In the months after being replaced as heir, Tancred vented his bitterness in the training yard, as though by lifting enough weights and throwing enough spears he could work the resentment out of his body and learn to accept his father’s decision.

  The weapon left his hand and cut through the air. It landed with a thump in the target, closer to the centre than his friend's. The audience of young men cheered but it felt like a hollow victory. Everything did, these days.

  Nevertheless, he turned with his arms wide in triumph and beamed at Telio.

  “A fine throw,” his friend said and slapped his muscular shoulders. “You've had more time to train as a lowly second prince, haven't you?”

  The jibe stung. Tancred masked the pain beneath his smile and replied:

  “Another contest!”

  They walked to the wooden target board at the western end of the training courtyard. The priest Devra, second only to Tancred’s father in the Temple of Hurean, walked in the shade around the perimeter. His white robes flowed in and out of the shadows as he passed between the marble columns, waiting for Tancred to finish. A waste of time, his mentor called Tancred’s sport. The real battle is in court, and your martial prowess serves no purpose there.

  Seeing that they were starting again, Devra shook his head, stopped his pacing and moved to join them. He watched from the shade between two columns.

  As Telio wrenched the spears out of the board, Tancred’s eyes caught a sudden flash in the distance. A bright light rose and sputtered, like a fire had been lit and suddenly extinguished at the summit of the mount. He squinted. Was that a plume of smoke that rose against the cloudless sky?

  “Telio, did you see that?” Tancred asked.

  Telio looked and brushed the long, brown curls out of his face. He squinted at the smoke.

  “Maybe your father lit the braziers for prayers today.” He looked at Tancred and asked quietly: “Have you spoken to him recently?”

  Tancred shook his head.

  “I was entertaining Adalina this morning; the leader of those Sevener refugees. Father isn't pleased about it.”

  Telio smirked, and one of the other nobles behind him called out:

  “I hear she's been entertaining you.”

  The group roared in laughter. Devra leaned forward and searched the group for the one who had said it.

  Tancred addressed them all as he replied:

  “She’s very chaste, if that’s what you imply. But I do find her captivating. She has a light in her eyes, despite the burdens she carries. Her people look up to her as you or I might look upon the statue of a god. She has a mind as fast as my brother Cadra’s, but a heart like yours or mine.”

  “You talk like a poet with the priest here,” Telio joked. “When you spoke of her to me, you said more about the shape of her thighs than the light in her eyes.”

  Tancred laughed and bowed his head as though conceding an argument.

  “You can’t fail to appreciate them under those breeches. I admit it: I like everything about her. Eyes and thighs, beauty and power. Why shouldn’t I? What do I have to hide now?”

  “You have nothing to hide, Prince Tancred,” Devra leaned his sharp-featured face out of the shade. The sun lit up the silver ends of his blonde hair. “But I counsel a little caution in expressing your desires. You are still your father’s son, and kings can change their minds.”

  Tancred glanced at Telio with a rueful expression, as though to say, ‘who invited him?’ Undeterred, the old priest continued:

  “There are many in court who see this Sevener as a foreign troublemaker. A rascal, like her ancestor. Be careful they don’t say that she leads you on. Be careful about proclaiming such love. Or lust.”

  The group fell silent. Only Devra could accuse Tancred of appearing weak and sit there, leaning back into the comfort of the shade, without breaking into a sweat. Tancred knew there was truth in his warning. From the outset, even before he met them, he had urged support for the Sevener refugees. They fled their dark and cursed forest, chased out by the Kingdom’s most hated enemy. It was natural to defend them. But despite his early and constant support, the more he talked with their young leader, Adalina, the more people implied that she had seduced him to be her ally.

  Still, it rankled him to acknowledge the old priest’s guidance, especially in front of his friends. There had to be some benefit in losing the heirdom to his elder brother; some compensation for the shame of being pushed aside after so many years as his father's favourite; his only trueborn son. Tancred had decided what that compensation would be: the freedom to pursue his own desires.

  “Old priest, thank you for your guidance.” He turned to face Devra with his arms outstretched. “But I am a free man now thanks to my brother, Cadra.” He lifted his arms and face upward and shouted into the clear, blue sky: “Love or lust, I proclaim it to the heavens!”

  The men laughed again and Tancred smiled. He met the old man’s eyes with something like an apology, then turned away.

  His smile faded and the laughs died; Cadra approached from the entrance of the courtyard. Tancred’s pale, dark-haired elder brother wore the golden sash of the heir over his shoulder. He somehow looked down his narrow nose at Tancred, despite standing half a foot shorter than his younger brother. He had always looked at him that way, even before he was named as the new heir. Cadra took Tancred’s own robe in his hand and shielded his eyes as he addressed him:

  “For my sake, Brother, if no one else’s, conceal your proclamation.”

  He threw the robe to Tancred and the men chuckled. Cadra added:

  “Father wants you.”

  Tancred walked beside Cadra between the white columns that surrounded the courtyard. He wiped his forehead as they went, aiming to make himself a little more presentable.

  “What’s happening, Brother?” Tancred asked. His father seldom held court after midday and had not called for him in weeks.

  They approached the wide, gateless entrance at the end of the courtyard. Tancred’s skin welcomed the cool air as they entered a covered, internal corridor. Narrow windows on one side let slits of light fall against the stone paving.

  “Someone tried to kill him,” Cadra stated. Tancred stopped in shock, then hurried forwards. Cadra did not break his stride.

  “What do you mean?” he demanded. “Is he injured? Who stopped the assassin?”

  Cadra strode on. They reached the end of the corridor and entered the staircase at the foot of the hill. It rose towards the seat of the king. Cadra answered:

  “He's alright. But the assassin passed the outer walls, circumvented the guards and alighted these steps. He entered the Godsroof itself alone.”

  Tancred gasped. This was an audacious attack and an extraordinary failure of their defences.

  They passed two guards who stood aside and bowed, apparently unaware of what had transpired, and exited the staircase onto the slope of the mount. From here, stone steps snaked in a winding path to the summit. Once they were out of earshot of the guards, Tancred asked:

  “So, who stopped the attack? Was Godron with him?”

  “He was alone.”

  “He fought off the assassin… himself?”

  Tancred did not hide his incredulity. Their father was an aged man who, on the rare occasions he chose to descend, required a palanquin to bring him down the mount. He glanced around the slope, wondering for an irrational moment if this were a trap. Immediately, he felt guilty for entertaining the thought. Resentment and bitterness were bad enough. Suspicion of his own brother was a step too far. But something about this did not make sense.

  Cadra turned and placed a hand on Tancred’s shoulder. His adopted brother’s blue eyes narrowed and fixed upon him, as though trying to read hidden thoughts. But Tancred kept no secrets from his family. He held Cadra’s gaze, investigating his elder brother’s face. With his dark, brown hair, pale skin and slim build, he looked the opposite of Tancred, who stood a head taller and had the more typical, bronze complexion of their family.

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  Cadra dropped his eyes and looked down the slope they had climbed. Tancred followed his gaze. The outer palaces and houses of the ministers were nestled between the mount and the low walls that surrounded them. Officials and courtiers bustled in and out of the white buildings. Guards marched around the streets and walls, their armour glowing under the sun and their spears glistening like the points of needles.

  It was difficult to imagine an assassin stalking those peaceful streets. Giftahl had enemies, but none that dared approach its ancient capital.

  Cadra broke the moment of reflection.

  “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  Tancred looked up.

  “What is? That someone would send an assassin to the Godsroof, that he would pass our guards unnoticed, or that father would overpower him?”

  Cadra smiled the knowing smile of someone who had not yet imparted their most shocking news. And yet, a hint of uncertainty lingered behind his eyes. Something about this frightens him. Cadra spoke carefully.

  “The first two mysteries we must discuss with our father. As to how he overpowered the assassin... It seems a spark of the old flame still lives.”

  Despite the blazing sun, Prince Tancred shivered as a chill passed through him. He did not dare to hope.

  “Speak clearly, Brother. Are you saying what I hear? Show me the assassin! Show me the body!”

  “There is nothing left of the assassin,” Cadra said, “but fragments of bone and ash.”

  Tancred shut his eyes and took a breath of air as though he were surfacing from under water. The chill that had passed through him melted away and his heart beat with excitement. Cadra warned before he could speak:

  “There is a danger, Brother, that this will cause us to act irrationally. Irresponsibly. As easily as being a return to glory, it could be the final flash of a spent power. It could be-”

  Tancred cut his brother off and declared, as much to himself as to Cadra:

  “The Lord of Heaven favours him again. Our king commands the fire in His name.”

  Cadra looked warily at Tancred and reprimanded:

  “It is not given to you or I to understand Hurean’s favour.”

  “It will be given to you soon,” Tancred replied with a note of the bitterness that he wished he did not feel. “Does this not fill you with hope? Has it not been our dream to see our father’s dignity restored?”

  “Did you believe it lost?” Cadra asked in a dangerous voice. Then he shook his head and said:

  “He’s waiting.”

  They climbed to the crest of the mount. Before them stood the First Temple.

  Larger, more decorated temples dotted the kingdom. The great Temple of Redemption on the far Western coast, which stood atop sheer cliffs, glowered down upon any raiders that might be tempted by the riches of those towns and villages. The Consecrate Library in Katarthion, walled on all sides, was like a city within a city, and boasted pillars of marble beneath plaques of gold.

  The Godsroof was, by comparison, humble: a simple rectangle of granite pillars before a grey wall that enclosed one acre. At the rear of the building were the king’s quarters, those of his closest advisors and a few rooms for guests. In front was the hall, where every king since Cadrafel the Great had held court.

  Tancred stood before the double oak doors and his spine tingled from his lower back to the crown of his head. He had seen palaces, castles and even guild-houses that were grander than this building. But this was the Godsroof; the first temple to Hurean raised by King Cadrafel. This was the unassailable seat of power in the world.

  This was his father’s house.

  Tancred pushed the door open.

  The light did not change as they stepped inside. It shone through the open space above them, just the same as it did outside. The king sat before them, in the middle of the roofless hall on the magnificent gold and silver throne with the sun beating down upon his bald head. The wooden benches on either side were empty and the iron braziers on the walls were full of neatly stacked wood and kindling, ready for court the following morning. The king’s gaunt hands gripped the arm rests with white knuckles, as though the world were rocking beneath him and he struggled to sit upright. His tall body was bent forward, but he looked up as they entered.

  King Brunulf stared with his good eye, from one of his sons to the other. A black patch covered the space where the other eye was missing. His golden robes hung loosely from the bones of his long, gaunt body. His skin was even darker than Tancred’s, baked by years under the sun.

  A few yards from the throne, the remains of the intruder smouldered. Tancred strode over and crouched to inspect them. Hot bone fragments smoked in a pile of ash. It looked like the remnants of a cremation.

  “I found His Highness like this,” Cadra explained from behind him. “But he would not discuss it, save to say that he had survived his enemies, until I brought you.”

  Cadra sounded resentful. Despite himself, Tancred smiled. In a moment of real danger, it seemed, his father still held him in close confidence. Perhaps, as Devra said, the king might change his mind again.

  Tancred stood and finally met his father’s gaze. A wet line ran down the old man’s cheek from the corner of his good eye. His thin, grey hair hung down, unkempt and straggling.

  “What is there to grieve, Father?” Tancred asked. “You have survived.”

  Cadra drew alongside him and spoke more formally.

  “Who was the wretch? Did he let slip any clue who sent him? And why were you alone here with none of your advisors?”

  King Brunulf drew himself up and, at long last, spoke. His voice was deep, and hoarser than usual.

  “I often sit alone when the morning session of court is adjourned. I send my advisors away to attend to their own business. I send my servants away. At the hour of worship, I prefer solitude.”

  It was true. Increasingly, the king isolated himself at midday. Cadra’s question had been an admonishment, more than a genuine query. Brunulf pointed at the ash heap before him.

  “He wore nothing that betrayed his origin. He spoke as though trained to hide his accent.”

  “What did he say?” asked Cadra.

  “He told me that my days were over,” the king rasped.

  “And? What then?” Cadra’s voice rose in frustration. The king’s voice dropped to almost a whisper.

  “I told him that I wished it were so.”

  Tancred gave Cadra an uncomfortable glance, but his brother looked impassively ahead. Tears welled in Tancred’s eyes. He proclaimed:

  “For our sake, Father, do not say so. We love you!”

  His voice cracked on his words. Cadra said nothing, as stoic as ever beside Tancred’s emotion.

  The king gave a soft smile and said quietly:

  “I am fortunate to have such sons.”

  He cleared his throat and spoke more clearly:

  “Speak of it to no one. Clear the remains and continue as though nothing has happened. But watch the faces of our friends. Someone who is intimate with my habits ordered this.”

  Cadra’s shoulders relaxed a little.

  “As Your Highness wishes.”

  Tancred did not move. His father narrowed his good eye.

  “You disagree?”

  “Let us speak plainly of what has happened here, Father!” Tancred cried. “You summoned the fire of our Lord! You commanded the blessing of Hurean. Your critics whisper that you can no longer do so, that you have lost His favour, and you could silence–”

  “Enough!” the king boomed. The word reverberated from the walls and Tancred fell silent, taken aback by the force of the voice which emanated from his father's gaunt and frail frame.

  “Do you think I summon flame to flesh, and singe bone into dust for the amusement of petty people?” Brunulf’s face turned red and his eye blazed. Tancred took a step back. “Do you think the sacred powers are a parlour trick, bestowed upon kings to provoke conversation when times are dull?”

  “No, Father, you misconstrue –”

  King Brunulf’s face turned redder still, and his knuckles whiter. He leaned forward and spoke in a hiss like the sound of red-hot metal quenching in a bucket of water.

  “Misconstrue! I know your heart. And I tell you: there is no glory in the death of this worthless assassin. You will not speak of it.”

  Tancred bit his tongue and nodded, then swallowed and forced himself to say:

  “As Your Highness commands.”

  The King leaned back in his throne and breathed out. His body went slack and he closed his eyes. Cadra spoke in a soft, conciliatory tone:

  “You are right, Your Highness. If word of this got out it would be taken as an omen. We’d have people clamouring for wars we can’t afford.”

  Brunulf remained still, then nodded slowly. Tancred flashed Cadra a withering look, not caring if his father saw it.

  The king looked at Tancred. He seemed wounded, as though his words had lodged like a barb in his heart.

  “Clear the remains and leave me in peace.”

  Tancred and Cadra swept the ashes and washed the floor. For a while, they were like two young brothers doing their chores in the days before the preoccupations of rank and title. They left the hall side by side. Only when they were halfway down the mount did Tancred speak.

  “I know what you’re afraid of, Cadra.”

  Cadra responded with silence. Tancred wished he could play his cards so close to his chest.

  “You think he’ll change his mind about Saltleaf Forest and the Seveners that fled it if he feels that Heaven is on our side. You’re afraid he’ll march our armies east, to fight the Republic.”

  Cadra stopped and grabbed his elbow. That got a reaction, at least.

  “Give up your lost cause, Tancred,” he hissed. “Tell that gaggle of savages to settle down in the city and dismantle their tents. That forest is no use to civilised people. Let the Republic have it! We have enough timber.”

  “They are our people,” said Tancred, quietly. “And we have left them at the mercy of godless men.”

  “They have not been ‘our’ people for centuries,” Cadra replied. “They have no love for us, nor I for them.”

  He strode down the steps, leaving Tancred alone on the slope of the mount. He looked up at the columns of the Godsroof from below, then out over the land around them. To the South, the commercial district of Katarthion bustled and hummed with activity. Between here and there, some way off the road, clustered the tents of the refugees. He thought of Devra’s words from earlier. Kings can change their minds. Now was the time to make a bold play.

  If the king would not summon the refugees’ leader to court, he would invite her unannounced. Let her presence remind him of his duty.

  If a spark of the old flame still lived, Tancred would fan it to the inferno it had once been.

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