“I am not,” Dain said. “My name is not—”

“Dain and Faldain are names almost identical,” Sulein said eagerly. “You are the correct age.”

Dain stared at him with pity. What foolishness was this? “Dain is a common suffix to many eldin names,” he said. “Faldain, Sordain, Landain, Cueldain ...  What of that? Oh, you paint a pretty dream. I would love to be a king, with a great treasure in my storehouse and the life of a fable, but I am simply an eld, orphaned and without family. I must live where I can, and keep myself alive.” “You wear king’s glass,” Sulein said, but his voice had dropped to a whisper.  Dain sensed how desperately the man wanted his idea to be true. For an instant Dain allowed himself to dream as well, but it was too impossible. He could not even imagine it. In that unguarded moment, Sulein’s usual protections seemed to have vanished. He sat there facing Dain, his hope plain to read in his face.  Dain could tell that this man wanted the reward and honor of finding the missing heir to Nether’s throne. Sulein might bury himself in this workroom with his studies and his experiments, but he was an ambitious man. He wanted too much.  He wanted from Dain what Dain did not have to give him.

“The pieces fit. Besides, only royalty may wear king’s glass,” Sulein said.  “In Mandria, yes,” Dain said, deliberately making his voice scornful. “But such is not the custom elsewhere. As a man foreign-born, you should know better than to think the custom of one land is the same in all.”

Sulein’s face reddened. He drew back as though he’d been struck. “Perhaps,” he muttered.

“How many refugees have fled from Nether in recent years?” Dain asked. “Families have been divided and lost. I could belong to anyone. I have proof of nothing.” “Prince Faldain’s mother, the Queen Nereisse, was true eld,” Sulein said. “King Tobeszijian was half-eld himself. It is allowed in Nether, to cross blood this way. The old gifts of seeing are valued there, unlike here, where the church has reformed much ... and caused much more to be lost.” “I must go,” Dain said.

Sulein jumped off his stool. “You disappoint me. I thought you would have more ambition for yourself.”

“To reach too high is to be struck down,” Dain said bitterly. “I cannot even vie for the position of Lord Odfrey’s squire. How would you make me into a king?” Sulein drew in a breath, his brow creasing with pity. “Ah, yes. Perhaps it is so, and my ideas are only foolishness. Well, then, talk to me instead of eld magic. You may trust me not to share what you say. I know that it is not always safe to reveal too much knowledge of the old ways.”

Dain frowned, backing up a step. “There is no magic.” “I know differently.” Sulein picked up a stick and held it out. “If you hold this in your hand, will it sprout leaves and return to life?” Dain held his hands at his side and glared at the physician. “No.” “I have talked to Nocine the huntsman,” Sulein said. “You cast a spell and turned him into a tree to save his life.”

“I created a vision, an illusion,” Dain protested.

“You have mastery over the animals.”

“No.”

“You can touch the minds of men, read their thoughts perhaps. Oh, your abilities in these areas are not as strong as mine, but I have studied and practiced many years to learn the art of mind spells, while this you do naturally.”