Farilane was also unsure whether there was a limit to the symbols’ reach. Assuming she could do it, would it be possible to draw the Orinfar in a circle around the known world and banish magic forever? Distance usually ruined most things: Arrows could only fly so far; shouts and screams were limited as well, and the heat from a single fire could never warm the world. The symbols’ influence would not be infinite. Having zero experience and but a sheen of knowledge on the subject, she felt it best to keep her efforts simple. The largest space she had attempted was the throne room, where the emperor was known to spend his mornings. But is it too big a space? As she ran, she cursed her own ignorance. It is too big. I should have ringed the throne. Better yet, I should have done both—but would that have created an adverse effect? Were the markings cumulative, like the heat of a fire? Or maybe a toggle, like the turning of a key in a lock? Would one have canceled the other? Burned the palace down?

When she arrived, Farilane’s heart sank. The entrance to the throne room was naked; neither Arturus nor Maddock was at his post. The door was open a crack, the flickering light of interior sconces bleeding through the gap. Hardening herself against what she might see, Farilane pushed the metal door and felt it swing inward.

Her expectation of a murder scene was not disappointed. A body lay on the ground in a pool of blood not far from the dais.

Kolby and Ethan arrived an instant later. Although they were normally content to follow her lead, the sight of the body changed the rules. Farilane had seen them this way before. Their inner Teshlor breaking the surface, they worked as a perfect team, no discussion needed. Kolby stayed to defend the princess while Ethan rushed ahead, hands on swords. Neither knight drew steel. There was no need.

The body wasn’t the emperor.

Estermon the Second stood beside the throne unharmed. He appeared shaken, leaning heavily on the chair to steady himself. Next to the body, Maddock stood with his sword out, blood on the blade. Aside from the dead man on the floor, the chamber was empty. No threat visible.

“Who is it?” Farilane asked as Ethan blocked her view.

“The sorcerer you warned us about.” Ethan moved aside, revealing Sheldon Faust still in the oversized wool tunic she had met him in. “This is Sheldon, right? The carpenter you traveled with—or rather the magician you said posed as a carpenter?”