“Alger proclaimed himself king and married Hanalea. The council couldn’t put up with that, so the other wizard houses marched on Waterlow and laid siege to their hold. Anyone could see it was a lost cause, but not this boy. He was a longtime student of dark magic, and he thought he could conjure a spell that would end the siege and scare the council off.

“Hanalea tried to talk him out of it. She wanted to give herself up to Aerie House, but he was headstrong and wouldn’t listen.” Lucius smiled sadly. “Boy was a fool for love. Too much power and too little knowledge. They was together only three months.”

Han shifted impatiently. Stories about Hanalea and her many suitors were like lengths of old cloth, so worn down by the telling, you couldn’t tell one from another or even see the individual threads anymore.

Lucius stared into space, his milky blue eyes like painted-over windows that hid what lay within. Han was good at reading people—he had to be—but he could never read Lucius.

“So? What happened?” Han asked dutifully.

Lucius flinched, as if he’d forgotten Han was there. “They killed him, a’course. After. They took him to Aerie House and tortured him for days and forced that young girl to listen to his screams. But it was too late. The damage was done.”

Han blinked, caught by surprise. “What damage? What are you talking about?”

Lucius raised bushy eyebrows. “The Breaking, a’course. You’ve heard of that?” he asked sarcastically.

“I’ve heard of the Breaking,” Han said irritably. “What’s that got to…” His voice trailed off and he stared at Lucius, wondering if the old man had sipped a little too much product. “Hold on. You’re talking about the Demon King?” He whispered the last two words, which people tended to do, and resisted the urge to make a sign against evil.

“His name was Alger,” Lucius said softly, his whole body slumping into a puddle of wrinkled skin and drab cloth.

The sun went behind a cloud, and it was suddenly cold on the creek bank. Han shivered and drew his jacket closer around him.

Lucius’s unfortunate Alger Waterlow was the Demon King? Not possible.

The Demon King was the monster in every scary story. The devil you wouldn’t name for fear of calling him to you. The one that waited in the dark down a crooked street for bad children to come his way.

“That’s not true!” Han burst out, fueled by righteous indignation and a lifetime of stories. “The Demon King stole Hanalea away on her wedding night. He chained her in his dungeon when she refused him. He tortured her with dark sorcery, trying to win her heart. When she resisted, he broke the world.”

“He was a boy,” Lucius muttered, fumbling for his flask. “They were in love.”