“Sulein ... Whatever he has told you, it’s—”

“ ‘Tis King Verence who announced your true identity, sire.” Sir Terent gave Dain a proud, if crooked, smile. “Aye, I always had a feeling you were made for great things. But you being a king... well, now, I never dreamed of that.” “Verence told you,” Dain said blankly. He frowned. “But why?” “It’s true, isn’t it?” Thum said with excitement. “Morde a day, what a secret to have. And us banging about, cursing and roughing with you, without any idea.” “Aye,” Sir Terent said. “You’ve shown the patience of Tomias, sire, putting up with all of us as you have. ‘Course, had we known, we wouldn’t have—” “You weren’t supposed to know,” Dain said, draping his arm across his eyes. “Why did the king tell you this?”

“He told everyone,” Thum said. “The whole court knows, and you should see the talk. The ambassadors from Nether have been pestering us for days, trying to gain audience with you.”

“Thod’s bones!” Dain cried in exasperation. “Whatever for?” “But, Dain—I mean, your majesty—if you’re the rightful king of Nether, then why wouldn’t they want to see you?”

Dain opened his mouth, then closed it again. This was too tangled for explanation, and he remained confused about Verence’s motives. “I am exposed to my enemies now, and in small position to protect myself.” “Aye,” Sir Terent said, nodding. “ ‘Tis what the king himself said. This attempt on your life has all to do with that. A pity about the lady getting harmed by it.”

“I don’t understand,” Dain said. “Why would he tell? What had he to gain? Why insist that I—ah, this makes no sense at all.”

Thum and Sir Terent exchanged worried glances. Edging closer, Thum gripped Dain’s shoulder. “Don’t fret yourself now. You’re to rest, and we’ve upset you too much.”

Dain glared at him. “Tell me the whole of it. Tell me all that you know.”

Frowning, Thum stubbornly said nothing.

“Then I won’t rest,” Dain threatened. “I’ll get out of this bed somehow, and I’ll—” “Morde a day, as hard to handle as ever,” Sir Terent said with a sigh. “He’ll do what he says, Thum lad. He’ll fret himself to tatters.”

Thum rolled his eyes, but gave in. “Well, it’s this way. The prince was making all kinds of accusations against you. We didn’t know the truth of what happened, not being there, but others saw you fighting him. You know the penalties against it. You’ve been through that before.”

“Gavril made her cry,” Dain said grimly. “I would attack him again, with no regret for the punishment afterward.”

“But would you let yourself be executed for it?” Thum asked.  Dain scowled, pleating the covers with his fingers. All he knew was the rage in his heart at seeing Pheresa made so unhappy.

“The king saved your life,” Thum said. “In telling who you really are, he made it clear that you rank higher than Gavril. As such, it is Gavril who must apologize to you for provoking the fight.”

Understanding dawned inside Dain. He marveled at King Verence’s goodness in saving him. It would have been easy for the king to remain silent and leave Dain to his doom. Now the secret was out, and political fortunes would have to change, no matter how much Verence might want to keep them the same.  Thum laughed. “Aye, the prince must beg your pardon. I’d pay coin to witness that.”

“I don’t want his apology,” Dain said in anger. “If he’d let Pheresa be, none of this would have happened. She’d be safe.”

“That can’t be helped now,” Sir Terent said in a gentle voice. “Ease yourself, for what happened is done. There’s no going back and undoing it.” “Think of this,” Thum said in concern. “What if you hadn’t rushed out there and fought the prince? What if you’d drunk the poison as you were meant to?  You’d—you’d be dead now.”

A chill passed through Dain as he thought of it. Someone had known his secret all along. He thought of how Verence had said anyone who knew King Tobeszijian would recognize Dain as his son. Believing he could remain incognito at the Mandrian court was futile. The Netheran assassin had lost no time. And undoubtedly another attempt would be made soon, and another, and another.  Anger drove out his momentary self-pity. It was no good keeping secrets and living a life of caution. He might as well be bold and accept his destiny.  Verence had been wrong to try to keep him from it, and Dain had been even more at fault for trying to comply with the king’s wishes.

Gazing up at his friends, Dain thought of how good and loyal they were. He was grateful to have them with him. Choking up, he gripped Sir Terent’s hand. “Thank you for good service, my friend. I’m not—I can’t be your chevard and a king too.”

“Now there, sire. No need to sort it all out just now,” Sir Terent said hoarsely, his eyes shining bright. “Why, I’ll follow you no matter what title you wear. Aye, and so will all our knights at Thirst. Have no fear of that.” Sharp regret made Dain smile crookedly. “I gave Verence my word I would not take Thirst into Nether’s battles.”

“Bless you, sire, but you haven’t asked your men. ‘Tis to you, their chevard, that they make their pledge, not to his majesty.”

A lump filled Dain’s throat. He could not speak.

“When do we ride?” Thum asked excitedly. “Your own kingdom! Dain, it’s like a minstrel’s tale, only better. Why, the—” “I’m king of nothing while my uncle holds the throne.” “That won’t be for long,” Thum boasted, smacking his fist into his palm. “When your people hear you’re on the march, they’ll rise up against their tyrant.” Dain thought of what his father had told him in the dream, and his heartbeat quickened. “Aye,” he said softly. “I must go there, and soon.” “You’ll fight no war during winter,” Sir Terent said in a practical voice. “Come spring, you’ll have supplies and men gathered—” “No,” Dain said. “We are going there now.”

Thum’s eyes widened, and Sir Terent’s cheeks bulged.  “Nay,” the protector said sharply. “Rushing in afore you’re ready ... why, ‘tis folly.”

“I go there now not to fight,” Dain said, “but to save Lady Pheresa.”

“How?”

“The eld folk are best found in Nether,” Dain said. “They will know the cure for this poison. And also ... the Chalice may be hidden there. If it can be found ... if she can drink from it... she will be cured.”

Sir Terent sighed. “You might as well wish for the stars to come down to your hand as have hope of finding where it’s hidden.”

“Nay!” Thum said with fervor. His green eyes blazed at Dain. “The legends say that Tobeszijian hid the Chalice in some special place. And if you’re his son, then you were with him when he did this. You know where the Chalice is!” “Indeed you must!” Gavril’s voice said, breaking into their conversation.  Startled, Dain lifted his head and tried to sit up, only to be gently held in place by Sir Terent’s hand on his shoulder.

Accompanied only by his silent protector, Gavril walked into the room with an arrogant swing of his cloak. He held his gloves in one hand, and his cap was tilted rakishly on his blond hair. His dark blue eyes, steely and hostile in contrast to his smile, held Dain’s.

“May I enter?” he asked, giving Dain a mocking little bow. “Or is your...  majesty too ill as yet to receive guests?”

“He’s ill,” Sir Terent said gruffly, and stepped forward as though to keep Gavril from coming closer.

With a smile, the prince positioned himself at the foot of Dain’s bed. “King Faldain,” he said. “Well, well, well. You are a source of eternal surprises. And now it seems that you know where the Chalice is, and have known it all along.” “I haven’t said that,” Dain replied.

“There are many things you haven’t said, King of Secrets. One might believe it discourteous to live incognito for so long, especially among one’s peers.  However, we will discuss that later. At present, I am here to ask your pardon for wounding you so grievously.” Gavril’s smile grew forced. “Although you did attack me without provocation, my response was... excessive. There.” He lifted his chin as resentment flashed in his eyes. “I have said it, and said it prettily. Don’t you agree? Have I your pardon?”

“Yes.”

Gavril inclined his head. “Thank you.”

He turned to go, but Dain leaned forward. “Wait. Lady Pheresa must go to Nether, if she is to get well.”

“Oh, must she? Why is that, when our priests and physicians think she should stay where she is?”

“She will die here,” Dain said in concern. “I have heard she is safe for the moment, but that the poison will continue to work inside her.” Gavril’s fist tightened on his gloves, and his false smile vanished altogether.

“She is hardly safe. Come and see her. Come and see what they’ve done to her.” Dain pushed off the bedcovers, but Sir Terent again held him in place. “Not now,” he said firmly. “Your majesty is not well enough.”