“What else is Master Thero teaching you?” asked Alec.

“How to grind pigments, and dry herbs. And cantrips! I can already light a candle, or even the fire logs, and make water boil in a cup. Master Thero taught me how to brew tea last week.”

“A very useful skill to have.” Alec grinned sidelong at Thero. The truth was, Mika had talents beyond his years, and Thero was helping the boy harness them before he hurt someone. Untrained wizard-born children had been known to raise havoc without a mentor to guide them, and in many cases were killed. For that reason, wizards traveled the countryside, looking for children with the gift. In other cases, proud parents presented their children at the Orëska House. Some, like Mika, were found by lucky accident.

Just then laughter broke out from Seregil’s direction.

Looking over, Alec saw a sailor bowing to him and presenting him with a battered harp.

“We’ve all heard what good singers you are, my lords,” the man said, bowing again in Alec’s direction. “We’d be honored if you’d give us a few songs.”

“What do you say, Alec? Shall we earn our passage?”

At dawn they set out south across the azure, island-dotted Inner Sea. The wind was at their backs and the ships flew along with bellied sails, Klia’s royal pennant snapping smartly atop the central mast. The ship rolled deeply with the swells, making walking the deck and eating a challenge. For most of the day Alec and Micum lounged in Klia’s cabin, playing knucklebones and bakshi with her. Thero found a sheltered corner by the forecastle and was teaching Mika how to draw simple figures on the air with a child-sized wand of polished wood.

Seregil had woken restless that morning, however, and couldn’t seem to settle down to anything for long. He gamed with the others for a while, then went above and prowled the deck. Climbing to the bow in the afternoon, he braced himself between two water barrels with his cloak wrapped warmly around him and stared out over the rolling indigo waves, looking for signs of dolphins and whales. In the sunlight, the water looked like deep blue ink.

The motion of the boat lulled him, and he let himself nod off.

The huge black oak door set into the impossibly high stone wall looked familiar. He’d been here before. Thrusting his hand into the gaping keyhole, he braved the razor-sharp tumblers again, working it open. When he opened the door, the other side was blocked by a stone wall.

He woke gasping, jammed awkwardly between the barrels with his cloak twisted around his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the dream, but a strange and powerful grief had followed him out of whatever it had been. A few nearby sailors were stealing looks at him and he realized he was weeping. Mortified, he hastily wiped his eyes on his sleeve and untangled himself from the barrels and cloak. He gave the sailors a sheepish grin and hurried to Klia’s cabin, uncommonly anxious to see Alec.