At least, Marcus thought, Draconas has been here before me, to prepare the way. This won’t come as a huge surprise.

Eating cold meat and bread, Marcus told his tale from the beginning, mixing lies with the truth where it was apparent that not even his loving parents would believe his story.

He told about how he’d run off with Bellona, which they already knew, and how he and Bellona had met up with Draconas, who had helped them find and enter the kingdom known as Dragonkeep, a kingdom hidden by illusion, a kingdom that was perhaps already marching to the drums of war. He told them about Bellona and her brutal death, and saw tears slide down his mother’s face. He mentioned Ven, and his father’s face darkened.

Ermintrude caught Marcus’s eye and shook her head, warning him away from that subject. Marcus understood and went on.

He had to bring up Evelina and he did so, though only briefly, speaking of her as a young woman who had been a prisoner in Dragonkeep and telling how they had escaped together. He gave Evelina credit for her courage and her resourcefulness, for he had decided to make the best of the situation. He’d realized, on the ride home, that the situation might resolve itself. She claimed she was pregnant, but if he hadn’t slept with her, how could that be? If she did turn out to be pregnant, then he must have done what she said, though he had no idea how. And in that instance, he would not bring any child into the world to hear, as he had heard, the whispered word “bastard.”

What he did not tell his parents was how he’d been drunk and fought a dragon and danced through dragons’ brains.

He thought he got through his story about Evelina pretty well—until he saw his mother’s expression. Marcus flushed and coughed and shifted back to the most urgent matter.

“You already know all this I’ve been telling you, Father,” said Marcus, after a pause to refresh himself with a mug of ale. “Draconas said he told you.”

Edward, looking grim, walked over to stand by the window. He stared out at the mountains.

“I saw the army for myself, Father,” Marcus said, speaking to his father’s back. He didn’t mention how he’d seen it, in a wine-soaked dream. “Only the River Aston separates our nation from theirs. The river runs slow this time of year. They can ferry an army across it in no time.

“And their army is terrible,” he added. “An army unlike any that has been seen before on this earth. One we can’t possibly fight. But one that we have to.”