They made little progress that first day, as people lined the road on either side, waving flowers, branches, kerchiefs. Riding behind the king, Camwyn remembered his instructions: smile, nod, or bow as rank suggested and maintain suitable demeanor—something the palace master of ceremonies had gone over repeatedly. He tried not to sneeze or cough as the king’s spirited stallion, impatient with the slow pace, fretted, jigged, and even pitched a few times, tossing dust in Camwyn’s face. As a result, Camwyn’s mount did the same, and he needed both hands on the reins until lunchtime.

Those first few days were all delight, with new sights at every turn of the glass. The first evening they camped, Camwyn was thrilled to see the royal pavilion rise on the chosen meadow. He and Aris watched and even lent their weight on the ropes as it went up. They ate at the king’s table outdoors, food that tasted much better for having been cooked over a fire-pit. Camwyn had wondered if the curtains that divided room from room and moved slightly in the breeze would keep him awake, but he fell asleep quickly and woke only when the camp commander blew the morning signal.

The third night under canvas changed everything.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Camwyn woke before the turn of night to the unwelcome reality of his magery: his hand was brightening from a soft glow already. He stuffed his hand back under the blanket. Light leaked out through the weave, brighter every moment. Bright enough to see that Aris, on the other cot, was sound asleep on his back like a tiny child, mouth open, one arm flung out as if it had no weight and just rested on the air.

Please, he begged a deity who so far had not cooperated. Don’t let this happen. Please.

The light stuttered like a candle in a breath of air, like a cool draft blowing through the tent, when someone … lifted a curtain. He turned toward the draft, dread chilling his body more than the air. Mikeli’s face in that haunted light looked monstrous, terrifying. The face of someone who might kill him now, this moment.

“You’re not asleep,” Mikeli said quietly.

The light in his hand went out, plunging them both into darkness. Now he could see beyond Mikeli, through the two opened curtains between his chamber and Mikeli’s, the faint glow of a candle, fainter by far than his hand had been, lighting nothing.

“Come,” Mikeli said. “Now.” He stood there, outlined from behind by that distant candle, while Camwyn struggled out of the tangle his bedclothes usually made, trying to keep quiet so Aris wouldn’t wake.