“I would like to see some of your vills,” the king said to Dorrin. “Especially the one where you healed the well. Since I’m not going farther, I thought I might spend a hand of days here; we have things to discuss.”

“Of course, sir king,” Dorrin said. “Kindle, in fact, is near enough to reach this afternoon if you like.”

The king shook his head. “To be honest, I would rather spend the rest of this day on something softer than a saddle.”

“Of course, sir king. Whenever you wish.”

The next morning, High Marshal Seklis rode away with a small party to make a round of the new Marshals. Scarcely a turn of the glass later, the king came in from the garden, where he had been walking with the others after breakfast, and found Dorrin.

“Do you have a secure place to confer, Duke Verrakai?”

That sounded ominous. Had he changed his mind about Beclan? Dorrin nodded. “Yes, sir king. My office. Down this passage.”

“Come along, Camwyn, Aris,” the king said. Dorrin glanced back, surprised. Prince Camwyn might need to be privy to the king’s concerns about Beclan, but Aris Marrakai, she’d heard from Gwenno, was the veriest mischief. Why include him?

“In here, sir king,” Dorrin said. The king entered and looked around. Dorrin shut the door; whatever this was about, the king would want no eavesdroppers.

“Was it in here you found the regalia?” he asked, pointing to the niche on the far wall.

“Yes, sir king. That niche was covered by the portrait I told you of, now burned.”

The king gave the niche another long look, then sat down at the table and gestured to a chair for Dorrin and the two boys. “We have grave matters to discuss,” he said. “I must have your word you will not reveal what I say to anyone—anyone at all—without my leave.”

“Of course, sir king. On Falk’s honor, I will not.”

“First you must know that the crown you gave me now speaks to me as well as to you.” Dorrin said nothing; he went on. “It bids me set it free—it wants you, Dorrin Verrakai, despite your oath of fealty.” Another pause. Dorrin could think of nothing to say. “I ask you, on that oath: have you told it what to say?”

“No,” Dorrin said. “On my oath of fealty, I have not. All I have said—thought—in return to what it tells me is that it should bide where it is and be still.” She shook her head. “But I cannot rule it; it continues to speak to me—and now to you.”

Two seats down from the king, the prince stirred. The king turned his head. “Camwyn? You have something to say?”

“By your leave, sir king,” the prince said.