The first light of a mid-autumn morning barely lit the mud-gray sky. Montague La-Rose escorted Indrid Cole; the seventeen-year-old orphaned count of Grale, through the second-floor hallway of the Ikarus castle. With the shadow of his father’s beard, Indrid looked more and more like him every day. They were meeting Gretchen and Anna Lott, the young girl from Mern, at the handmaid’s quarters before the king’s birthday celebration.

“Monte, can I ask you something?” asked Indrid. Now a member of the Ikarus Guard, he wore boiled leather under armor, even when off duty.

“Of course,” said Montague.

“Rayne is eight years old now. But…he doesn’t look it, or act like it. Instead of skipping stones or taking on a skill such as sword fighting or archery, like most children his age, he’d rather read or sit in the gardens and draw pictures of the scenery. He can outwit any educated man in the kingdom. I swear his head should be bigger than it is to hold a brain so complex. Then, there is his body size. If he is almost my height now, he’ll be a giant by the time he’s my age. We won’t even need an army.” Indrid laughed. “Will he become king before he turns eighteen?”

“Well, he is the king. And we’ve discussed his condition. There is no doubt that he is maturing faster than most people, physically and mentally. But the law states that his rule commences when he turns eighteen, just as you have to wait. Until then, Alexandal acts as steward of the throne. Only a month from now, you will return to Grale and rule your kingdom,” Montague told him.

The Graleon boy had spent too long in Ikarus, Montague thought. The plan had been to care for the children, Indrid, and Anna, the youngest Mern and cousin of the royal Lott family, for a short time; only as long as it took to rebuild their homelands and secure the safety of both kingdoms. The restoration took only fifteen months. So far, Indrid and Anna, along with her relatives, had been kept at Ikarus for eight years by order of Lord Alexandal.

Indrid’s voice rose with excitement, “Will I return on my eighteenth birthday? That very day?” he asked.

“On that day, you are the one to make that decision. You are the heir to the Graleon throne,” Montague said, “Unless you object and choose to stay here with us.” He winked.

“I’ll be a good count,” Indrid said.

“No. Be a great count. And all great counts must know the very histories of Grale that I’ve been trying to teach you,” Montague said, frowning. He thought maybe Indrid would get the hint that he needed to pay more attention to his studies. “It’s not fighting experience or brute strength that gives leaders power, its knowledge.”

“I’ll leave studying to the scholars.” Indrid looked away. “I’m a warrior.”

“Many Graleon counts were once warriors,” said Montague. “But to lead people and defend a throne takes more than just the might of a man. It demands good judgment; when to fight and when to yield, when to give and when to take. Good judgment is gained from experience, and when one lacks experience, one must refer to second hand information—the documents and journals I’ve asked you to read hundreds of times. You may be a fine warrior, but your knowledge of history and political affairs is minimal.”

Indrid ignored the comment and walked ahead of him.

At the end of the hall there was an airy sound of a flute reverberating from Gretchen’s room. The door was open. On the opposite side of the hallway was a rack holding a rainbow of dresses. She paraded in and out of the room carrying different colored fabrics.

Montague recognized the melody of the song. It was called The Merlyn Sound, a song about the mythical Mern kingdom that existed leagues under the sea. Then, the progression of the flute stumbled to a crashing stop.

“Again,” said Gretchen. The flute continued.

“I’m surprised you’re early,” Gretchen said looking at Montague. I just came down from waking the birthday boy and preparing breakfast.” She turned to Indrid, who was quick to enter the doorway, and kissed him on the cheek. “Good morning, love. I have a shirt for you. We’ll have to take some measurements to fit it. Come.” She took his hand and led him inside the room over near a tall mirror.

The flute came to a controlled stop.

When Montague walked in, Anna Lott, now a sixteen-year-old lady, stood in his way. Her hair shone as if it reflected the sun. Most Merns had very light hair, almost white. But Anna’s was brilliantly blonde.

“Is Burton Lang still alive?” she asked Montague.

“What?” he couldn’t believe Anna was asking him about Burton. Aside from Gretchen, he hadn’t heard anyone say that name aloud in years. He wished he knew that his sensei was still alive and where he was. But he didn’t. And talking about him made Montague uncomfortable. To the civilized world, the name Burton Lang was synonymous with evil.

As Gretchen buttoned Indrid’s shirt, she gave Montague an I-told-you-so look. She’d warned him that the children would start asking questions once they were educated. Allowing them to use his old textbooks with information that had been deleted from the education system had given them a different perspective of history. The name Burton Lang had been deleted from public records thirty odd years ago. But this was Montague’s way of exposing them to the information.

Unlike Indrid, Anna was a regular reader. It had been only a matter of time for her to start asking questions.

“I read the story of Burton Lang, the one who built the original three kingdoms of men; Illyrium, Grale, and Mern, using sticks and sounds. He supposedly cut off the summit of Ikarus Mountain, creating the plateau,” said Anna. “Greta told me that you knew him. Is that true?”

“I did. Long ago.”

“He was exiled?” asked Anna.

Montague’s gut coiled with nervousness. “He was.”

“When I was younger you told me that you knew a wizard. Was he the wizard?”

Montague forced a laugh. “Bedtime stories, my dear. I’m sure I told you that I went on adventures with trolls and giants too, probably fairies as well.”

“Why was he exiled?”

“You’re next!” Gretchen said to Anna, taking her by the hand. “Monte and Indrid are going to get Rayne while I finish doing your hair. We’ll be late.”

Montague took advantage of Gretchen’s intentional intervention. She glared at him. “Let’s go lad,” he said to Indrid. “The king is waiting.” He stepped out into the hallway then turned back, remembering to tell Anna, “It sounds like that flute is a little out of tune. I repaired yours for you. It’s on my desk.”

“Thank you, Monte!” she replied.

Indrid paused, then looked back at Anna, “I’ll see you there, my lady.” He smiled.

Gretchen passed Montague the king’s room key and shut the door.

As Indrid became older, Montague noticed him acting more and more proper and reserved around Anna. He was a teenager in love.

Up the stairs, on the fourth floor of the Ikarus castle, the door was propped open with a basket of clothes. Handmaids exited as Montague and Indrid entered. Rayne was sitting in the sunroom at a large stained-oak table, generously spread with eggs, bacon, sausage, bread, fish, potatoes, and an array of fruits and cheese for his breakfast. Much more than the children and their caretakers could eat.

The boy reminded Montague of his lost sensei; both outcasts in different ways. They both wore the hoods of their cloaks over their heads to shadow their identities. Rayne didn’t like when strangers stared at him.

“Happy Birthday, Rayne!” Indrid said.

The two adolescent stepbrothers, standing face to face at ten years apart, embraced in a hug.

The young king’s growth rate was at least twice that of a normal person. The eight-year-old looked no younger than Indrid and showed signs of intelligence much higher than most members of the Ikarus council. Some said that he would die young. Truthfully, Montague wasn’t sure what it meant.

The king’s skin had remained a strange tint of gray. Montague had diagnosed him with a skin disease that affected pigmentation. And luckily most people were sympathetic and accepted the diagnosis. Montague’s words were highly respected throughout the land. But he knew that the king’s discolored skin was no pigment flaw.

Others, however, whispered terrible rumors about Rayne. They said he was a curse to the kingdom. ‘How appropriate a name, Rayne Volpi, for a king who brings death by cloudy sky to the world of Men,’ they said. It was he who stole the sun. Luckily for Montague, Rayne didn’t like to go out in public. But today, as every year on the twenty-ninth of Tompkin, he was the main attraction for the celebration.

“May the Happiest Birthday find you, my lord,” Montague said.

“Thanks, Monte,” Rayne said with a soft smile.

Indrid grabbed a piece of sausage, a few biscuits, and a piece of fish. Rayne usually wasn’t hungry in the morning. When he did eat, it was always light. He would only eat fruits, vegetables, nuts, and seeds.

Every day, Alexandal’s handmaids would bring fresh towels and clothes. But for two years they’d been bringing a royal order from The Temple’s healer and a bottle of pills. Rayne’s prescription was mandatory. They called it a vitamin. It’s for the king’s health, they’d claim.

Montague leaned in close to Rayne’s ear. He was almost as tall as Montague. “Did you take a pill from the maids today?”

Rayne opened his mouth. The small capsule lay on the tip of his tongue.

“Good,” Montague said, smiling, putting out his hand.

The young king spit the capsule into Montague’s palm. Once, Rayne had swallowed a pill. Montague tried to give him an emetic, but it didn’t work.

Burton Lang had been only four years old when he’d first begun to remember his true identity as an angel among men. Rayne was already six. Was it possible that the handmaids were giving the boy pills to retard his memory? Montague wondered. He tried to assess Alexandal’s agenda ever since the incident with the mage.

In the eight short years Montague had known the boy, Rayne had always been peaceful and respectful. Montague loved him and cared for him like a son. He had long, black hair just like his mother. He was quiet and kept to himself. But the fact that witchcraft had been attempted during his delivery caused Montague to worry, so he stayed close to Rayne. Every day, Montague thought about what Olivia had said about her dreams on the day that she had died. She was petrified. What if the mage was trying to possess the child’s soul prior to birth or invite a demon to dwell within him? Montague had only pretended to put a protective spell on Olivia before Rayne had entered the world. What if the mage had been successful and the boy was tainted? Maybe there was evil lying dormant, a demon waiting to possess him. If a demon was set free upon the world, it could mean the end of time for Men.

Rayne had not shown any presage of supernatural abilities—yet. Montague had tried to read his body signature, but the boy’s aura was invisible to him. If Rayne was the angel that he and Burton summoned, he would be neutral, favoring neither the light nor the darkness. That’s what his sensei had once said. Now Montague had to make sure that the boy would not be seduced by evil persuasion.

“Come. The people await their king.”

The arena was crowded. Because of the stormy skies, the master masons had built a temporary roof to prevent the arena ground from turning to mud, hoping that someday they would see and feel the sun’s light again. Firelight from torches and lanterns illuminated the area.

The people of Ikarus were prepared for a full day of entertainment.

Montague led Rayne and Indrid to the royal table where Gretchen and Anna were already sitting. Indrid chose his spot first and sat next to Anna. The Ikarus shield hung high above the backdrop of the royal seats. Red and plum silk draping dressed the towering walls and rolled in the gentle wind. Olive branch engravings wrapped around the stone pillars that supported the stadium seats.

When the audience saw Rayne, they applauded. But Montague heard the obligation in some of their cheers. Since the boy barely ventured outside the castle, his appearance reminded people of his oddity every time they saw him.

As in the past seven birthdays of his king, Lord Alexandal was absent. He would take a small brigade to the edge of the plateau to ward off wild folk that were taunting the guards at Faux Tower, or scan the farm fields because of a reported theft. He always had an excuse. So far, like the results of the previous mixtures he’d tried before, Montague’s attempt to detox the steward of the copper with his new concoction had produced no change in Alexandal’s behavior. He had been adding custard shells and charcoal to Alexandal’s soup for the past few days. It would take some time. And it was too early to tell. There had been no evidence of him dealing with the enemy.

The day-long festival began. Throughout the jousting competitions and chariot races, Montague enjoyed the children’s excitement. It lifted his spirits. He loved to see them smile. They had so much life, just living in the moment. Neither Indrid nor Anna cared that Rayne’s skin was gray or that he grew the way he did. They’d accepted him as he was.

After dinner, sword fighting preceded the finale. The display dazzled Indrid. It was the only part of the show that took his eyes from Anna.

Then came the event’s climax: The execution of criminals. Elephants were escorted out of their cages by guards carrying torches to protect themselves from what was to be released soon after. Pounding drums echoed through the stone architecture. Montague saw the concern in Gretchen’s eyes. She didn’t approve of Rayne watching this. Not at his age.

“Montague,” she cried.

“Come,” Montague said to Rayne. “Let’s retire for the night.”

“No. Let him stay, Greta. He can take it,” Indrid said. “Please.”

“I understand what happens here,” Rayne said. “I’d like to stay.”

“I’m sorry, my love, but this is not for young eyes,” Gretchen said. “You may be the king, but I’m more of a mother to you than anyone. Now go.”

Anna got up. “I’ve already seen this and I don’t want to see it again. I’ll go with you.”

“Wait,” Indrid said, rising to his feet. But he hesitated to speak as if he was trying to think of a reason for them to stay. “Nevermind,” he said. He scowled at Montague and sat back down.

Indrid had held a grudge against his caretaker for a while now. Because Montague encouraged Anna to have meals with her Mern cousins Indrid believed that Montague was trying to separate them. But he wasn’t. Nor was it his decision to force Anna to eat anywhere other than her own choosing. But the Lotts had demanded that Anna ate with her relatives. It was they who wanted to distance her from Indrid. Not because they didn’t like him. They just didn’t want her to adopt Graleon etiquette.

Through the gates Montague, Rayne, and Anna walked a short distance before they were all looking back into the stadium from a high window across the exit hallway.

“Here,” Montague said. “We can see everything from here.”

“Monte?” Anna asked.

“I promised him,” he whispered to her.

But Montague never promised Rayne anything. It was a test. He felt that Rayne may not be old enough by years, but he was quite mature for his age. The child’s first reaction to brutality would tell Montague much about the boy.

The arena crew assembled a platform for the competitors. Four wooden planks, only three feet wide and fifteen feet long, connected to each other at a cross section, were placed on the crests of the elephants’ backs. Men, dressed in dirty old shirts and pants, stepped onto the high platforms from the edges of the arena wall. They looked rugged and hadn’t shaved in weeks. With swords held to their backs by the guards behind them, they had no choice but to walk onto the planks.

“What’s going on? Who are these men?” Rayne asked.

“They’re sinners; murderers that have lost respect for themselves and life itself. This is the punishment Ikarus has set for their crimes,” Montague said. “Two of the men were caught trying to commandeer a gold shipment from Mern.”

The gates along the sides of the arena wall began to lift as glimmering eyes twinkled in the shadows. Two massive cats the size of adult bulls warily walked onto the sand. They immediately eyed the elephants, but the guards holding the torches kept them at bay, swinging the flames across their faces. Behind the cats, men with whips lashed them to direct their way.

Montague looked at Rayne. He was quiet; watching as if he were analyzing every detail. He seemed confused and shaken by the barbaric treatment of the animals, particularly the cats.

The fighters paced across the elevated platform, moving clockwise to the motion of the elephants’ circular path around the arena. The only weapon they had to defend themselves was a staff with a sack of thick, tightly-wrapped cloth, called a beater, at either end.

Four men stood at each end of the platform. “Begin!” the announcer shouted.

All of the men ran towards the cross section in the middle. They hammered at each other, knocking their opponents off the elevated walkway to let the cats finish them off. As bodies began to fall into the pit of starving beasts with teeth as large as spear tips, the cats mauled the invaders that dropped from above and lunged up at those that were still sure-footed on the platform, clawing at their feet. In the pit, one competitor managed to delay his death by striking one of the cats with a javelin before the other mauled him to death.

“The game is over when the last man is left standing with no opposition,” said Montague.

“Is the winner allowed to live?” Rayne asked.

“For now, but I’m afraid the outcome of the next tournament may not be so positive.” Montague reassured him, “He cannot escape the consequences of his actions.”

“One of the cats…he’s hurt…he’s limping,” Rayne said in a concerned tone. “What will happen to the cat, Monte?”

“They will pull the javelin out. Then time will either heal him, or take his life. If wounded cats remain disabled, they usually put them to death. It’s a shame became he is still a young one,” Montague said gently.

Rayne’s eyes widened. “He is not fully grown?”

Montague shook his head.

“And if he heals, what is to come of him when he is older?” the king asked.

“They are kept in the cells below the east gate until they can no longer perform duties in the Ikarus arena. When they grow old, they are taken to the bottom of the plateau and released back into the wild.”

“How cruel,” the boy said, his voice shaking with sorrow.

THE KING’S concern for the cat’s well-being was a good omen, Montague La-Rose thought. Rayne’s empathy for animals displayed the beauty of his heart. The boy’s respect for the lives of all things supported Montague’s hope that Rayne was the star being, the angel, whom he and Burton had summoned, rather than a bloodthirsty mage under the enemy’s influence, or worse—a demon.

Later that evening, just before the king’s bedtime, Montague wanted to speak with him. He felt bad about letting Rayne watch such violence. Maybe the boy wasn’t ready to witness such cruel ways to die. Montague didn’t want shock or trauma to trigger negative feelings.

On his way back to Rayne’s room to say goodnight before the boy went to sleep, Montague bumped into Gretchen rounding the corner of the castle’s fourth floor hallway.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” she huffed.

“Oh, I just wanted to say goodnight to Lord Rayne,” Montague replied.

“He is asleep,” said Gretchen. “Don’t wake him.”

“Ok then. I’ll see him tomorrow,” he said.

Montague waited for Gretchen to descend the staircase before he opened the king’s door and entered. He whispered in the darkness, “My lord?” But there was only silence. Montague reached out and grabbed a candle from the wall in the hallway and walked towards the boy’s empty bed. He knew that Rayne slept on the floor underneath the mattress. But when Montague pulled the sheets up from the ground, the king wasn’t there. If Gretchen just saw the boy sleeping, then he must have just sneaked out under their noses, Montague thought.

Rayne’s fascination with the arena cats and disgust of their treatment made Montague wonder if the boy had gone to visit the injured cat. He went to investigate.

As the former speaker of the Ikarus council descended the staircase of the arena to the animal cells, he heard a scream. It was Anna’s scream.

Montague ran, almost tripping down the steps.

Next to the cages, he found Anna holding onto the metal bars of the cat cage. She looked horrified.

Montague gasped at what he saw inside the cages. Rayne was there, kneeling next to the injured cat, which lay uncomfortably against the corner wall, bloody and wounded. The other feline was gray with black spots and growled while it paced around, guarding them.

Anna cried.

“Rayne!” Montague yelled. There, unarmed, he was helpless against the giant beasts. He grabbed a spear from the holder on the wall and approached the gate. But the chain on it was still locked. Montague was perplexed.

His fear of the cats went completely absent. Montague’s instincts to protect the Volpi king blinded him from the danger. Juggling through his keychain, he picked at the lock. But the other larger beast claimed the entrance with his staggering size. Montague found his heart beating harder when the cat’s eyes were fixed on him as if he were a piece of bloody meat dangling in front of its drooling mouth. It came up to the cold steel bars and roared. Montague dropped the keys.

Rayne seemed to ignore everything that was happening outside of the cage. Montague could only watch as the boy placed his hand over the wounded cat’s bloody flesh and closed his eyes. The cat’s leg twitched, but Rayne kept a stable hand.

When the king lifted his hand from the wound, there was nothing more than scarred skin, hairless and clean. Montague was astounded. As soon as the other cat walked away from the gate, he jabbed the spear tip in the lock and shook hard, breaking it.

Then he heard the clanking of armor approaching. The Ikarus guards must have heard Anna scream, he thought.

“Rayne, please come here,” Montague urged. He ripped a piece of his stockings and quickly soaked it in the fresh blood trailing out from the cage floor. Then he handed Rayne the bloody, torn cloth. “Here, wrap the cat’s leg with it,” he said with haste. “Please, hurry!”

Gretchen, another handmaid, and three guards came marching down the dungeon staircase.

Montague finally opened the gate and Rayne stepped out. Anna grabbed him.

If this event had been witnessed by anyone other than himself and Anna, the king would be a suspect of witchcraft. Montague was sure of it. Since the laws of the United Kingdoms of Naan strictly prohibited supernatural practice, anyone caught using magic or any other advanced science not yet documented by their civilization was dubbed a mage and sentenced to die.

Before Gretchen and her company reached them, Montague turned to both Rayne and Anna and whispered, “Not a word about what has happened here. Do we understand?”

They nodded without objection.