The Teshlors shouldn’t have stopped. Their emperor had given them orders, but Farilane was pleased to see them pause. “There are still two more things that don’t make sense.”

“Oh, what is it now?” the emperor asked.

“These two symbols nearest the entrance.” She pointed with a circular motion.

“Are they wrong?” Kolby asked, a note of concern in his voice.

“No,” she said. “They are perfectly accurate.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I didn’t draw them. They aren’t in my handwriting.”

“And the other thing?” Kolby asked.

She turned back. “Grandfather,” she addressed the emperor in a way she never had before in her life, but she saw no surprise, “you’re unnerved. That’s clear by the way you’re leaning on the throne, the quaver in your voice, and the shake of your arms, but if that’s true, why aren’t you sitting down?”

“What?” He sounded irritated.

“Is there something stopping you? Something in the way? What is that in your chair?”

They all looked at the emperor’s mantle that appeared to have been wadded up and left in the seat.

“That’s just my cape.” He dismissed it with a wave. “It’s hot in here.”

“Are you sure it’s not covering something? Something the size of a bread box? Something that magic wouldn’t be able to shroud?” The princess turned to Maddock. “You’ve been awfully quiet. Tell me, my old friend, what are my favorite colors?”

The Teshlor stiffened in panic. The response was so unlike a knight that Ethan drew steel. Maddock, still holding out his bloody blade, panicked and swung. The stroke was clumsy. Ethan avoided it and brought his own sword down. The blade cut deep. Starting at Maddock’s neck, it snapped his collarbone, continued through his sternum and on into his chest, where his ribs halted the blade.

Ethan jerked back his weapon, shocked at his own success.

“The armor!” Ethan protested. “I shouldn’t have . . .”

Maddock, eyes wide and mouth gaping, collapsed to the floor.

“It went right through,” Kolby confirmed.

Maddock coughed blood, lurched, then went still.

Kolby and Ethan both looked to Farilane, and with hope that they hadn’t just murdered an innocent, asked, “Is that the sorcerer?”

“Only one way to find out.” The princess pulled the field book from her belt and taking out the graphite stick—which was far shorter than it used to be—she began drawing a new set of symbols, this time in a circle on the floor. The throne room must be some sort of illusion, just as Dray’s room had been.

“This should clear things up, I think.”

“Stop that nonsense right now!” Estermon ordered.

Farilane ignored him as she scooted around the tiled map of the known world, drawing large pictograms over the various provinces, working from the Belgric Kingdom across Maranonia and into Rhenydd. She was creating an arc that would easily encompass the throne.