“Why didn’t they take it when they grabbed you?”

“Are you kidding? I practically had to remind them to take my dagger. They don’t seem too accustomed to thieves, much less ones that turn themselves in.” Royce handed the note to Hadrian. “What did you think of when you read this?”

“That my father died filled with pain and regret. He believed the words of a selfish fifteen-year-old that he was a coward and wasted his life. It’s bad enough I left him, but I had to paint that stain on him before leaving.”

“Hadrian, I don’t think this letter had anything to do with your leaving. I think it’s due to your heritage. I think your father was trying to tell you something about your past.”

“How would you know? You never met my father. You’re not making any sense.”

Royce sighed. “Last year in Avempartha, Esrahaddon was using a spell to find the heir.”

“I remember. You told me that before.”

“But I didn’t tell you everything. The spell didn’t find the heir exactly, but rather magical amulets worn by him and his guardian. Esrahaddon made the necklaces so he could locate the wearers and prevent other wizards from finding them. As I told you, I didn’t recognize the face of the heir. He was some guy with blond hair and blue eyes I’d never seen before.”

“And this is important why?”

“I didn’t know, at least not for certain, not really. I always thought Esra was using us. That’s mainly why I never told you. I wanted to be sure it was true, and that’s why I asked you to come and why I led us here.”

Royce paused a moment, then asked, “Where did you get that necklace, the amulet you wear under your shirt?”

“I told you, my father …” Hadrian paused, staring at Royce, his hand unconsciously rising to his neck to feel the necklace.

“I didn’t recognize the heir … but I did recognize the guardian. Your father had a secret, Hadrian—a big secret.”

Hadrian continued to stare at Royce. His mind flashed back to his youth, to his gray-haired father, spending day after day toiling humbly on the anvil and forge, making harrows and plowshares. He recalled Danbury growling at him to clean the shop.

“No,” Hadrian said. “My father was a blacksmith.”

“How many blacksmiths teach their sons ancient Teshlor combat skills, most of which have been lost for centuries? Where did you get that big spadone sword you’ve carried on your back since I first met you? Was that your father’s too?”