“So I thought,” the prince said, “because dragons have fire and can fly, that maybe my magery was from the dragon.”

“That would not explain Beclan’s magery,” Dorrin said. “I suppose there might be many causes, but you and Beclan are cousins—they often share family traits.”

“Then it was my grandfather,” the king said. “He sired both my father and Duke Mahieran’s.” He looked bleak.

“Or your mother and your aunt … or your grandmother … or anyone with any mageborn blood, on either side, as far back as you can look. Sir king, I return to your thought of the regalia. Granted, Beclan had no direct contact with it. But if its effect is to waken magery, then … we have no idea how far its influence reaches. He was in Vérella when it was.”

“Why would it do that?”

“I don’t know,” Dorrin said. “But … is it possible that the diminishing of the magelords’ power that preceded the Girdish revolt was due in part to my ancestors using blood magery to lock the regalia away? Now that it’s free again, its influence has returned.”

“So it’s your fault after all?” The king smiled as he said it, then shook his head. “I applaud your honesty, Duke Verrakai, but I cannot think it true.” He was silent awhile. Dorrin held her peace, but the boys fidgeted. Finally the king said, “Your recommendation has merit. I will write to the Marshal-General first—but when Seklis returns, I must tell him.”

“Yes, sir king—but tell him only what he needs to know, not every detail. The more he hears, the more he will want to take charge. He is an honorable man, but was it not he who approved the plan to first isolate Beclan in that hunting lodge and then use him as bait? That plan led to deaths for many and near disaster for Beclan and Duke Mahieran.”

“But he’s trained in war—”

“Sir king, I do not doubt his loyalty to you, or to Gird, or his personal fighting ability. But he has never seen real combat. It was—with all due respect—a fool’s plan, discounting the enemy’s intelligence, ability, and will.” Dorrin waited; the king finally nodded.

The next day, they rode out to Kindle vill, where the king saw the well and drank water from it. The people there were less impressed with the king than Dorrin could have wished, but they were respectful. They plaited him a crown of spring flowers, which he put on. From there they rode on to the next vill and on again, stopping for a picnic lunch in the shade of woods.

“You have considerable woodland,” the king said. “And the cultivated fields seem small.”