Rage filled his head and mangled his gut. Dascus had left the Drenched Cat without touching his meal, but he paid in full and nearly ran directly to the palace officials’ representative. The office stood outside the walled complex and served as a go-between for making appointments with anyone who worked inside. It was late in the day and the thought crossed his mind that the office might be closed, but he kicked in the wood door anyway to find out for sure.

A portly man, sweating in his navy-blue linen shirt and long vest, jumped from his seat at the back of the room. Three other people were sitting in chairs, likely waiting their turn to meet with him, but Dascus scowled at them and drew his short sword. All three screamed, stood and ran away.

“I want an audience with Senior Advisor Zephen within the hour,” Dascus said then, his blade point level with the man’s eyes.

The man, noticing the blade very close to the tip of his nose, stuttered, “I-I can’t get his-his Excellency to-to respond that quickly, S-Sir!” he complained.

Dascus eyed the room. Behind the man stood a door. He smirked.

“That goes inside the walls, doesn’t it?” he said and moved his point toward the door. The man moved only a quarter turn, but his eyes registered his rising panic. He didn’t want to respond and worked not to, so Dascus grinned and moved fast around his desk on his own.

“Sir!” the man complained but did not move to grab him.

Dascus opened the door easily and poked his head through. There were no guards there, though he saw some walking across the palisade in a relaxed stride. He slipped through and shut the door behind him. As a last thought, he smashed the handle with his sword hilt.

Replacing his sword, he strolled across the open courtyard. He knew exactly where to go, having spent six years of his life running around it as a child. He also knew that few people would question him once inside, believing security had approved him at whatever entry, so Dascus took his time.

Nothing had changed on the inside. The palace was as immaculate as he remembered; perfectly manicured gardens and lawns, pristine white benches, enormous urns with potted palms at intervals and beautiful bronze lanterns and braziers dotted the common areas. With evening falling, servants were hurrying around to light them.

Also, he remembered the constant movement of people on the grounds, mostly servants and courtiers. It was never quiet and completely empty. He nodded to two lovely young women, who giggled and curtsied in return as he walked by.

At the atrium, Dascus admired the expanse of the room, as he always had. Even though he was no longer a child, it was inspiring, nonetheless. Turning left, he took the stairs two at a time, all the way to the fourth level.

At the landing, he ducked sharply into an office when he noticed two guards coming his way. He waited for them to pass, checked the hall and resumed his path.

Two doors down, at the second largest office in the complex, Dascus paused. There were a few pages running around and another servant lighting wall sconces, but otherwise, they were alone. He pushed the door open and entered. To his immense luck, he heard papers shuffling but no voices. He went through the empty reception area and entered the office itself.

Zephen, his uncle by marriage, rummaged around an enormous desk, clearly exasperated at not finding something. He’d not heard the door or at least assumed it was the help, and ignored it.

“Uncle,” Dascus said and waited.

Startled, Zephen yelped, hopping violently in his chair. He looked up at the cloaked figure, his hand over his chest and face, an expression of wild exclamation, but immediately his eyes narrowed.

“Who are you? What is this?” he demanded. Anger quickly replaced surprise.

Dascus smirked and pushed his hood back.

Zephen sat forward and peered at him, but recognition didn’t come.

“I came to resettle, to find out what could be done to reconcile, not for money or title, but to see my elderly mother again and reacquaint with my sister. To meet the family that I lost.”

Zephen’s eyes widened in dawning understanding.

“Dascus?” he said in an awed whisper.

He nodded once. “So, I step off the ship and immediately ask my fellow Roguns, what event at the Ancestors’ Day celebration should I be most looking forward to? The children’s parade, perhaps? The Emperor’s Address?” he added and took a step forward.

Zephen watched all this but was clearly still trying to fit all the pieces together.

“And then I hear,” he said and the warmth left his voice, “there is no longer any children’s parade, as the emperor only has two children and one he doesn’t show off. A poor replacement for the ones he’d killed or lost, or so the people say,” he added with contempt.

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Zephen immediately frowned and leaned gently backward to sit straight. “What did you hear?” he asked a bit angrily.

Dascus advanced again and now stood over the edge of his desk, well within striking distance if he wanted to show his sword. “That Coltair killed my mother,” he told him in a low growl.

Zephen blanched. As if the truth had suddenly illuminated the room, he surrendered. “He did,” he told him, “and I am sorry for this, Dascus. Truly from the bottom of my heart, Thea did not deserve any of this, least of all for trying to save you from his obsession.”

To hear it confirmed as just a matter of fact caught Dascus off guard. He leaned back and sucked in a sharp breath, surprised by the sudden sob.

“When she asked me to arrange your escape, I begged her not to do it. But with or without my help, your mother was getting you off this island. At least I was able to secure you a caretaker—who I see did what I paid him to—if left to her, she would have sold you to a fishmonger!”

Dascus moved back again but not out of the room. He saw a small sitting chair in the corner and sat heavily into it.

Zephen stood then but moved only to come around and lean on the front of his enormous bureau. “Dascus, you are in great danger here! Your mother was correct about that. I had no right to disagree and we both feared what would happen if my brother got his hands on you! Why have you returned? For the love of the winds, boy, what could have possessed you?”

Dascus, weakened by the horrible truth, allowed Zephen his words and tone but wasn’t going to be humbled by them. He stood fast and loomed once again over his former uncle, who he noticed now was not a tall man. To an eight-year old, he had once been huge.

“Riverbrook was great—until it wasn’t.” His humourless grimace dismissed the longer story he wished not to relive. “I had to leave and this is the only family I know. My mother always said she’d come for me. Well, I am a man now. I was old enough to come for her. She’d be the right age to leave this place. No longer useful to him for breeding and he never made her a title that did anything useful. I expected a few more siblings maybe, and maybe a negotiation on her behalf, but not dead, Zephen. Never did I expect he would kill her over me.”

Zephen swallowed, but true compassion did lie in his eyes. He sighed in sympathy. “I am sorry, my boy.”

“What happened?” Dascus asked, not sure he wanted the details, but at the same time, he did. He hated the man that had trapped and forced himself on his mother, taken her freedom and her children and imprisoned them all in a gilded cage for his personal use and purposes. He did not need any more reasons to hate him further.

“You were discovered missing,” Zephen replied with a helpless shrug. “Thea had no defence and he arrested her. I tried to interfere, Dascus, but when it comes to my brother,” he said, but it fell away. “She never connected me.” Wringing his hands, he hung his head, unable to look at him. Neither spoke for a long moment.

“And now?” Dascus asked then. “This sickly child I heard about? He took a new wife?”

Zephen huffed in exasperation and walked back around his desk to sit down. “Yes, he was forced to,” he told him. “At least it might be helpful to know that Thea’s execution was not popularly received.”

Dascus sneered. “No one forces Coltair.”

“The law does,” Zephen retorted. “You were the last boy,” he reminded him sharply.

Dascus cursed. He still had his sword held tightly in his hand, but he no longer felt like stabbing Zephen over it. He sheathed it and turned his back to his uncle.

“I wish it weren’t so, Dascus,” Zephen said, more delicately now. “But you must go and never return here. I would like nothing more than to know you, as I once did. I cared for you and your mother, but the emperor will certainly imprison you if he finds you here. He coveted you; you were the ‘gift’ to his mad plan—whatever that means—and he waits, even now, for that clue to be resolved for him; you must flee, nephew!”

“And my sister?” Dascus asked over his shoulder without turning.

“Polara is well,” Zephen replied. “Girls are less useful to the crown. She is safe and happy, as far as I know. She is fond of the young prince and protects him. As you did once for her,” he added softly.

Dascus frowned and turned to look at Zephen again. he grumbled.

Zephen nodded and picked a piece of skin on his thumb. “Yes, she will likely be married to someone useful when she comes of age,” he admitted.

Dascus wanted to see Polara. Before he went, he wanted to lay eyes on the girl who was still a tiny baby in his memory and the only flesh and blood relative he had left. “I want to see her,” he said, but his uncle didn’t respond.

Zephen’s eyes had widened at the exact moment a loud shuffling erupted behind him.

Dascus whirled around and came face to face with a uniformed, heavily scarred man that sneered at him with an evil grin. “Well, well,” Izik jeered, looking him up and down.

“A guest, Izik, he was just leaving,” Zephen said and stood quickly, but Izik only chortled at him.

“A guest used to threatening his way past the palace reception? Carrying a weapon, no less,” he added and moved Dascus’s cloak aside to view the short sword belted to his hip. It was a punishable offence to be armed within the palace complex.

“No harm, Izik. I vouch for this man. Let him pass,” Zephen ordered, but Izik wasn’t in the mood to obey.

The blood drained from Dascus’s face.

“Do you now?” Izik stopped walking around Dascus to peer at the royal advisor. “I’m sure the emperor will find this dull and uninteresting then. Tell me his name so I can at least complete my report.”

“Taggert,” Dascus said immediately and eyed Zephen for a short moment. “My name is Taggert and his Excellency had hired me to deliver goods for His Majesty on the southern shore. It went fine, but the ship sustained damage. He did not tell me I was transporting lions and one got loose, killed two of my crew. I’m looking for recompense.”

Izik grinned at him. “At the tip of a blade, Master Taggert?” he said. “Personally, I agree with that style of negotiations myself, but see, my master frowns at folks threatening his brother, so besides the logical reason for your tale, I’m just going to have to detain you until the master says otherwise. You understand,” he added and moved to indicate two of his men should bind his hands and take him.

“His Exalted Highness need not be bothered with such pointless affairs, Chief Commander,” Zephen urged then, anger rising in his voice.

Izik looked surprised and amused.

Clearly, Zephen’s failing grip was proving his suspicions nicely.

“That’s for the emperor to decide, Royal Advisor,” he replied simply, turning fast and his men with him, dragging the struggling Dascus from the room.

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