“I second that,” Wil said eagerly, sitting down beside the fire. Galen followed suit, as did the palace guards. The prisoners crawled forward in their cells, pressing against the doors to get as close as possible to the fire.
“I don’t understand,” the man Relam had interrogated earlier said, frowning. “You’re helping us?”
“Yes,” Relam said simply. “You are my only link to the man behind all of this.”
The prisoner nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you,” he said at last, drawing his blankets closer around him.
Relam nodded, then fell silent, thinking as he gazed into the flames. He would update Narin next time he saw him. This was real information to work with, not some rumor that a random informer had happened across. If they could find a way to use the information, it might just make a difference.
“Sir,” Galen said, interrupting his thoughts. “We should be getting back.”
Relam sighed. “You’re right, of course. Come on Wil.”
“I was nearly warm for a moment there,” Wil complained. “But I guess I can light a raging fire when we get back to the palace.”
“In the fireplace,” Galen added.
“Where else would I light it?” Wil asked, puzzled.
“Just making sure,” Galen replied, shaking his head.
Relam smiled and drew his cloak closer about him. “Let’s go,” he said to his guards. “Before it gets any colder outside.”
The prince led his guards back into the bowels of the Citadel, down staircase after staircase until they reached the entrance hall once more. The guards at the gate readily opened the portal for them, just a crack, and Relam and his companions slipped out, making their way back to the palace.
The next morning Relam woke to find frost coating the windows of his room and the roofs of the city, covering everything in a shimmering blanket. There was no ice forming yet, but the cold weather of the previous night had apparently carried into the morning.
Relam emerged from his room to find his father eating breakfast in front of the fireplace, leafing through a stack of reports with various seals at the top.
“Morning,” the king said briefly, taking an enormous bite out of a muffin.
“Morning,” Relam replied sleepily. “Anything interesting in there?”
“Another message from Ishkabur,” his father replied, holding up a sheet marked with the southern lord’s blue wolf. “Begging me to send someone to investigate, along with supplies and reinforcements.”
“Reinforcements? You mean they are asking for soldiers to defend themselves?”
“Yes,” his father muttered, polishing off the last crumbs of his muffin. “We’ll see what Clemon has to say before we do anything though.”
“He’s already left?”
“Yes, early this morning, on the first ship out of the harbor,” his father confirmed, setting aside the blue wolf report for further analysis. “Ah, here’s an interesting one. From Ostgard. They’ve received warnings from a village or two as well.”
“This just keeps getting better and better,” Relam muttered, moving to the dining alcove, where breakfast was set up buffet style. He wrapped several slices of bacon in hot bread and returned to his father’s side. “Is there any good news in all of that or just portends of disaster?”
“Good news isn’t worth writing about,” his father replied distractedly. “No, only bad news makes its way to me. Hmm, the north is snowed under already. Could be another hard winter on the way.”
“Did you see the frost this morning?”
“Yes, unusually early in the year for that. Hopefully there won’t be a hard freeze for a while yet.”
“Hopefully,” Relam agreed, chewing thoughtfully.
“Trouble continues in Mizzran,” the king added. “The miners are continuing to revolt.”
“Maybe a royal decree to pay the miners would fix things?” Relam asked.
“Maybe,” his father agreed. “I’ve got to move carefully right now though. I’m sure something is brewing in the Assembly, or at the very least the High Council.”
“It’s shameful the way the miners are exploited,” Relam muttered.
The king looked up at him. “I agree,” he said. “But the supremacists are growing stronger all the time, and this would be a move directly against them. There are a fair number of nobles who would not take kindly to that.”
“Like D’Arnlo?”
“Well, he’s not in the Assembly,” his father said, shrugging. “But yes, I imagine he wouldn’t be too pleased, seeing as he is one of the more vocal supremacists.”
“Are there no voices for peace and treating people like . . . well, people?”
“There are,” his father said. “They’re just not as loud.” He frowned suddenly. “Can’t recall you being this interested in politics before,” he observed.
Relam shrugged. “Some of it’s from studying with Oreius. He was in the Orell War, you know. A supremacist war if there ever was one.”
“Ah,” the king said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Yes. I was too young then to know what was going on. But I remember hearing that the Orell were wiped out. I doubt that was my father’s intent, but it happened under his rule so he is to blame. He always contended that the Orell’s strict codes of honor were the real reason the war was so bloody.”
“There shouldn’t have been a war at all,” Relam pointed out. “At least, that’s what Oreius thinks. The Orell were peaceful, good neighbors. They never moved against us and there was no reason to invade.”
“I think,” the king said slowly. “That the lure of ruling the whole world was reason enough for my father. Imagine for a moment, Relam, if you were in his place. It had never been done before, never been possible. He could write his name into our history, be remembered for all time as the man who brought all peoples under one banner.”
“All remaining people,” Relam amended.
“I’m not saying I agree with the method,” the king said, holding up his hands. “But I think that
