“Not yet,” the king said. He turned again to Dorrin. “The second thing we must discuss I learned about only on my way from Vérella and is a graver matter yet.”

“What is that, sir king?”

“Camwyn is a mage.”

Dorrin stared. The myriad implications of that tangled in her mind. She looked at the prince. “You? Have magery?”

The boy nodded. He looked frightened and embarrassed, as well he might.

“Show her, Cam,” the king said.

The prince pushed back his chair and lifted his hands above the table. One was glowing, bright enough to cast shadows.

Dorrin glanced at the windows, murmured “By your leave,” and went to close the curtains. The stableyard outside was full of activity, but for a mercy no one was staring at the windows. In the dimmer light, the prince’s hand showed brighter.

“Show her the rest, Cam,” the king said.

The light in the prince’s hand faded, but as Dorrin watched, he lifted from the chair, face taut with effort. One handspan, then another. Floating. He slid sideways in the air about an armspan, then landed hard on the floor.

“That is my problem,” the king said. “My brother the magelord. The very illegal magelord. Can Beclan do that?”

“No,” Dorrin said. “He can light all the candles on the dinner table at once and shift a few papers or a tossed ball to one side. He can’t lift it off the table by magery, let alone lift himself.”

“You know what this means,” the king said. “I will have to give up the throne. The law—”

“Sir king.” Dorrin’s tone, more commanding than she intended, stopped him. “Sir king, as your Constable, I advise that you not give up the throne while the realm faces possible invasion. Who could take the crown instead? Not the prince—leaving aside his magery, he’s not of age nor trained. Not Duke Mahieran, as the father of another mage. Not his son Rothlin, as the brother of a mage. And in what other family will you find a king? You are our king; you are the one person born to and chosen for this duty. You must not shirk it.”

“But the law—when people know, they will demand my abdication. The High Marshal—”

“Yes, the law … and the Fellowship of Gird.” Dorrin held up a hand again when the king opened his mouth. “You should send a courier to the Marshal-General at once, explaining what has happened. Ask her advice—”

“After I talk to the High Marshal?”