Raj Ahten studied the herbalist, leaning even closer in his chair, the green flames from the brazier licking the side of his face. “My pyromancer sees a vision in the flames,” he whispered. “Tell me, Binnesman, has the earth granted you such visions? Is there a king who can destroy me?”

Binnesman stood straighter, folded his arms. His fists were clenched. “I am no friend of the Time Lords, to know the future. I don’t gaze into polished stones. But you have made many enemies.”

“But is there a king whom you serve?”

Binnesman stood for a long moment, deep in thought, his brows furrowed. Iome almost believed that the old herbalist would not answer, but then he began to mutter, “Wood and stone, wood and stone, these are but my flesh and bone. Metal, blood, wood and stone, these I own, these I own.”

“What?” Raj Ahten asked, though surely he could not have failed to hear the old man.

“I serve no man. But, Your Lordship, a king is coming, a king of whom the earth approves. Fourteen days ago, he set foot in Heredon. I know this only because I heard the stones whisper it in the night, as I slept in the fields. A voice called to me, plain as a lark, ‘The new King of the Earth is coming. He is in the land.’ ”

“Kill him!” the flameweavers all began shouting at this revelation. “He serves your enemy.”

Raj Ahten tried to silence their yammering with an upraised hand, and asked, “Who is this Earth King?” His eyes blazed. The flameweavers kept calling for Binnesman’s death; Iome feared that Raj Ahten would grant their boon. The light in their eyes increased, and the woman at the brazier raised her fist, let it burst into flame. In a moment, Raj Ahten’s desires would not matter. The flameweavers would kill Binnesman.

In an effort to save the herbalist, Iome shouted, “It’s Orden. King Orden crossed our border two weeks ago!”

At that very moment, the chains holding Binnesman dropped away, both hand and foot, and Binnesman unclenched his fists, tossed something into the air—

Yellow flower petals, withered roots, and dry leaves that fluttered in the green light.

The flameweavers shrieked in dismay and fell back, as if blasted by the weight of the flowers.

The brazier snuffed out. Indeed, all the lanterns in the audience chamber winked out at once, so that the only light in the room was early-morning starlight, shining in from the oriels.

When her eyes adjusted, Iome looked around, mystified. The flameweavers had all fallen backward from Binnesman as if struck by lightning. They lay stunned, gazing without seeing, whimpering in pain.