Since he’d been named to the Guard, he’d considered the possibility he might end up captain if he performed well and stayed with it. After all, he’d come in as a corporal, based on his performance at school and the recommendations of his father’s friends. He was a skilled swordsman, the best in his class, and excelled in his coursework and received high marks in field operations. Everyone said he took after his father. And he was proud of that.

He’d always assumed, however, that he’d chosen his own way from a range of possibilities. That if he’d wanted to be a trader, or a blacksmith, or an artist like his sister, he could have done it. And now it turned out he’d been treading a narrow path, committed from birth, walled in by magic and a bargain made a thousand years ago.

“You do have a choice,” his father said, as if he’d read his thoughts.

Amon looked up at his father. “How do I have a choice? Lydia becomes captain?”

“She is a Byrne,” his father said.

Amon thought of his dreamer of a sister sitting on the riverbank, skirts spread about her, head bent over a charcoal drawing. He shook his head wordlessly.

“And if she says no, there’s Ira,” his father said, naming Amon’s ten-year-old brother. “Though he’s still young, and we need to choose a captain now.” He paused. “You have cousins, of course.”

“Why now?” Amon asked. “There can be only one captain of the Guard, and that’s you.” Perhaps by the time a decision needed to be made, he’d have time to get used to the idea.

“I’m worried about the Princess Raisa. Right now we have no direct connection with her, and my connection with Queen Marianna seems to be failing. If you’re willing, bonding with Hanalea’s line through Raisa will give you something of a sixth sense. You’ll be able to anticipate trouble, to know when she’s in danger, to predict what she might do. It’s also supposed to give us some influence over them, where their safety is concerned.” He smiled wryly.

That won’t do any good, Amon thought. They’ll do whatever they want anyway.

“This is…permanent, I take it?” Amon asked. “What if I change my mind?”

“It is permanent,” his father said, toying with the ring on his left hand, the heavy gold wolf ring he was never without. “You won’t change your mind once it’s done.” He paused, smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. It’s not as if you’re going into orders. You can marry, have children, all of that.”

To continue the line of Byrnes, of course.

“And if it comes down to a choice between family and queen?”

His father looked into Amon’s eyes, his hazel gaze clear and direct. “The queen, of course.”