure removed one hand from his greatsword, allowing the tip to sink and settle gently against the stone floor. He revealed a small gas lamp from under his cloak, which he ignited with a twist of the mechanical sparker. It was quite bright, enough to fully reveal the hulking figure. A truly massive man, clad in smokey chainmail, with long hair the color of burned coral.

"My name is Sir Zachary, the Knight of Summer," the man announced, boldly. "It is rare for the children of my brother to agree on anything, but they have set aside their differences this one time. The Emperor wants justice and the Blue Wolf wants satisfaction. Heritor Edwin, do you have any final words before I kill you?"

"You have no aura," Edwin said dismissively.

With a casual wave of his hand Edwin claimed the ether in his aura and activated the weave that would incinerate the Knight of Summer in less than a heartbeat. The heat would be so intense, and death so sudden, that the man would not have enough time to scream. Yet, Edwin grinned, waiting in vain for the screaming to start.

Nothing happened.

Blood.

The color of blood, burning like a flame, deeper than the crimson halo which framed Edwin's face atop the Hanging Throne. It was a black-red fire, hateful, all-consuming, and it burned exactly at the base of Sir Zachary's blade, where the bright ethersteel met the gleaming copper crossguard.

"It shall be written upon your gravestone," the Knight of Summer promised.

He leapt fifteen feet into the air, stepping up onto the Hanging Throne's platform like a child bounding up a staircase two steps at a time. In the light of the crimson halo, Edwin saw clearly the greatsword in Sir Zachary's hand. There was a contraption there, bound in place by copper tubes, hissing and pumping with tiny jets of steam. Within a diamond-cube of clear crystal, a human heart beat, beat, and beat again, pumping tiny streams of blood through transparent channels to the copper tubes. The whole thing burned with bloody entropy.

I told you she doesn't have a brain! the Elemental said in his mind.

That's the heart of a witch! Edwin suddenly realized.

Sir Zachary's hand snapped out with lightning speed and grasped Edwin by the throat. The king struggled against the knight's overwhelming strength.

Memories flashed through Edwin's mind like images in an animator's lightbox. Memories of another life, another trip through the Elemental Plane of Dreams, one which ended in an encounter with Zakx, the Blue Dragon, Father Winter himself. In his final moments of sensation, before he lost consciousness and his brain began the long process of decomposition, the visions showed him his greatest shame.

The corpse of a Purple Dragon. Tortured by Mother Ashe, her lifeless body resting on the torture table, the Fourth High-Daughter of the Queen of Dreams stolen, turned against her. Princess Astrid of House Anna-Rhea, the firstborn daughter of Queen Anna.

Literally, phonetically, the Anna-tiki.

"This world is a prison!" Edwin rasped, purchasing his final words with the last remnants of breath left in his lungs. "A prison for the Bloodraker! Don't free her!"

Snap.

The world turned upside-down as Sir Zachary casually tossed Edwin's limp body off the Hanging Throne.

The Lawgiver isn't real, King Edwin thought as he drifted into the darkness. Mother Ashe, my soul is yours. Then, and now. Mother Ashe, a reckoning awaits me.