Cara woke with a start. Her dreams had been torturous, and it seemed she couldn’t sleep for more than an hour at a time. She rose and fretfully put on a robe, then wandered into the hall outside.

“Cara,” her father said. He was in his solar with the door open, reading one of his books. She hurried into the solar and sat on a bench along the wall.

“What’s the matter my dear? Are you still worried over the dwarves? I promise you they’re perfectly well.”

“I know,” she said. She had been terrified when she saw the cave-in, but her father instantly reassured her they’d been gone for hours, having received an urgent letter from Thrond. “I worry over them all the same. To leave so suddenly, the news from Thrond must have been grave.”

“Doubtless. They’re realm is assailed by a vast army. But I have complete faith in Grar and their Army Chief. We stand ready to send them aid, should they need any.”

Her father seemed agitated somehow. His hands trembled ever so slightly, and his voice sounded strained. She looked at the book in his hands and read the title. The Great Year, it was called. No wonder he’s bothered. “Why would you read of the end of the world at night? Don’t such tales disturb your sleep?”

He smiled. “This account was penned by Siandus Dreamtreader, who believed the Great Year was a time of ascension and rebirth, rather than a time of catastrophe.”

Cara wracked her brain for knowledge of the author her father spoke of. “Wasn’t he called the Mad Elf?”

“Indeed. Much how Erudan Penwright of Eruhal is regarded today. His beliefs were revolutionary. His contemporaries had no notion how to respond to his bold statements, and so they branded him a madman. If you ask me, I’d say they were simply jealous.”

Cara nodded with thinly feigned interest. She turned her head to the window behind her bench and looked outside. A trickle of rain had begun to fall, sweetening the heavy air. A length of white cloth fluttered in the light breeze between the banners of her father’s vassals. “Who’s banner is that?” she asked.

Her father rose and looked out the window. “Surely you’re familiar with the Brays, Blackmorns and Ebonfields? They’ve served our house for generations.”

“There was a plain white one between them, just a moment ago.”

Her father shrugged. “I see nothing. Perhaps it was a bird? Gulls fly fairly far inland along the Nazrad in midsummer. Perhaps one arrived early.”

“Perhaps.” Cara felt restless, and decided to ask the question that had been gnawing at her since she’d heard her father call for his dyer when he thought no one could hear. “Father, do you keep secrets from us?”

He put down his book and looked her in the eye. “Yes,” was his plain answer. “I hide a great deal from all of you.”

Cara sat upright and looked down at the floor. She had not expected such a direct and open answer from him. “Why?” she asked, looking up at him.

He folded his hands together and swallowed. He seemed tense, but there was no deception in his eyes. “Love. And my own limitations.”

Love? How could someone lie out of love? “Can you explain that to me father? I can’t imagine a lie being an act of love. Truth is love, honesty is love.”

“Cara, you asked if I kept secrets, not if I lied.”

“But wouldn’t lying be a part of keeping secrets?”

“Cara, what are you asking me, truly?”

She looked at him. Something frightened him, deep down. She saw it in the way he tried too hard to maintain his composure; his perfect posture, the stillness of his features, how he held his hands folded together so she she wouldn’t see his fingers trembling. “Who is the dyer?” she blurted. “And why do you employ such men? And if need be to hire assassins and cutthroats, why hide this from us? Why try to keep the man you truly are from your own children?”

He smiled, as he often did when cornered. It puzzled her how her father used a smile as a shield. “Now I can answer your second question,” he said. “I’m not keeping the dyer hidden from you, I’m keeping you hidden from the dyer, and from all such ugly truths. I’ve never claimed that there is any virtue to governance, Cara. To do that, would be to lie. I want you to have joy, and to be innocent, if only for a time. When you become a queen, you will see what no husband can keep fully hidden from his wife, as your mother has seen through me, and you will be inducted to the shadows monarchs delve into to conduct their business. I love you, daughter, and my love has moved me to spare from the reality of the lives of kings for as long as I can. Your brother saw that darkness first hand, and see how it’s shaken him.”

“Perhaps he wouldn’t have been so shaken, had he not been so sheltered. Father, if you wish to spare me from the harsher aspects of rule, then don’t marry me to a prince or a king. I could have been wed to Howl several years ago, and be living peacefully in Castle Corn, in the heart of our realm, far from men like the dyer. Instead you took me to Thrond, and set me in front a dangerous man I couldn’t help but fall in love with. I’ve grown weary of the games you play. If you truly love me, free me from being your pawn.”

A thing then happened that Cara would never have anticipated. A tear trickled down her father’s cheek. She had never seen him cry, not even when his father died. “Cara,” he said, “is that truly what you want? To be wed to Howl?”

“No. Howl is a kind and handsome young man, but he’s one of many. Ror is altogether singular, and there’s no unraveling my thoughts of him. I’m besotted, and that’s that. I’ll brave the darkness, if that’s what comes with being given to such a man in such a realm. But please, father, don’t keep any more secrets from me. I’m a woman grown and flowered, for six years now. Teach me the ways of the world, so that I may not be so shaken by it as Hale.”

Her father smiled again. “And now we come to the second aspect of my answer; my own limitations. I have placed my foot in a torrent, and must use all my strength to keep the other foot firm upon the bank. My ancient sire united the kins in a just war against disunity, and ushered in an era of peace that lasted for the better part of an age. For generations war was a thing that happened over the seas or in places of myth. But that time is ended. Only three lifetimes ago the Arcadians conquered Provosa, and they’ve sought to conquer the Marches several times since. Thrice Eruhal has gone to war against Ronehelm, and now all of Konistra stands on the brink of violence. If I were an unscrupulous man, I might have had your groomed from girlhood to be a cunning politician. But I was limited by my love for the happy girl that melted my heart with her bright red curls and big blue eyes. I’m sorry Cara, for my weakness, and I’m sorry if I have failed you. I never wanted to lie to you, and I never meant to hurt you. Can you forgive me?”

Cara felt a tear stream down her own cheek, and she went to her father, sitting on his knee as she hadn’t done in many a year, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “There’s nothing to forgive, father. I’m the one who’s wronged you.”

He gave her a tight embrace, then she went back to her bench. “I’m just frightened, I suppose,” she said. “Nothing has been the same since Thrond.”

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“Your mother told me of your dreams. I wish you would have said something to me of them.”

“You don’t think I’m mad?”

“No, Cara.” He set a hand on his book. “The men and women who wrote these grand tomes all had truths revealed to them in their dreams. There is a deep well within the mind of every person, a well our sleeping eye peers into while our our waking eyes rest from blinking in the sun. There are those who would likely call you mad, as they called Siandus, Narvi and Alon. But I will never doubt the wisdom of dreams. I’ve had my own, you know, in the broad of day, though it’s been many years since.”

“You have?” Cara was amazed. “Waking dreams, like mine? When?”

He smiled, but a natural smile, not a shield smile. “When I first went to Thrond.”

She stared breathless for a moment “Did you have a piece of black mannarim? Or go to the dancing stars?”

“The what?”

She described the crystalline hollow where she felt so safe and accepted by Obrus, and saw the dark shadow growing on the wall. He laughed, and explained that he was not as welcome by King Thaddum’s children as she was by Grar’s. “Lobuhl hated me the moment he saw me, and while Balvor was kind, he made no effort to share my company beyond what was required. Only Grar showed me any signs of friendship, and he was very busy with his duties as Crown Prince. I wandered the vast halls under the mountain on my own, without a friendly guide to show me any of Obrus’s secrets. No, I had my dreams while gazing at the gates of Malgond. I spent hours staring at the scenes carved into the everglass, and with no one to tell me the stories they told, I made stories of my own. When my first dream came to me, I thought it was merely my imagination coming alive.”

“Father, I’m so sorry they treated you that way. You must have been terribly lonely.”

“It stung, to be sure, but I found I kept myself occupied, and found meaning in my solitude. Thrond awakened in me an awareness of the secret powers of our world, and set me on a journey of discovery that I’ve revelled in every moment of my life. I’m a better man for the time I spent alone, and have found many fine friends since.”

“Like Dennel?”

Another truthful smile spread across his face. “Dennel is as much my brother as Idana is my sister. And Ser Walsh is a trusty companion, in his own sycophantic way.”

Cara laughed. “And Malaad?”

“Yes,” his face lit up, “Malaad is a most excellent fellow! I have high hopes for his enterprise, and am proud to count myself his patron.”

“It was kind of him to lend me his tent. Father, I have one more question. If you have no qualms hiring people like the dyer, why don’t you think better of Noxi?”

“Because he’s a goblin, Cara. Goblins always show themselves one way, while keeping their true selves hidden. When I first hired Noxi to escort a trade caravan, he told me he had a twin brother who would be aiding him, and thus would need twice the pay. I stood my ground and he took the pay I first offered, and after extensive inquiries I learned that no one had ever seen both him and his brother together at the same time. But don’t think I despise him, or any of his kin. They’re plagued from birth with fragmented minds, and if they lived in a world of their own would likely feel no need for their deceptions. But they have need of their games in order to relate to the other kins, and they do the best they can. All the same, I don’t trust them.”

Cara recalled Noxi’s misgivings towards the drow boy, and was wondering if he was as right of the drow as her father was about the goblins. “What do you suppose the other kins think of us?”.

“That we’re violent and fearful, and won’t rest until we dominate the entire world. And they are not wrong, Cara. Our kin is bent on conquest, more so than any other, save perhaps the drow, given the right circumstances.”

“But they were so peaceful. I’d give anything to go back to Protus. I’ve never felt so content, and so close to the trees and wind and soil.”

“I’m glad you spent that time there. Potus is an island untouched by the stormy seas around it. But they’ve worked hard and long to create their paradise, and have come along way from their violent origins. The drow of Primus are more true to the mood of their nature. The sad irony is that the content and peaceful way of Protus means they are uninvolved in the affairs of other realms, and thus of no use to the world around them. If one would seek to involve the drow in any sort of unified goal, then he is forced to deal with Primus, and must take the fair with the foul.”

Cara smiled. She hadn’t spoke with her father in this way since she was very young, and she felt a sense of hope filling her heart.

“May I ask you a question?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Is there really something between you and Ror?”

“I think so,” she let out a happy laugh, “but it’s hard to tell, I suppose. I have a nagging fear that being so charming a man, he’s accustomed to women liking him, and treats all maids as he treated me. But I think, rather I feel, that there’s more. But who knows? I don’t want to spoil what might be with what is just yet.”

“My daughter, you are wise beyond your years. I’ve greatly enjoyed our talk. Thank you for speaking from your heart.”

“Thank you father.” She happened to glance out the window and caught sight of the white banner again. She rose and kissed her father’s cheek, then excused herself.

“It’s beginning to rain, ‘ighness,” Kylie complained as she wrapped her princess in warm clothes, “you’re like to catch a chill.”

“It’s a warm spring rain, Kylie. I likely don’t even need all these clothes you're burying me under. I’ll back in less than an hour. Half a hot bath ready for me.”

“Very well, Your ‘Ighness.”

The wind had picked up considerably by the time Cara made it to the curtainwall. She passed several guards who bowed courteously, then went to the banners of House Ebonfield, House Blackmorn and House Bray. There were no signs of a gull, neither droppings nor feathers. She shrugged her shoulders and leaned backwards against a crenel and closed her eyes. The swift warm wind felt refreshing. The light rain pattered against her face and neck, tickling her throat and misting her hair. She looked over her shoulder towards Dawn’s End. The tower rose steep and tall in the night. Lightning flashed, followed by a crack of thunder, and she caught site of a white sheet disappearing around a nearby turret.

She leaned forward and peered into the darkness. Lightning flashed again and she saw the form of a person ducking behind a merlon around the corner of the far wall. She thought of the white banner in the eaves of the Coldwood on the return trip from Thrond, and found herself quickening her pace, her feet seemingly carrying her on their own as if summoned.

She looked about to see if there were guards nearby. None were in the immediate area, but they were close enough to hear if she called out for them. She hurried, moving almost at a run. The rain had picked up and she nearly twisted her ankle on the slippery wet stone. When she rounded the corner there was no one hiding within the crenelations. She looked about her, darting her head this way and that. The moon was bright and lit the wall with a pale glow, and there were rushlights all along the wall, sheltered by the tall merlons. She saw no one. She walked along slowly, carefully minding her footing. She was standing near an archway in a turret when lightning flashed again. A thin figure appeared before her for an instant, wrapped tightly in a hooded white robe and cloak. Cara gasped and stepped back, slipped on the wet stone and fell backwards. The guardrail was less high on the inner edge, and Cara struck it with enough momentum to roll back ward over it. She let out a cry, then caught the guardrail in time to save herself from falling.

The rain was pouring in her face, and the wet rail was hard to grip. She groped in vain to get a better hold, but she could not pull herself up. She tried calling for the guards but thunder drowned her voice. The rain was blinding her, and she was slipping downward, then a pair of clammy hands gripped her wrists and tugged desperately. She scrambled for a hold on the wall with her feet, and inch by inch made her way upward. She tumbled over the guardrail and fell in a heap on the wall. The stranger’s white cloak fluttered as the thin figure turned to flee.

“Stop!” Cara shouted. She wanted to thank the person as well as find out who they were. The guards heard her then and came running towards her. The stranger turned quickly. The wind blew back their hood and for an instant their face shone in the light of moon and torch. It was a woman’s face, with milk white skin and a slender, graceful mouth. Her nose was a pair of thin slits that ran upward along the center of her face, and she had neither eyes nor sockets nor brow. Instead her entire white skull was bald and smooth.

Cara screamed. The guards rushed in and called to the stranger to halt, but she turned and slithered over a crenel. When the guards looked over the wall they saw nothing. Cara shook as a guard helped her up. “Are you hurt, Your Highness?” the man asked. She shook her head and he escorted her back to the keep.

Kylie had her bath ready. She slipped into the steaming hot water and shuddered. Kylie asked her what had happened, but Cara said nothing of the woman’s eyeless face. She thought to ask her father if he’d read of such a creature in any of his books, but when she spoke to him after her bath she found no breath for questions. She merely assured him that she was well, nodded when he swore the intruder would be caught and went back to bed. What if she was the Dyer? She thought. She had always thought the Dyer was a man, but this woman had evaded the guards, and skillfully followed her all the way from Thrond. Yet Cara had sensed no menace from the woman, in spite of her shocking appearance. No, it couldn’t be the Dyer; he wouldn’t be wandering the walls. This woman, whoever she was, was following Cara specifically, and saved her when she fell. She didn’t fear the stranger’s intentions, only her face. The smooth and eyeless skull, devoid of brow or sockets, against the thin, lovely shape of her mouth. And the way she crawled over the wall. She moved like a snake, or a worm…

Walk with me, said the Voice.