The field never seemed to end, and I grew tired of its oppression. I found myself bending from it as we rode, as if it was exerting a physical pressure on my body. Had I been riding a normal beast, I was sure it would have balked at carrying me with the conflicting signals I kept sending through knees and hands; the drake was made of sterner stuff, and bore me without complaint. Now and then it would twist its head back and whuffle my knee, blowing its forge-hot breath over the fabric, so intense I could feel it straight through two layers of clothing. I was grateful for it, and tired of my reaction to the dead.

That night, when the Vessel assembled us for our magical practice, I sat at the back as usual, cross-legged, but did not listen. I summoned the drake, who came to me and curled up behind me, forming a warm couch with its long, reptilian head pillowed on its arms. Almond came too, hesitant until I reached for her, and then eagerly. I patted the top of the drake, and she climbed up there, tail hanging over its side. Then I rested my hands on my knees and let myself become aware of them; I didn’t lean back, but I didn’t have to, to feel them. I paid attention to my posture, to the wonder of being able to sit so freely in a position that would have seized all my muscles in the body I’d been trapped in before. I lifted my face, eyes closed, and sampled the scent in the air: fewer apples now, and more stone, somehow, a dry, dusty, high smell that traveled on the cold wind. It no longer felt like autumn, but like winter—was it that we were further north? Or up higher? I hadn’t perceived the altitude changing, and Eyre had said the motte was artificial....

The words fell away, slowly, as if my mind was sinking past them. All around me they fluttered, like leaves settling to the ground. I eased past them, spread out like roots growing, seeking. I couldn’t help steeling myself.

There, not just to the east, but all around us... grief and old fear, in layers in the soil like veins of ore. The deeper I dug, the more acute it became, until I felt it fresh as a new wound: a terror so abject it harrowed my heart, and a fear of loss even more powerful. And then a ripping pain so unbearable it whispered of demons: of insanity and anger and souls gone twisted with the injury. It was as if a moment had been crystallized and left to lie there, untouched, for centuries. I let myself internalize that moment, which lasted all of a breath... and then I rose out of the earth and back into my body.

I was warm, because the drake had inched closer and now had its head in front of my feet. I felt far calmer than I thought the experience would have warranted. But my shirt was damp. I touched my face—I’d been crying.

I could look east now without flinching.

I also realized the field was not the source of the ancient grief I’d discussed with the Vessel.

The lesson was only just drawing to a close. I waited until the others began to disband before approaching Rose.

“That’s not it,” I said without preamble. “Threnody-Calling-Forward. It’s not the source of my sense of wrongness.”

“No?” she said, cocking her head like her sparrow.

“No,” I said. And added, reflecting, “Though I know why it’s called Threnody-Calling-Forward.”

“Oh?” she asked, and that was curiosity. And then, checking herself, “Apologies, my lord. Where do you sense the wrongness now, if not beside us?”

“It’s still north of us,” I said. “And west.”

She frowned. When she didn’t immediately answer, I said, “Rose? What’s northwest of Vigil? You know, don’t you?”

Her smile was faint. “No. But I do know what might be northwest of Vigil.” She turned that way. “It’s said the last elven king went that way, leading all the dead behind him.”

“The king,” I murmured. “Who succored the human race with his sacrifice.”

“All the world, really,” she replied. “Without him, there would be nothing here left. The demons and the dead would have scoured all the life from the continent and moved on in search of more, and left nothing behind.”

The idea chilled my skin. I remembered the profane, hissing voices, so malevolent in their glee, whispering promises that I couldn’t die. That I would free them to devour the world. I looked up at her. “What happened to the prince?”

“The prince?” she said, puzzled. “He died, of course. The prince is supposed to guard the king, yes? Even your own captain would tell you so.”

I asked him, after weapons practice. He looked to the field, the starlight limning his profile and edging his irises in silver. It was a rare angle that didn’t flatter an elf, but I had never seen him look so otherworldly as he did in that moment, contemplating the site of his race’s last stand. Then he looked at me and said, “The Prince wards the King. Marne was not a King-Reclusive, like your brother, my prince. He was the King-Engaged, and Sihret was his shield, as he had to be.”

“I thought the angel only required the King’s sacrifice.”

He set a hand on my shoulder and met my eyes. “The Prince wards the King. There is no living for the one, if the other dies.”

“Hyperbole,” I said, my skin going taut with fear.

“Truth. You rule together, my prince. Or you are both replaced.”

Amhric’s words echoed in my head, soft as his voice: we were not meant to be apart, apart, apart. I drew in a breath and said, “Well, I suppose I will have to be better at the guarding than I am.”

“You have done well thus far,” Last said. “And you know things that few princes of the past would have the opportunity to learn.” He smiled at my quizzical look and said, “You know hardship, Morgan Locke. You know crushing hardship, and the perseverance that pushes past it. What elf has known hardship in centuries?”

“I hope it will be enough,” I muttered.

He squeezed my shoulder. “You are a lord worth serving. Don’t doubt it.”

For a long time I remained there, staring out over the field. Disbelieving him, and knowing it didn’t matter what I believed: if others did, then I would have to be worthy of them. There was no other choice.

It became my habit to consult the worldsense during the magical lessons. The drake slunk close and coiled around my body, and usually at least one genet joined it, lying either on its back or alongside its tail. The murmur of the Vessel’s voice accompanied me as I sank away, seeped outward. The grief of history became familiar, and familiarity inured me to its barbs; I concentrated on reaching north, straining to find the trail a king had once taken to save the world. I was never successful, but the practice taught me a purity of concentration the Vessel’s instructions had failed to impart. There was a tranquility in the exercise of this power that soothed me, and that left me prey for the evening it shattered. My spirit was wide open when the spike of pure terror lanced it, and I tasted wine in my mouth, and blood.

I was on my feet before I realized I’d leaped upright and lunged back the way we’d come, heedless of the arms impeding my progress and the babble of voices that were nothing to the urgency of the cry I could still feel bleeding like a laceration in my heart. He wasn’t calling—he would never call, not knowing the import of the errand that had driven me from his side—but he needed me, he needed me now.

A voice speaking the Angel’s Gift brought me back, just enough to realize that nearly everyone was restraining me, that it was taking all of them to do so. Last was talking, loudly but calmly. “My prince. My prince. What is it? What is it, my prince?”

“Last!” I gasped. “Last, he’s in trouble! He needs us—”

“Stop moving, my prince,” Last said, and because he asked I forced myself to hold still. My body wouldn’t stop trembling, even when he set both his hands on my shoulders and steadied me. His gaze was intent, all copper scintillance. “Focus. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know!” I cried.

“Is it demons?” Chester asked in the Gift.

It was hard to waste time in talking when urgency kept driving me to answer my brother’s need... but I couldn’t do this alone. I remembered the Vessel’s comments about wrongness and stretched back along the path south. “No. No, no demons. I’d know, yes? But I don’t feel anything that... uncanny.”

“So some other peril,” Last said. “But peril it is, yes?”

“He needs us,” I insisted.

“He needs someone,” Last said. “But it cannot be you, my prince.” When I began to object he shook me, just a little. “It cannot be you, can it? Because the key to his unfettered power, and yours to protect him, is only a few days north of us now. You’re closer to it than he is. You must unlock the enchantment.”

“He’s right,” Chester said.

“If the king dies, none of this will matter,” I said, desperation sharpening my words. “The royal gifts will die with us, and the elves will have to find them again in time to save the world from demons. How likely do you think that will be? We need to go back for him!”

“I’ll go,” Last interrupted. “I’ll go and bring him back.”

Every fiber in my being howled for me to accompany him, to be the physical weapon interposed between Amhric and whatever had caused him such distress. I could still sense it, sour and thick in my throat, spurring my heart. “You’ll take the guard with you,” I said. “All of them.” I saw the objections rising in Last’s eyes and said, “You will, Captain, or by God, I’ll go with you!”

“What are they yelling about?” Ivy asked, fretful. “Morgan, what’s wrong?”

Chester said in Lit, “The king is in trouble. Morgan wants to go back for him; Last says he needs to continue to Vigil, and he’ll turn back and fetch him. Morgan has agreed only if Last will take all the elves.”

Behind us, the Vessel said, subdued, “The knights can see to the prince, Captain.”

Last turned a fulminating look on her; he trusted the knights to ensure the safety of the party as a whole, but it was clear he thought of me as his personal responsibility. Perhaps that’s why he swung that burning gaze on Chester. “You,” he said in the Gift. “I charge you with his safety.”

Chester stiffened but didn’t look away. “With my life. I vow it.”

I wanted to protest, but Last was already striding away, and there were more important things still to manage. I called, “Last! Take the drake! He’s faster than the others.”

“Fast enough that he’ll outrun the guards on horseback—”

Frustrated, I said, “Not for the ride there. The ride back. Put Amhric on the drake and send him before you. You harry the people chasing him. The drake will get him here. The drake is practically a guard himself.”

Last tilted his head. “You think there will be a chase.”

“Take him,” I said. “And the staff as well.” It hurt to think of being parted from my weapon, symbolizing as it did my promise to my brother… but it was because of that promise that I had to send it. Was I forever to be reduced to the delegation of this duty to others!

“Take them both,” I said again. “And use them to save our king in my name.”

The elf scrutinized me, and whatever he saw in my face convinced him. He bowed to me and called for the others.

“Morgan,” Ivy began.

Chester took her by the arm. “Not yet.”

I left them behind to see to the drake, to draw its head into my arms. With my cheek pressed to its temple, I whispered my requests to it, was certain it understood. Perhaps it was a beast, as Eyre had said, but it knew the blood in me, was more loyal than any hound and more dangerous than anything else on four legs. “Bring him back,” I finished, and it huffed softly, nudged my chest.

Last rode up, followed by his men. “Go, great heart,” I said to the drake, and it flowed into the midst of the horses. To Last, I said, “Captain. To your duty.”

“My prince,” Last said. “We will bring you the king.”

They thundered back down the road, into the gloaming, trailing their uncanny faerie glow behind them, and the drake ran alongside, free and masterless. I took a step after them, as if drawn, felt the vacuum of their exit pulling me behind them. But they were gone too quickly for me to follow and I halted, bereft and trembling. Somewhere, days behind us, my brother was suffering. There was no guarantee Last and his men would arrive in time to succor him. And I... I had let them go without me!

“It had to be done.”

I think of all our companions, only Eyre could have said those words to me without retaliation. As it was, the look I flung him was so wounded he flinched... but he did not step away. He was standing at my side, arms folded behind his back, and there was an inevitability to his presence that made his words acceptable. Barely so, but enough.

“I don’t see how,” I said past the thickness in my throat. I swallowed blood, did not know whether it was phantom or real.

“The faster we learn the secret of the magics that bind you, the safer we’ll all be. And the king... no one will stand against him then.”

“They bound him, Professor. They bound him in silk and starved him on cream and honey, and they harrowed him with bedroom games while draining all his blood into cups and pouring it into genets to be reused at their leisure,” I said, low. “And I saved him.”

“You will save him again,” Eyre said. “But to do that, you must trust the men who serve you to play their parts in the story.”

“This is not a story!” I cried.

Eyre didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. I pressed my face into my hands, dragged my palms down until my fingertips rested just over my nose. Reluctantly, I said, “If this is a grand fairy tale, then the fact that this pattern has repeated is important.”

He cocked his head.

“Trusting others to do my work.” I thought of the drake killing the scout sent to find us. Tasted the word and found it foul. “Delegating. All my life, sir, I have been too sick to do for myself, and have relied on the charity of others. Now at last I am hale, and still I find I cannot do for myself. I want to be effective, for once in my life!”

“After a lifetime of needing others, you have discovered the truth that we never stop needing others,” Eyre said. “Nothing has changed, Morgan. And there is no doing this alone.”

“Then what do I do?” I asked, aggrieved.

“Now you ask Mister St. Clary which horse you should be riding, and we push on through the night. I think we could survive the pace.”

I glanced past him, found the others still standing, doing their best to look inconspicuous, murmuring amongst one another. Eyre was right; they were waiting to hear from me. And they would no doubt be willing to accommodate my request.

“I don’t know how I have deserved such companions,” I said, low.

“Cherish their fidelity,” Eyre said, “and give them the opportunity to demonstrate its breadth. They will love you better for your gratitude. Leadership requires you to share your burdens. The willingness to be vulnerable is a quality only the strong attain to.” He lifted his brows. “Your long sickness has made you strong. Tell me it made you strong in the right ways.”

I glanced at him, then said as I moved toward the group, “You will live out your days in a cottage, sir, or I will rewrite the story myself.”

He snorted but said nothing.

“What’s it to be, then?” Chester asked as I approached. “Are we pressing on tonight?”

“Can we?” I glanced at Rose. She inclined her head.

“I can help with the healing now,” Ivy said firmly. “It’s good practice for me anyway.”

“Then... please,” I said. I strove not to fidget. “I don’t know what inspired my brother’s call. Something has gone wrong, and I can only pray that Last and his men can liberate him from whatever situation he’s found himself in. But our best hope of helping him involves us making it to that library and finding what we came for.”

“Then let’s go,” Radburn said. “Time’s wasting!”