“Days ago, I told Dray to expect an attack by Mawyndulë,” Farilane said. “I told everyone, actually. Reminded them so often, in fact, that if I hadn’t been the imperial princess, people would have thrown things at me. I obtained Dray’s permission to line the throne room with dwarven markings. Mostly because I knew Estermon wouldn’t have agreed.”

“And you knew Dray would because he was one of them.”

“If by them you mean one of the very few who understood the nature of the threat, then yes.” Farilane waited for a rebuttal. She felt it necessary to push back against the absurd prejudice he held for a valuable ally, but also knew she was being insolent. Estermon would have dismissed her on the spot. Her father said nothing. She liked this pliable pre-emperor but knew his attitude wouldn’t last. In time, he would harden. “Anyway, when two Teshlors woke me to say something had happened, I ruled out the possibility that Nordstrom had finally adopted a new hairstyle. I ran to the throne room, knowing grandfather would be the prime target. Finding the route vacant of even the morning servants, I assumed a silent alarm had been triggered. That meant Dray was likely monitoring things closely.”

“Which, of course, I was,” Dray confirmed. “The moment she left the throne room, she told me her plan and how we would do it.”

“How is that possible?” Nordyan asked. “Is Farilane also a magician?”

The princess frowned at her brother. “I told everyone in earshot that I was going to my quarters, and that no one other than I was to enter the throne room.”

“So?”

Farilane rolled her eyes.

Dray took over. “I knew she had protected the throne room and her chambers as well. Both were lined with the Orinfar. When she declared her destination, she was telling me to meet her there—in a place Mawyndulë couldn’t see. By stating that no one else could enter the throne room, she let me know that she would go into her chambers, but that I needed to be the one coming out—looking like her. So I ran there as fast as I could.”

“So you really are a sorcerer?” Nordyan asked the First Minister.

That angry look filled Nyrian’s face once more. “This horn,” he interrupted. “Does it even exist?”

“Oh, yes,” Farilane said. “It absolutely does. And we must keep it safe. The fate of the empire, and honestly—I think it’s not an overstatement to say—humanity itself depends on it.”

“We should never have allowed him to leave with that key.” Dray sighed.

“We shouldn’t have allowed him to enter the palace in the first place,” Kolby said.

“You couldn’t have stopped him,” Dray replied. “Steel is no match for magic.”

“So sure of that, are you?”

“Enough!” Nyrian shouted. “What’s done is done.”

“No, it’s not,” Farilane said. “Mawyndulë doesn’t have the key.”