Each appeared to need this trip for different but undisclosed reasons. Farilane included herself in that assessment. They all held secrets, each pleased with the others’ lack of scrutiny or concern. With no idea what lay ahead but a growing suspicion she might need one or both of these men before the trip was done, the princess felt it best to begin with at least the appearance of honesty. Farilane took her pack from Kile, lifting it off his shoulder. “What Sheldon said is true,” she told him. “I am forbidden by the emperor from leaving the city. I know Sheldon doesn’t care, but I cannot ask you to break imperial law. If you come with me now, Kile, there is the possibility you could share in my punishment. If you want to return, I will understand. To be honest, doing so would be the intelligent choice.”

“Why is it that you defy the emperor?” Kile asked. No shock, no anger, only casual curiosity.

“Aside from the fact I can’t abide authority?” She thought for a moment and considered telling him the truth. Does it really matter anymore? At least for me, this trip is a shout in the fog, a wish in the wind. Farilane had been on countless such ventures, and none had ever culminated in achieving her goal of finding the treasure at the end of the rainbow—The Book of Brin. Even if she found it, the triumph was an esoteric achievement important possibly only to her. With the death of Virgil, her cheerleader and best ally in the hunt, Farilane found her determination wavering.

And then there was her birthday. The party idea was frightening. Why would Estermon require her presence? This was no ordinary thing. Matrimony? The thought terrified Farilane. I won’t see you again until my funeral or your marriage, he had said. At this point, the trip might be a race. All of it made too much sense. As Proust had pointed out, Farilane was the problem heir, the unwanted daughter who made an embarrassment of herself by being too smart. That’s what got you in trouble. Your brilliance proved an irresistible temptation. Reading ruined you. A husband would put a stop to all that. No more adventures. Her grand quest would end with the yoke of a ring and the shackles of children. What happens if I refuse? This was a pretty idea, a child’s thought. The emperor would have his way. He always did.

The words of Proust resurfaced. And now that you’ve discovered the true purpose of the Horn of Gylindora—a footnote in time that might not only save humanity from an awful war, but could also provide you with a path to significance—what is your intention? . . . You want to be a hero like in the old stories you’ve read.