“The time is right? What do you mean? How could we possibly afford to wait?”

Rayan crossed his arms. His thoughts had matched Cyrus’s at first, but during the carriage ride to the mansion, he’d had plenty of time to reconsider.

“Killing the Usurper King doesn’t accomplish anything meaningful,” he explained. “His son will simply be declared regent-in-waiting, his widow will assume most duties, and all else will continue as normal. It would be a victory, yes, but its impact would mostly be symbolic. If there is nothing prepared to take advantage, then it means little in the long run.”

“Which is why it must be accompanied by additional actions,” Thorda said, nodding in agreement. “We have in our hands a deadly blade, but it will break after a single strike. Once the empire knows of the secret entrance’s existence, they will scour the castle until they find it. Let me think on this and best forge a scenario for its use. If we are to kill Gordian Goldleaf, let it be accompanied by the corpses of priests and magistrates. Let it be when his city is aflame, his soldiers are hunted, and you may be there to take full credit as the Vagrant assassin.”

“Those reasons all sound like excuses,” Cyrus argued. “Gordian is awful. I know. I was with him each and every day. I don’t give a shit who kills him. He’s a monster. Put him in the ground. Isn’t that what your resistance is supposed to do?”

Thorda rose up, shoulders widening, eyes narrowing. He seemed larger somehow, older, and much more dangerous. The fire cast his shadow across the room, a burning silhouette.

“I will hear no more of this prattle. Bite your tongue, boy. My decisions are not to be questioned.”

The way Cyrus shrank before his master, all his smiles and jokes and anger gone so he might become small and obedient, soured Rayan’s mood. Silence lingered, heavy and uncomfortable. His gaze flicked to the splint on the boy’s arm. He would not let this go unaddressed.

“Leave us,” he told Cyrus. “I would have a word with your master.”

The young prince reluctantly obeyed. Rayan waited until he was gone, and took the time to organize his thoughts. As much as he understood the imperative need, he could not reconcile the damage it was inflicting upon the boy.

Thorda sat back in his chair and smoothed out his robes.

“What is it that bothers you?” he asked.

“You’re working him too hard.”

“I work him as hard as I must.”

“I observed the training regimen you put him through, and spoke with Stasia about her own part in it. There are professional soldiers who would call it cruel. Sunrise to sunset, with barely a moment to eat. His young body is tearing apart. The bruises and the splint prove it.”

The wealthy master crossed his arms and looked to the fire.