The riots started almost as soon as the new king’s coronation was finished. The timing was uncanny. It was almost as if someone had been planning it for years, and a plant sent a flare up as soon as King Alfyn’s coronation bells started chiming.

  “I’m telling you it was him,” Arvard said.

  Sometime after they left General Yowen, Arvard had become convinced that the young-looking kid was Prince Aeolwyn in disguise. Bawdy thought he was crazy. First off, whoever this Yowen person was, they weren’t a general. Maybe a corporal, or a captain, but not a general. He was much too young to be a general.

  Secondly, it couldn’t be the prince. There was no way a prince would be dressed as a soldier, and only have a few guards with him along the Camulan road. If he truly had been Prince Aeolwyn, there would have been a hundred guards with him, along with a dozen retainers, and carriages, and more. The royalty never travelled light.

  “I’m telling you; it wasn’t him,” Bawdy said.

  They were inside the city near the end of the Camulan road where it connected with the sea. There was a big plaza, called the Fish Plaza just a few blocks from Brigadoon’s Arms, the tavern most everyone in the Docks visited at one point or another.

  It was a large square with a fountain in the middle. The center of the fountain had a large statue of a fish that would spray water out on days of good water. When the water was bad, like after a storm, or during a drought, the fish’s mouth ran dry.

  Or on days like today when the plaza was filled with protesters doing their best to destroy their own businesses when their real enemy was up on Mot’s Hill. That was always the way of these sorts of protests. They destroyed themselves because they were too scared to go fight the real enemies.

  “Look,” Arvard said, “Fusil told me that Prince Aeolwyn got sent to Fort Camulan because he tried to kill his older brother. Somehow, when he was there, he became a general. What other general would be on the road to Fort Camulan? It had to be the prince!”

  Bawdy shook his head. Arvard was prone to take flights of fancy. “I’m not going to keep arguing with you, but do you know how ridiculous you sound? It takes years for a soldier to become a general. Years! Prince Aeolwyn would be what, 17? That’s way too young.”

  “That was the point!” Arvard said. “He’s the boy general!”

  “Just stop listening to Fusil’s tall tales. You should know better.”

  As they were arguing, Bawdy spied a man walking along the road, trying to keep out of the view of the rampaging mob. He was very well dressed, and carried a long sword strapped to his back. A thick pack was hung over his shoulder, and a cloak was draped around one arm.

  His long brown hair hung loosely around his thick, heavy shoulders. Though he tried to avoid notice, he still walked with the casual confidence of someone who was unafraid of using the sword on his back.

  There was no mistaking him. He elbowed Arvard in the ribs. “What’s he doing here?”

  His friend glanced at the man but shook his head. “Who is that?”

  Bawdy smacked him on the back of his head. After all his talk about the prince who was a general, he failed to notice a real prince? Arvard was a real piece of work. He would believe anything anyone told him, but when he saw something with his own eyes? He was blind as a bat.

  “That’s Prince Wolfryn!” Bawdy said. “See how he looks nothing like Yowen? Their hair isn’t even the same color.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “That’s what I was asking. If anyone recognizes him, he’s dead.”

  Just then a flaming cart loaded with barrels came rolling down a side street. It just barely missed the two of them. A dozen protesters dove out of the way as it passed by them—and headed straight for the prince.

  “Wolfryn!” Bawdy shouted. “Look out!”

  But it was too late. The flaming barrel crashed into the prince just as he was passing by a shop. The force of the blow shattered the windows and drove the him deep inside the building. The flames ignited the curtains that had hung on the windows, and the fire spread quickly. Before Bawdy and Arvard could react, the whole building was engulfed.

  There was nothing they could have done. They had just witnessed Prince Wolfryn be killed.

  ***

  Jor Wiret was not what Davinya had expected. Despite his sinister appearance, he was intelligent and intensely knowledgeable. He wasn’t particularly patient or kind, but then, neither was Jor Bashi. In fact, Bashi could be downright demanding.

  She had resumed her lessons in Jor Bashi’s old study, which had become the domain of Jor Wiret. Unlike the disorder of Jor Bashi’s study, Wiret had meticulously cleaned and ordered all the rooms in the mage’s outbuilding. Everything was in its proper place, the floor was clean and tidy, and there wasn’t even a hint of something out of place.

  “You have made great strides, Davinya,” Jor Wiret said.

  He had begun teaching her things that Jor Bashi never even mentioned. One of her favorites already was what Wiret called Indomitable Will. If a Charm spell was like a windstorm, Indomitable Will was a hurricane. When properly cast, she could bend others to her will.

  She was already thinking of ways to use it. Not only could it help her defend herself against Alfyn’s advances, should she wish it—she could use it to influence him as well. As she continued to get better and better at it, she could end up being the real power behind the throne.

  Of course, that was all dependent on how much Jor Wiret was willing to teach her, and she was ready to drain him dry of his knowledge. Once she knew all he did, she could silently convince the king to dismiss the old man and make her the King’s Mage.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “It is all because of your great teachings, Jor Wiret,” she said. “In truth, you are a much greater mage than Jor Bashi ever could dream of. It is a travesty that you both hold the same title. I would make you an Archjor if I could.”

  Jor Wiret chuckled. “There is no such thing, my lady, though I appreciate the sentiment. But don’t discount Jor Bashi’s strength. He is much stronger than he appears.”

  “Then why have I made ten times the progress with you than I did with him?”

  “His methods were much more…cautious than mine.”

  She was suddenly aware of the loud shouting that was happening outside. The riots had been getting worse and worse. After years of being the king’s regent, the commoners had suddenly become angry that Alfyn was crowned king and began protesting in the streets.

  It had taken Alfyn by surprise, and he didn’t know how to respond to it. So far, he had done very little—he hadn’t even sent the city guard out after the perpetrators. He’d stayed safely holed up here in the palace while Teorton was in metaphoric flames.

  Lord-General Harmin had been urging the king to deploy the city guard and call up the knights, if necessary, but he hadn’t so far. The king’s believed that he needed to let the people blow off their steam. Once their rage was expunged, everything would go back to normal.

  Davinya wasn’t so sure, but she wasn’t worried. With her new powers, she believed she could stop the riots all on her own. She wasn’t quite there yet, as her strength in the spell could only handle a single person at a time, but Jor Wiret promised her, that with practice, she could control entire mobs of people…even armies!

  What could she do with such power?

  “What else is there, Jor Wiret? I’m ready for more!”

  Jor Wiret chuckled, then smiled at her. “You don’t have the experience just yet for more, my dear,” he said. “But rest assured, under my tutelage, you will. And there are far stronger magics than the simple gifts of Laryn.”

  That made her smile. She knew Jor Bashi had been keeping things from her. She was impatient to learn more, but she would have to wait. Jor Wiret was too powerful to use Indomitable Will on, and she wouldn’t dream of it anyway. As soon as he discovered she was using magic on him, her lessons would end permanently. If he didn’t kill her outright.

  In the meantime, she would work on what he’d taught her and find some less important people to test her spells on. Perhaps some of the servants? She needed to know the extents of the spell before using it on the king. If he was somehow able to resist, or detect that she had cast it on him, that could be disastrous for her.

  Perhaps a suitor? Not for her, of course. Alfyn would never allow such a thing. But now that Filliya was recovering, interested suitors were already lining up. Mostly local nobles, but neither Davinya nor Alfyn were interested in those. They were much too close to Alfyn for Davinya’s comfort, and since Alfyn was already king and didn’t need to solidify his hold on the throne, he wouldn’t gain anything from the union.

  No, it had to be someone further away. They’d already had some interest from a Tambrynese noble, and another from a prince in the northerly kingdom of Fortru. Either would be acceptable. Davinya wanted the Fortrese prince as it was further away, while Alfyn was more partial to the wealth a union with Tambryne could bring.

  Davinya wasn’t so sure. There was political unrest in Tambryne right now, and the possibility that Archduke Rovaielle could be overthrown was risky. If that happened, just as in every revolution, there could be a bloodbath of nobles. And that could put Filliya’s life at risk. Davinya wasn’t going to send her out of the kingdom to protect her from Alfyn just to have her murdered by some upjumped commoners.

  “Come, back to the lesson,” Jor Wiret admonished.

  Just then Tindelle burst through the door. After her father’s death, Davinya had taken her as her own personal servant. She needed the woman close in case she decided to plan her own escape, though with her newfound powers, the need for that was becoming less and less urgent.

  “Your Highness, there has been an accident!”

  Tindelle was nearly panicked. Her breathless voice, shaking body, and wild expression made Davinya nervous. She was always calm. Always. Even when, in his death throws, her father had kicked her in the face like a mule.

  “What’s happened?” Davinya asked.

  “Your brother…” Jor Wiret said suddenly.

  Tindelle stared at him in shock. “Yes!” she said in a wailing voice. “Prince Wolfryn has been killed!”

  ***

  Sir Jom sat down hard on the chair. He’d just heard the news. Everyone in the tavern was talking about it. Prince Wolfryn had been killed. Hit by a burning cart in the lower quarter. What was he doing down there? The riots in the lower quarter were getting entirely out of hand. It wasn’t safe for anyone to be down there, much less a prince!

  The tavern was called The Princes Three and was one of the more expensive places to drink in the upper quarter, but, as the Royal Tutor, he could afford it. It was filled with rich merchants, lower-mid tier nobility, and the people who served the king. They were usually less rowdy than those who patronized taverns in the lower quarters. Usually. Sometimes, they could get even bawdier when they were too deep in their expensive wines and brandies.

  Not today though. A messenger had just brought the news of Prince Wolfryn’s death, and everyone was silent, staring into their own cups. They knew about the riots. They knew the general populace was unhappy. They knew that if a prince could be killed, they could be next.

  Sir Jom knew that the populace was going to get the blame, and that Alfyn would be sending the army in to punish them in response. How did he know that? Because that’s exactly what he would do, and he was the one who tutored the king.

  Sir Jom didn’t believe it though. Alfyn was crafty, and Sir Jom believed the rumors. He believed that Alfyn poisoned his father, and he believed that he was poisoning his sister. At dinner one night, here in this tavern, Lord-General Harmin, already deep in his wine, let slip a hint of a plot. Harmin, of course, caught himself before he revealed anything, but Sir Jom had been playing at politics long enough to hear the real story in the smallest of slips.

  Alfyn had been responsible for Aeolwyn’s exile. And considering the eruption of violence that coincided with the boy’s arrival, Sir Jom suspected that he was behind that as well. It would be a tragedy if a prince was killed in combat, but it was a dangerous profession, right? And there would be absolutely no way to tie that back to Alfyn.

  Now that Jor Bashi had been dismissed, and Alfyn seemed to be looking to clean house, Sir Jom’s time was limited. Whether that meant his dismissal, or his death remained to be seen. With Jom’s knowledge of military tactics and politics, he could be a dangerous person to have on the loose.

  He couldn’t take that risk. Not with a clean job offer on the table. While Fort Camulan wasn’t as comfortable as the capital, Aeolwyn had been doing an excellent job changing that. He had been building bigger stronger walls, not just around the fort itself, but the larger city that was beginning to spring up around it.

  And how was that possible? The money the crown sent to manage the fort wasn’t enough for that, and General Aeolwyn hadn’t requested more. That meant the prince was making money on his own, most likely through taxes and trade agreements with the Captain’s Guild. A smart boy.

  Sir Jom saw which way the winds were blowing in Teorton. He decided that it was time to search for fairer winds, and the fairest winds blowing right now were in Fort Camulan. He would take Aeolwyn up on his offer for a job. While the boy was doing well, he would soon be stepping into a deeper world of politics, and he needed an advisor for that.

  He would leave before dawn, he decided. And he wouldn’t go back to the palace tonight. He was already carrying all he needed. He had his sword, enough coin to last the trip, and good, stout boots. If he went back to the palace for the rest of his belongings, there would be questions. He would be brought before Alfyn to offer his resignation, which the king would refuse.

  If he wanted to leave, he had to do it now.