“But it isn’t—”

Verence’s gaze pinned Dain. “A disguise,” he repeated firmly. “No doubt it has guarded you well from Muncel’s agents while you lived in the uplands. But you cannot hide forever, especially not in lower Mandria. Why did you come here if not to declare yourself? Why seek the lesser title of chevard before my court?  Are you simply a coward, or is it some convoluted strategy that guides your actions?”

The criticism stung, and Dain flushed.

“Only recently, in a vision, was I told of my identity,” he said with difficulty. “I have not entirely believed it. I have had no proof to offer men.” He frowned. “How can I ask anyone to accept this, when I myself am not sure?” “But I am sure,” Verence told him. “I knew your father. Anyone who did would recognize you for his son. You resemble him unmistakably.” Emotion choked Dain’s throat. He found himself clutching his reins too tightly, and ease his hold. “And did he wear a breastplate of hammered gold, majesty?” “Yes. I have one myself. It is the right of kings, you know.” “I—I didn’t know,” Dain whispered. “And his darsteed—you say he rode one like a Nonkind warrior?”

“It is the strange tradition of Netheran monarchs,” Verence told him. “A darsteed is captured in some manner, perhaps by a sorcerel. By spellcraft the creature is forced to submit. They are savage, dangerous, unwholesome beasts, but when the king is astride one, custom has it that his enemies are often too terrified to fight.”

“Aye,” Dain agreed wryly. “I can believe that.”

“And you, Faldain. What of you? Have you this mysterious ability to master a darsteed if you need to?”

Dain blinked, but he knew already the answer to that question. “Aye,” he said.  His simple, honest, confident answer made Verence turn pale. Dain saw him swallow.

“Great Thod,” Verence said softly. “I believe you could. That is the proof you can offer. No one but the rightful king would dare.”

“Doesn’t Muncel ride a darsteed?”

“Nay, lad. He does not.”

They stared at each other in long silence. Dain’s thoughts were spinning so rapidly he could not keep up with them all. He didn’t know whether to shout in gladness or wheel Soleil around and run. It’s true! It’s true! his thoughts kept saying, and yet he still had trouble believing it. He was a king, but he still felt like Dain of the forest. How, he wondered, were kings supposed to feel inside? Arrogant and conceited, like Gavril? Tremendously assured, like Verence?  “Muncel wears not the Ring of Solder,” Verence said now. “He carries not the sword of his father. The Chalice of Eternal Life is not his to guard. But he sits on the throne, keeping Nether tight in his fist, because no rightful claimant has ever stepped forward to challenge him.” Dain hardly knew what to say. “The vision—my father—told me to find the Chalice of Eternal Life and return it to Nether as proof of my claim. Without it, the land cannot prosper.”

Verence looked solemn indeed. “That is a noble quest, and if your father—reaching to you from wherever he is lost—has ordered it, then you should obey. Since its disappearance, Nether has suffered much.” “If my father took the Chalice and hid it for safekeeping from his enemies,” Dain said slowly, “why then does he ask me to search for it? Why not tell me where it is? I do not understand the meaning of such a quest. I could spend my life searching across the world and never find it.”

“Are you saying you mistrust your vision?” the king asked him. “Do you think it false?”

“I know not. It helped me the first time. I sense no lie in it, but I was told that I know where the Chalice is, and I swear to you, majesty, that I do not.” “Are you sure, Faldain?”

“Of course I’m sure! To find it would be the most glorious act in the world. You say I look like Tobeszijian, majesty, but I have no memory of him. When I see him in my visions, he is a stranger to me. Would I not remember something of my past?”

“That, I cannot say.”

“Majesty, what would you advise me to do?”

“One king does not advise another,” Verence snapped.  Dain bowed his head. “Right now, I am not a king. I am merely your chevard, and I have—” “When do you intend to claim your birthright?”