She remembered something her father had taught her years after the first lessons he’d given her in the game of Wizr. Father had told her that the enchanted Wizr set, the one whose pieces represented real people, had been a gift of the Wizrs of old to the King of Ceredigion. The Argentine family had been playing the game for centuries by the time Rucrius came to Kingfountain and destroyed it with his staff—the staff she now held. What was it her father had told her? She had only been a child, but the words had struck her even back then.

Trynne felt a ripple from the Fountain magic, stirring her memory.

The Wizrs of old had made the rules. They were the ones who had lived to witness the rise and fall of several kingdoms. They were the ones who had offered the magic game of Wizr to a man who was ambitious enough to rule.

Her throat constricted, her eyes widening. That word described Gahalatine perfectly.

Had the Wizrs of Chandigarl run out of patience with the Argentine family at last? Had the game gone on too long? The king piece was not the most powerful piece on the board; the Wizr was. But the game ended when the king was defeated. Perhaps they’d feared King Drew was becoming powerful enough to usurp them?

She pushed her legs off the couch and rose. Little pinpricks of pain tingled in her feet. She feared falling asleep, afraid of what might happen to her land if she rested at a time like this. Rucrius was a dangerous man. She didn’t know what fed his power, but she’d sensed it growing even in captivity, faster than her own was growing. Knowing his powerful will, she had ordered that he be left alone, without being able to speak to his guards.

After pacing a moment, she stuffed the Tay al-Ard into her girdle and opened the door of her room. The four guards on duty were startled by her sudden appearance.

“My lady, you’re not abed?” one of them asked.

“I’m going to the dungeon. Come with me.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The palace was quiet, but there were soldiers patrolling the corridors night and day. Torchlight shone off the mirrored floors. Someone had swept them after the events of the day. She shook her head in amazement at the diligence of the palace staff. When she reached the dungeon, the captain of the night watch bowed to her and unlocked the door. She was afraid that she’d find the cell empty. She dreaded it.

“Wait here,” she bid the soldiers. “I’ll speak with him alone.”