It is far easier to be suspicious of a person than it is to trust them.

The Book of Lost Wisdom, Kalutu

Seventeenth of Learning 1142

Captain Jericho was atop the wall when he saw the party approach. He recognized Maynor immediately. While the two of them had never been friends, they’d always been friendly. Maynor was riding with a strange team of companions. He knew from rumor this was the guild team that had accosted the royal family after Prince Eric’s wedding, and that they were now staying on as guests at the palace. He knew little more than the gossip, but that was enough. How they had ended up at the palace or why wasn’t Jericho’s concern. His responsibility was the defense of the city from outsiders. Maynor and the king had their reasons for welcoming the low-level team, so he would as well. But it was at least interesting to see them close up.

They apparently had a kreve with them as well, but he didn’t see it approaching. Perhaps it was still back at the palace. He descended the stairs that led to the top of the wall to greet them.

“Maynor, well met. And this must be the Misfits of Karmenon.”

“At your ssssservice,” said Ressssen.

“I don’t understand why humans say that,” said Borin. “We were hired by the king. Surely that means we’re at his service and not this gentleman’s, or did I misunderstand?”

Jericho looked amused, Maynor shook his head, but the rest of the team looked exasperated.

“I’ll explain later,” said Garne in a side whisper loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You seem like you’re going on a trip,” said Jericho turning his attention to the matter at hand.

Maynor’s grim expression hamstrung any further banter. “Yes, and you’re needed at the palace. You’ll be in charge while I’m gone.”

Jericho was going to ask more, but Maynor shook his head. “The king will fill you in. This isn’t the time or place. And we have to get going.”

Jericho had heard some guards had been questioned by the king, and he had wondered what it was about. It looked like he was going to find out.

“Well, whatever you’re about, gods speed. Don’t worry about us. I’ll keep everything in order till you get back.”

Maynor nodded but was already looking forward. Normally, Maynor didn’t like to leave the city and had to be pried from it, but his urgency and the speed of his departure left Jericho even more anxious to find out what was going on.

He called up to one of the guards, said he had business at the palace and could be found there if needed. He walked to his horse, which had been tied up at the foot of the wall. He often took his horse out in the mornings for a ride, and hadn’t had the chance to bring him back to the stables yet. So he rode through the streets, not fast enough to cause a problem, but fast enough to chase people out of the way at times. Once he had to slow for a cart that blocked a narrower part of the road. Then he was off again. And the whole time, his intuition urged him to move faster. He didn’t know the situation, but if Maynor was leaving Rish, it had to be dire.

When he finally reached the palace, he dismounted and walked his horse through the gate. All the guards knew him and several he greeted by name. He had one take his horse. Everyone seemed to sense his urgency, because no one tried to engage him in conversation. At length, he reached the throne room. The doors were closed and there were guards outside. That was also unusual.

“What’s going on?” he asked one of the guards, keeping his voice casual.

“I think you’d better go straight in, Sir.”

That was ominous. He opened the door and entered. The king and queen were on their thrones. King Terrence leaned over to talk more privately with Queen Treya, while the king and queen of Melar stood nearby, speaking with Leata. Everyone seemed tense. He cleared his throat.

“Captain Jericho reporting for duty, Your Highness.”

King Terrence looked up, hid a scowl, which Jericho hoped wasn’t directed at him, and spoke.

“Prince Eric and Prince Dahr are missing, presumably kidnapped by an unknown enemy. This was sometime during the night. Magic was used to control Maynor, who helped the culprit escape with my sons. He’s off to rectify that situation, which means you’ll be running things at the palace until he returns. I’ve taken the liberty of having quarters assigned to you for your stay. Do you have any questions?”

Jericho blinked. Did he have any questions? How could he not have questions? Was the king being curt with him because of what had happened twenty years ago? That seemed completely unreasonable and out of character for the king. Then again, he was undoubtedly under a lot of strain, all things considered. He forced himself to reply calmly.

“I’d like to hear what you have found out so far, Your Highness. Perhaps I can help.”

The king studied him for a few seconds before nodding. He repeated the entire story, not for the first time, including Striker’s involvement, the missing kreve, the guards being relieved, all of it. Jericho listened carefully, making mental notes as he tried to digest what he was hearing. How powerful would a mage have to be to cast a spell on someone as high level as Maynor. A spell that would make him an accomplice in kidnapping the princes. It was unthinkable. Who or what were they up against?

“Is there no clue who might benefit from abducting your sons?”

“Only speculation. The Undead King has the strongest reason to act against us.”

“The Undead King? I don’t understand.”

“This is knowledge that was only brought to our attention yesterday, but apparently a god told a Priest that Dahr would be instrumental in solving the undead problem.”

“The undead problem? Meaning finding a way to defeat them on their own turf?”

“That’s our best guess, yes.”

“Dahr? Small guy, about 14 years old, black hair Dahr?”

Queen Treya looked amused. “That would be him, yes.”

“And he’s going to...end the undead threat.”

“We believe so.”

“Which god said this? To which priest?”

The king grimaced. “This is where it gets murky. We don’t know the name of the god, nor does his Priest.”

“The Priest doesn’t know the name of his god? What kind of priest is he?”

“We’ve been calling him the priest of an unknown god.”

“What does that even mean?”

The king grinned. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“Okay, we’ll get back to that. Are you saying that the Undead King has reason to kidnap Dahr because a god we can’t identify made a prophecy?”

“That’s about as far as anyone here can figure it, yes.”

“Do you mind if I sit, Your Majesty?”

It was King Terrence’s turn to look amused. “Of course.”

Captain Jericho didn’t walk to a chair. He just sank down where he was, and sat cross legged on the floor, ignoring the odd looks from the others in the room.

“This Striker, what do we know about her?”

“She is a member of the Misfits of Karmenon. She had been a Level 4 Hunter, but she became a Level 1 Beast Master overnight. That’s all we know.”

“And the Misfits of Karmenon are traveling with Maynor who is attempting to find the princes?”

“They are.”

“Is there are reason that the team being sent to find your sons might possibly be responsible for them being kidnapped in the first place?”

The king’s face grew stern. “If you wish to question the decision, I would suggest you talk to Sheba, because she was the one who suggested it.”

Captain Jericho looked properly abashed. Of course the king wouldn’t send that particular group with no reason. But Jericho was on the scent now, and a little stumble wasn’t going to slow him. “Your Highness, Striker had to have had an accomplice. That sort of magic isn’t within the skill set of a Beast Master, and she’s only Tier 2 at that. There’s no way a spell she cast could possibly affect Maynor. Also, why would she side with the Undead?”

The king looked surprised. “I hadn’t had the time to think that through. Why would she? What was her motivation? I suppose it’s possible she too is under someone’s control.”

“Perhaps, Your Majesty. But why go through the effort. If you can cast a spell to control the captain of the guard, what do you need with a Tier 2 adventurer?”

No one answered for a long time. Finally, Queen Treya spoke. “Are you suggesting we have a traitor in this palace?”

“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility. But it would have to be someone fairly high level. There aren’t many in the castle with that capability.”

The king rose to his feet. “How would we even go about interrogating someone like that?”

“Carefully, Your Majesty.”

The king looked thoughtful. “Go to the Adventurer’s Guild. Find us a high level mage, preferably some one we know that’s not associated with the palace. Get Veloran on the way, and tell him to get over here. If there’s a traitor in this palace, we’re going to find him… or her.”

It didn’t escape anyone’s attention that Lord Ormund had been the one both reading the Misfit’s levels and vetting their statements. Several people looked at him speculatively and looked away as quickly when he returned their gaze. His face didn’t reveal much, but he did shift nervously. That in itself was proof of little. It was clear that very few people in the palace were in a position to be Striker’s accomplice.

The king’s face had darkened, making him look stronger and more dangerous than usual. Jericho thought the look suited him. That was the sort of strength the nobility respected.

“It will be done, My King. We’ll expose this traitor, whoever it is. Justice will be done.”

Captain Jericho bowed lower than he ever had, at least to the king, then whirled and strode quickly out the doors.

*

Queen Treya sat on the throne, hands in her lap, thinking furiously. She knew Jericho had implicated Lord Ormund specifically, without actually naming him, but she didn’t know why. Did he know something she didn’t? She could see the rage building in Terrence. Rage like he’d had when he’d returned from the war. She thought he had worked through it, but now, looking at him, she realized that it had never left. It was there, under the surface. A coping mechanism to deal with the unbearable realities of an endless war against an undefeatable foe. She couldn’t blame him, but she couldn’t sit by and let it ravage him. Not now. Not after all the progress he’d made since his return all those years ago. She hadn’t been able to live with it then, and now, with her sons missing, it wouldn’t be any easier. But she had to tread carefully when he was like this. She realized any misstep could make it worse.

“Terrence… it’s possible that Captain Jericho is right, that there is a traitor in the palace, but we can’t jump to any conclusions. Not yet. There’s too much we don’t know. And logic only works when there are enough facts to support it. We don’t have enough facts. Not yet.”

Terrence nodded. “I agree. We don’t have the facts...yet. But I will have those facts, and when I do…”

The expression on her husband’s face was terrible to behold. Gods, please, not again. Not now.

“Do you have any idea of who you’re going to interrogate?”

“Lord Ormund,” he replied, without a moment’s hesitation.

“Surely Lord Ormund is not a traitor.”

“He wouldn’t be my first choice, no. Others may have more motive, but how many people have the power to pull off what was done to Maynor.”

“It may be,” Treya said slowly, “that the guilty party isn’t actually a member of the castle staff. There are ways to get in and out of the castle. Anyone could pose as a servant and half the nobles wouldn’t recognize them at all.”

“Good point,” said Terrence. “It might not be someone we know. But I’m still going to interrogate Lord Ormund if for no other reason than to remove him from the list of suspects. We can hardly have him vetting people’s statements if he’s not trustworthy.”

“But this is Lord Ormund we’re talking about.”

“And what do we know about him? Sure he’s been here a long time, but before that? How do we know where his loyalty lies?”

“I’m sure Lord Ormund is loyal.”

Terrence looked at her incredulously. “Why? Do you know more about him than I do?”

She didn’t want to reveal her deception to her husband. This was not the time. Not when he was like this. “Of course not. I just find it hard to believe, that’s all.”

The king looked grim. “That’s exactly why he would be effective in that role. Pretending you’re a buffoon would be the perfect cover.”

Treya’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the slight. She looked around in a panic, but no one seemed to have overheard him. Under normal circumstances, Terrence would never insult a noble, even a minor noble and certainly not a mage in service of the court. She understood he was angry, but if she didn’t say anything now, this could get out of control.

She leaned closer to him and whispered. “This is not about Lord Ormund. This is about your temper. You remember how you were when you came back from Death’s Doorstep? I know I do. Take a few breaths and calm yourself. There’ll be plenty of time to insult court nobles once you’ve actually established their guilt.”

Terrence looked as if he were about to reply. She could see him battling to control his emotions. She smiled at him, hopefully. He took one look at the expression on her face, and seemed to deflate.

“I’m sorry. Our sons have been taken. I am not myself. I have no reason to accuse or insult anyone without more information.”

Treya nodded approval and knew Sheba would approve as well. She could see her husband take several deep breaths. He was angry, but he was controlling it, at least for the time being. But if he did find a traitor in the palace?

She wouldn’t want to be in that person’s shoes, whoever it was.

*

Dahr, Striker and Eric had spent another hour walking, when they came upon a dirt road that disappeared in the distance in both directions. Striker walked up to the edge of it and stopped.

Dahr looked both ways down the road, but there was nothing in sight.

“Eric,” said Striker.

“Yes, Striker?”

“I need you to wait here for me. I won’t be gone long. There should be a cart along shortly with a large, hairy man in it. You’re to go with him and follow his instructions as if they were mine. He’ll take you to where I’m heading.”

Dahr looked panicked. “You’re leaving us here?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“The king and his company are likely going to be tracking a kreve, so me and Stalker are going to lead them away. It’ll buy us some time. I’ll catch up with you soon enough.”

She was going to leave him alone with Eric. Not the worst thing that could happen. He might be able to snap Eric out of it, though it was unlikely, or Striker wouldn’t be leaving them. Still, being alone out here in the middle of nowhere made him nervous. He had no idea where they were. They had no food or water with them and hadn’t been given any since leaving the palace. Surely Striker wasn’t leaving them out there to die. Of course not. It made no sense. If she wanted them dead, she’d have killed them already. Kidnapping them was far harder than killing them would have been. So they were safe...at least for now.

“Striker?”

“Yes?”

“I really do hope you’re not the enemy.”

The smile she returned seemed genuine to Dahr. “So do I, My Prince.”

And then she and Stalker were gone, and Dahr was alone with Eric for the first time since they’d been abducted. Eric just stood there, staring around with interest as if they weren’t lost and alone.

“Eric, snap out of it!”

Eric just looked at him.

“Eric, can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you.”

“We have to get out of here.”

Eric looked puzzled. “No we don’t. Striker said we have to wait here.”

Dahr frowned. “Of course she said that. She abducted us, don’t you remember?”

“No. We followed her,” said Eric. “It was your suggestion.”

“What about Chari then?”

At that Eric paused. “Chari? What about her?”

“You know, your wife? Left behind and alone in the palace. On your wedding night.”

“Because Maynor came.”

“That’s right,” said Dahr. “Because Maynor came. And he took you to Striker.”

“Yes,” said Eric. “I can’t wait to see her again.”

“Chari is waiting for you, Eric.”

“I mean Striker. She’s the one we’re meant to follow. You said it yourself. Perhaps you’re confused.”

Dahr sighed. “Sure. I’m confused.”

He didn’t say anything else. Whatever Striker had used to control Eric, it was strong. And it wasn’t magic, at least not in the classic sense of what magic was. It was different. Dahr could see magic, and understand it pretty well. At first level it hadn’t been as noticeable, but since Level 4 his perception of magic had been stronger.

He had called what Maynor had been under a spell, but it wasn’t really, at least not as he understood magic. And he did understand it. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his class, or because of the residual knowledge left inside him after each time George had possessed him. He certainly knew things he had never learned. And one of the things he could feel were the links between people.

When he had looked at Maynor, he sensed the link to Striker. It was not unlike the link he shared with Eric, or the link that Eric shared with Chari. He didn’t understand how Striker could forge such links but he thought they must feel as real as the real thing. Eric loved Striker at the moment, and Dahr doubted there was anything he could do to change that.

He wondered what was going on back at the palace. Had anyone realized yet that they were missing? Was Maynor in trouble over it? He hoped not.

A distant sound infiltrated his thoughts, and he had to focus to identify it. It was the sound of horse hooves approaching. A short time later, he saw something down the road, which he took to be a cart and driver. Eric was looking that way expectantly. Right on time. How could Striker have possibly known that it was coming. She wouldn’t have had time to contact anyone. Had she arranged this meeting a long time ago?

As the cart approached, he saw the man sitting in the driver’s seat. In the back were sacks, a couple of barrels and a couple of crates. There was enough room for the boys to sit, but not much more.

The man in the front was huge, barely able to fit on the bench. Dahr felt sorry for the two horses pulling the cart. As the man drew closer, he could see more detail. The man had a wild beard and mustache and his eyes and hair were brown. He reminded Dahr of a bear. He pulled back on the reins and waited. Only then did Dahr see the lines leading away from the man. They were faint, almost invisible, but they were there, at least a dozen. One of them, somehow, he recognized. It led to Striker. That’s how she was able to tell he was coming. She was linked to this man. Not the same way she was linked to Eric or Maynor. That was different it was more like…

Dahr gasped. He realized that he too had a thread leading to Striker, so thin he would have never seen it. When had that happened? The man was looking at him but hadn’t said anything yet.

Dahr wanted to talk but the lines were in the way. So many of them. When he glanced at Eric he saw a thick band of...what? Energy? He had no real idea. But it was clear he was strongly connected to Eric. What was he seeing?

The lines were like gossamer threads moving in the wind, though Dahr didn’t think the actual wind was moving them. There was another force at work here. They were of all colors and thicknesses, everywhere he looked. They were distracting. He wished he could get rid of them, and suddenly they were gone. Dahr missed them immediately, though he wasn’t sure why. Still, there were other matters he had to attend to now.

“I’m Dahr and this is Eric,” said Dahr. He didn’t use his title in case the man didn’t know.

“I know who you are. Get in the cart. We haven’t much time.”

Eric immediately moved to climb into the back, Dahr following just behind. It wasn’t like he could stop Eric, so he had no choice but to join him. Once they were seated, the cart took off again.

“Where are you taking us?” asked Dahr.

“South,” replied the man, in a gruff voice.

“Do you have a name?”

“I do.”

“Would you mind sharing it?”

“Eldiss is the name. Normally I wouldn’t share it, but Trace likes you.”

“Trace?”

“You’d call her Striker.”

This man obviously knew her, hell he was linked to her, so perhaps he could get more information from him.

“Are you undead too?”

“Hell no. And neither is Striker. What’s wrong with you?”

“But Striker told me she was undead.”

“We don’t call ourselves that. We’re reborn, not undead.”

Dahr blinked. “But you’re not alive, right? You don’t breathe.”

“Well, that’s a matter of some debate. Being alive, not breathing. I’d say we were alive.”

“How can you be alive without breathing?”

“You’ve met Striker’s guild team, yes? Borin is a Salad. He doesn’t breathe like you do, does he? But you’d still say he was alive, right?”

“So you’re a plant?”

The big man turned to look at him, glowering. “Of course I’m not a plant. Are you soft, boy?”

Dahr was taken aback, not used to being spoken to that way. But he didn’t back down.

“Well, you’re planted in the ground. You’re tended by farmers. You might be a plant.”

Eldiss grunted. “You know a lot more than I thought you did. Striker has a big mouth.”

Eric was looking around, happily taking in their surroundings. Dahr wanted to kick him, even though none of this was his fault. Striker had kissed Eric and somehow taken his mind. At the thought he could see the thread leading from Eric all the way into the distance. He knew if he followed that line, it would lead to Striker.

Since there was nothing else to do, he tried to remove the Striker line, and it vanished completely. Then he thought of different people. King Terrence, Queen Treya, Chari, Maynor, Lord Ormund, Leata. Each person he thought of brought the line between them and Eric into sharp relief. The other lines where there again, so many he couldn’t count, but he only seemed to notice them when he was looking. He looked down at himself and gasped. He was a veritable pin cushion, criss-crossed with lines of different thicknesses going in every direction. There were connections to him everywhere, and suddenly he started to understand. He was a Nexus. Connections, most likely made by or lent to him by George, made him unique in the world. He didn’t understand the nature of these connections, but he was only Level 4.

That’s how he knew that Maynor had been under Striker’s spell. He hadn’t seen the thread then, but it had been there, connecting them, giving him information. Which meant, the better he got at reading the threads connecting people, the more he would know about them, about the situation around him. He’d never heard of a class like this, had never heard of a skill like this. That he could see this many threads at level 4...what would he be seeing when he hit Tier 2? He wasn’t sure his mind could process more than he was seeing now. In fact, he couldn’t even process this. Perhaps, as Veloran had suggested, he would evolve as he leveled, so that when he hit Tier 2, he would have what he needed to understand what he was seeing.

Everywhere he looked, in every direction, the world suddenly became a tapestry of infinite complexity. So many threads in every direction, impossible for a human to understand or follow. So many that even the thick thread between him and Eric was obscured and only barely visible, and he knew that one was there.

This was it. His class. His ability to see and understand these threads. This is what he needed to learn and work on. The skills he was getting from George might not even be part of his class at all. He willed them gone and spent some time practicing dismissing and calling up specific threads. When he looked at Eric, he found he could not only look at the threads that were most prevalent, but he could call up all the threads connecting him to everyone he’d ever had contact with. Useless of course. It was not only overwhelming, but so cluttered, no single thread could be traced. But it was a start. A skill no one else had. The ability to see the threads that connected people.

Dahr suspected that as he leveled, he would come to understand what each thread meant. As he watched, a thread floated to the front. It was thick, almost as thick as the thread connecting Eric to him. In fact, it did connect them, but it kept going past that, far into the distance, back the way they had come. Dahr set out to follow the thread, and it took him a while before he realized that he was sitting in a cart, following a thread miles away, back toward the city of Rish.

The thread led all the way back to the palace, where he saw… Kalutu! Of course, Eric and he were bound together to Kalutu. Their familiar. He wondered if he could somehow get a message back to him.

He tried several times but wasn’t sure any of them worked. The message he attempted to send was always the same. Wait in the palace. Don’t come after us. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.

Though he longed to continue, eventually he began to grow tired and was forced to stop. Whatever this new ability was, he had to master it as soon as he could, because it would give them a huge advantage. At the moment however, he had to look for something else he could use. He turned his attention back to Eldiss.

“Where are you taking us?”

“Somewhere you won’t be found.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

Eldiss turned his head again to look at him. “I’m not going to hurt you, unless you try to escape. You behave and I’ll behave, how’s that sound?”

“I think it’s a good deal,” said Dahr. “It’s better than the one Striker gave us at least.”

“We’re doing what we need to do to stay safe. Anyone would do the same.”

Dahr thought about it and couldn’t deny it. The seat was uncomfortable and not just because it lacked a cushion. The road was uneven and not well maintained, so the cart bumped and swayed, and in general made both conversation and sitting painful. While he was focused on the threads he barely noticed it at all, but now it was beginning to take its toll on his body. They hadn’t slept much, hadn’t eaten at all, and had walked a long distance. The pain that seemed to have touched every part of his body suddenly demanded his attention. He wondered if this was how old people felt. At length they pulled to the side of the road, and the man stood up.

“Time for food and water. Are you hungry?”

Dahr nodded.

“I sure am,” said Eric, loudly, like he was out on a camping trip with a friend.

The man walked to the back, opened one of the sacks and removed some bread, cheese and fruit, as well as a couple of water skins. It wasn’t the fare Dahr had grown accustomed to, but he was ravenously hungry and thirsty by now. He ate and drank probably more than he should have, and then he felt even more exhausted.

After they’d eaten, Dahr and Eric relieved themselves by the side of the road and climbed back into the cart. It wasn’t long before Eric fell into a deep sleep. Dahr didn’t last much longer.

Eldiss glanced back, saw them both sleeping and nodded with satisfaction. They had a long way to go, and he didn’t feel like answering any more questions. As it was, Prince Dahr seemed to know more than he should have.

*

In a gentrified area of Brooklyn called Park Slope, not far from Prospect Park, a three story brownstone did an amazing job of looking very much like every other house on the block. This in itself was not surprising as all of the houses had similar features. They were all the same shade of reddish brown. Each had three floors and a basement. A stone stairway led up to the second level, while the ground level’s entrance was hidden under the stairs. Seven windows adorned the front of each structure, two on the ground level, two on the second, and three on the top. This last floor was often used as a standalone apartment, though the owner of the brownstone in question had opted to keep the entire property to himself.

The area had become a melting pot of people from all over the world. The house to the left of the one in question was owned by a man who had started life in South Africa, but after moving to America, had become a well-known stage actor. The house on the right was owned by an Indian businessman who was currently the CEO of a technology firm. Neither of the residents of either of those houses, nor anyone in their families, had any idea at all that the owner of the brownstone between them had moved to Brooklyn from much further afield. He had come all the way from Thysandrika, through means that others in the neighborhood didn’t suspect existed.

There, in the basement of his home, the Undead King relaxed, considering the stream of new information being fed to him.

The chair upon which the Undead King sat was identical to the throne in his palace on the Plains of Xarinos. It had cost him over two thousand dollars at an office supply store, but it was the most comfortable seat he’d ever owned. It was ergonomic—every part of it completely adjustable. Let them have their thrones of gold, laid in with jewels, intricately carved, but he had the best lumbar support money could buy. And at the price, he could have as many as he wanted, wherever he wanted them. This was luxury the likes of which he had never known.

He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, feeling not just his subjects, but others he had influence over as well, a thing no one suspected. His awareness had spread to every major city, every palace, even most major towns. Even before the Undead War, his subjects had lived among humans, giving him at least some information about what was happening in the various capitals, but the war had changed everything. It hadn’t been that hard to ambush teams of scouts sent into his domain and bring them back from the dead as his subjects. Or to capture the occasional soldier separated from his squad, who returned to his commanding officer with a story of survival and conquest. And those were his actual subjects—the ones who reported to him willingly. But there were others as well.

Men and women who had no idea they had become his eyes and ears, unwillingly reporting to him every second of every day. Some of these hadn’t gone anywhere near the war. Though the Undead King had no direct control over those individuals, he was extremely good at nudging.

For example, he had been nudging Captain Jericho for years, further and further away from sanity. Jericho was an easy target, perfectly set up to manipulate. He wanted to believe that Ormund had had some agency over Queen Treya, because he himself wanted that agency. He had been in love with Queen Treya but always knew that she was destined to be the wife of a king. Above his station. And that he could live with. King Terrence was royalty, he was not. So he served and longed, but that was it. And then he had been relegated to the wall, and Ormund had stayed in the palace…with the queen.

At that time, the Undead King had no power to influence anyone not already directly serving him. That came a few years later, during a series of experiments, some successful, but most dismal failures. Terrence came to him before Jericho did, though he was never as pliable as Jericho. For some reason the king seemed resistant to his efforts. The only thing the Undead King had been able to accomplish with regards to Terrence was to inflame his guilt over the affair with the innkeeper, and he’d only been able to accomplish it because the king had already been feeling that pain. The Undead King had been able to stoke that guilt and keep it alive. But that was the extent of his influence. Why was Terrence so hard to nudge?

Captain Jericho had come to him years later, an unexpected stroke of luck that allowed the Undead King access to his mind. And what a mind it was—structured, rigid, unyielding. Not the kind of mind you’d expect to be able to break. Yet, it hadn’t been hard to nudge Jericho’s emotions ever so slightly over the line. A bit at a time. Tiny alterations that eventually led to this moment.

When The Undead King had started influencing Captain Jericho, he had had no end game. He was merely curious about how far he could push a human that was ready to be pushed, which turned out to be quite a bit further than he had expected. Working with what was already there was the key. Most people had something in their psyche he could use, if he looked long and hard enough. Back when he was still experimenting with such things, he had learned a lot about the way the human mind worked.

That early groundwork provided an opportunity now. While he couldn’t influence Terrence directly, at least not enough for what he needed at the moment, he would be able to use Jericho to sidetrack the investigation. King Terrence, for all his self-indulgent introspection, remained a danger to the Undead King’s interests. He had to be distracted. Anything that kept the king on the wrong track provided time for Striker to escape with the princes. The Undead King would use Jericho to sew misdirection and uncertainty for as long as he could get away with it.

He had no doubt King Terrence would eventually figure out that Ormund was completely innocent, with the help of his double-damned wife, no doubt. Too bad he hadn’t been able to get his hooks into her. The guilt over her still birth would have given him a solid starting point. Alas, it was not to be.

The Undead King would bide his time, because he had that time. King Terrence was just a man, and he would live fifty years or a hundred. Then he would be dead, just like his wife. And if the Undead King had to wait until then to get what he wanted, that was okay.

He had all the time in the world.