“No,” Myrial admitted. “But I do make it a point to know certain things.” She added after a moment of silence, “Your secrets are safe with me. I would never reveal them to anyone.”

“Words,” Valam said, the anger growing in his voice. “Easy enough to say. Actions reveal truths.”

“Enough,” snapped Adrina. “You have my word, Valam. Myrial can be trusted. What more do you want?”

“Proof,” Valam whispered.

“What would it take?” Myrial shot back.

“You take such familiar tone with my family. Have you no respect?”

Myrial’s eyes told Adrina not to come to her defense. “What would you have me do?”

“Actions speak louder than words. Prove to me that I shouldn’t run you through.” Valam pulled a long dagger from a sheath at his side. Adrina saw this, tried to grab his arm. “Stay out of this, Adrina. King Jarom’s spies are everywhere, and this one is a little too clever for her own good.”

Myrial went to the window, jumped up to the wide ledge at its base. “If it is your wish, I will jump. Do you wish it? Would that be proof enough?”

Adrina felt like she was experiencing déjà vu. In her mind she saw herself standing on the ledge. She started screaming but Valam and Myrial weren’t listening to her.

Valam provoked Myrial. “It would—it would prove beyond doubt that you were King’s Jarom’s agent. Bought and paid for with the blood of many. Anyone with a bit of mettle would put an end to it after they’ve been exposed. That haughty Baron of Eragol will surely be found that way by morning, one way or the other, so go on, join him.”

Myrial surprised Adrina. She jumped at Valam, grabbing the blade he held out in both hands. The sharp blade sliced into her palms. Her blood ran pure and crimson down the blade, bathing Valam’s hands.

Myrial looked into Valam’s eyes, unwavering, unflinching while she held the blade. “The blood of one,” she said. “The only way it will ever be.”

“Are you satisfied now?” Adrina shouted. She tried to pull Myrial away from Valam but Myrial wouldn’t relinquish her grip on the blade.

Valam dropped the dagger, stared in dismay at the blood on his hands. “It is in dark times such as these that one must know who they can truly trust. The only way to know for sure is to test. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Myrial admitted, her eyes fixed on the prince.

“You’ve earned my trust, Myrial. I can only hope that I still have your respect as well.”

Myrial nodded, broke into tears as pain overcame her nerve. Her knees buckled. Valam was there to catch her as he had been there for Adrina. Forgetting that he had secured the door he called to the guards. They came at the call, broke down the door before Adrina had a chance to unlock it.

“A priest, find a priest,” Valam told one of the guards.

“Seth,” Adrina said, “Seth is closest. He can heal Myrial. His kind have the gift.”

Adrina ran back to her dressing mirror, pulled a cloth from the table top, used it to wrap Myrial’s hands. She led Valam through the palace as he carried Myrial. Soon they found themselves at the door to Seth’s chambers.

Adrina knocked, prayed there would be an answer, and there was. Seth answered the door. Candles spread on the floor said he had been meditating.

Seeing the girl and the blood-soaked cloth, Seth acted without hesitation. He reached back and, with a touch of his will, extinguished the candles spread out on the floor, then prepared to do what must be done.

“Place her on the floor, there.” He pointed. He spoke aloud so as not to upset anyone. Myrial’s face was pale from blood loss and he was suddenly worried for her.

“How did this happen?” he asked as he studied the wounds. Adrina looked to Valam, Valam to Adrina. “No need to explain then,” Seth continued, “I’ve heard the alarms. I know something is afoot though no one has told me what.”

What he didn’t say is that he had ventured to the winds. He had seen the chaos from on high: the guards sealing the palace, the city watch closing the gates, the soldiers searching house to house.

Reading their emotions he could sense that something terrible had happened these past few hours. He wondered if they knew what had gone on beyond the palace walls: the fires, the looting, the arrests. He doubted that they knew of these things. These weren’t things kings and princes spoke of proudly, and probably not even in quiet whispers.

Myrial’s moans of pain told him to hurry. He closed his eyes, drew the will of the land within. As he cleared his thoughts, he reached out, took Myrial’s hands in his.

A soft white glow, a simple, pure radiance, spread from his palms to Myrial hands. He whispered words, ancient words, concentrated as he took Myrial’s pain away. Myrial slipped from consciousness. He began the healing chant. The strength of his will was at once reflected in the light that bathed the room and swept it of shadows.

He smiled when he finished and sighed. My task is done, he whispered to their minds. She will sleep.