And so it was that before he left the captains of his army of ants, Mawyndulë stepped forward, placed his hands on Rhapsody’s shoulders, and added, “I want you to build my church. Replace the Aguanon. Throw down the images of their elven god, shatter their statues, and rededicate that pagan temple to Novron. Only by worshipping him properly can we purify ourselves and receive the rewards due us. Make me proud, Mayda.”

Her real name had come to him in that moment, and he’d said it as a punctuation—just a bit of fun drama. But as with everything associated with Rhapsody, the result was over the top. The girl fainted dead away.

A pounding at the door to Farilane’s chamber jolted her awake, letting her know her birthday had started, that she had slept late, and that—the pounding not being his knock—Virgil was still dead. None of this made her happy to be a year older. And by the violence of the hammering, she guessed this might already be the best part of her day.

Farilane was quick to the door, having once more slept in her clothes. Virgil used to call the military-grade leather tunic she favored her pajamas. He often made fun of her for going about the city in her nightdress. Have you no shame? he used to say.

Why am I thinking so much about Virgil all of a sudden? Maybe because his appointed replacement just abandoned me.

Or maybe I just miss Virgil.

Maybe I miss them both.

More pounding hit the door. “Princess!”

Happy birthday to me!

She pulled the door wide and found Kolby and Ethan standing in the corridor, looking worried. “Hi, boys. Love the pounding. You’re probably not even aware I was sleeping.”

“Something’s happened,” Kolby said. “We were ordered to secure the princess—”

Snatching her field book off the nightstand, Farilane raced out, forcing the Teshlors to chase her.

She’d been expecting an attack for days. Mawyndulë had not impressed her as the patient sort, and with him being so close to his goal, she imagined any additional wait would be agony for him. It’s easier to endure hunger when there is nothing to eat, but more difficult to resist the temptation with a slice of cake in your hand. Farilane had done what she could. Warned her family, the staff, and the knights to be on their guard. And she had strategically drawn the magic-blocking symbols where she felt them best employed. If only I could have painted them on every wall. No—chiseled the symbols on every surface. No—built a wall around the city and chiseled . . . No—actually made the wall around the city out of the symbols themselves. That would have been ideal, but I didn’t have that kind of time.