RINCE ROXLEIGH SMILED. ALTHOUGH HE HAD AGED, HE seemed youthful. His smile was as warm as Oland had been told and there was a charming curve to his mouth. His limbs were skinny, his neck slender and his grey hair was like tumbleweed.

“Now, who might you be?” he said.

Oland struggled to reply. He’d had no time to process the loss of his only friend, and now he had to process the reappearance of a dead prince.

“My name is Oland Born.” he finally managed “I am from Decresian.”

“And did you come looking for me or did you stumble across me?” said Roxleigh. His brow furrowed as he spoke and one eye opened slightly wider than the other. It was an endearing quirk.

“But…” said Oland, “you’re…”

“Mad?” said Roxleigh. “Dead?”

Oland didn’t want to answer.

“Both?” said Roxleigh. He smiled. “I’m sane and very much alive.”

“But everyone thinks you went to an asylum,” said Oland.

“Oh, I did. But that was a very long time ago…”

“I know,” said Oland.

“It is sad when a father thinks his son has gone mad,” said Roxleigh. “Sadder still when everyone appears to agree.”

“But people only ever speak fondly of you,” said Oland.

“Ah,” said Roxleigh, raising a finger, “but also mockingly.” He paused. “Have you ever called someone roxley?”

Oland nodded. “Yes… I’m sorry…”

Roxleigh smiled. “Now, back to the questions…”

Oland was hesitant. “Why are you here? Why are you imprisoned?”

Roxleigh smiled. “Please don’t worry, Oland. I’m on your side. I’m on the side of Decresian.”

“Who keeps you here?” said Oland.

“I keep myself here,” said Roxleigh. “I came to Curfew Peak for my own reasons, and then I decided to stay. Now, tell me, Oland – how did you come to be here?”

Oland told him about finding King Micah’s letter, without mention of the archivist’s hand, which might have diminished the letter’s importance in the prince’s eyes.

“Would you mind showing me the letter, Oland?” said Roxleigh.

“A Pyreboy stole it…”

“Frax?” said Roxleigh. “The firewild? It is ash by now, I imagine. He used to spend a lot of time in Galenore when he was younger. Before he fell under the spell of fire, he was a street act, a thief. Shameless. He once stole the emerald ring from a magistrate and had the gall to wear it himself. He used to steal anything from anyone – he wasn’t particular…”

“What happened to his arm?” said Oland.

“He tried to steal from the wrong person is what I heard,” said Roxleigh. “Now, to the king’s letter…”

“I remember it all,” said Oland, “I’ve read it so many times.” And he recited the king’s words:

 

“‘You live in the ruins of a once-proud kingdom destroyed by greed and misguided ambition. But fear not – Decresian shall be restored. And it falls to you, Oland Born, to do so. On such young shoulders, it will prove astonishing how light this burden will be.

 

Your quest is to find the Crest of Sabian before The Great Rains fall, lest the mind’s toil of a rightful king be washed away.

In life, a father’s folly may be his son’s reward.

 

In case this letter were to fall into the wrong hands, to guide you, know this:

Depth and height

From blue to white

What’s left behind

Is yours to find.

 

Be wise in your choice of companion and, by nightfall, be gone.

 

In fondness and faith,

King Micah of Decresian’”

 

Roxleigh went very still. It was some time before he spoke. “I don’t quite understand all of that, Oland. But… tell me, have you heard anything from anyone else about The Great Rains?”

“A madman,” Oland paused. “I mean… a man in the village of Derrington says that The Great Rains are nigh.”

“Who is this man?” said Roxleigh.

“His name is Magnus—”

“Magnus Miller?” said Roxleigh.

“Yes!” said Oland.

“What about the Roses?” said Roxleigh.

“Hester Rose?” said Oland. “That’s his wife, who tended the gardens of Castle Derrington.”

“And the Dyers?” said Roxleigh.

“Gaudy Dyer?” said Oland.

Roxleigh nodded. “Are they saying the same thing?” he said.

“Yes,” said Oland, “and a man called Bream who we met at Pallimer Bay. But how do you know these people?”

“Decresian is a land of tradition,” said Roxleigh. “They’re all, I would guess, descendants of the group of great thinkers I was once part of, along with my dearest friend, Rowe. The Great Rains nearly destroyed Decresian, so it became one of the subjects we studied. No one had predicted them. We looked for signs… anything that might have foretold them.”

“Such as?” said Oland.

“There were teal flowers that only bloomed right before The Great Rains came,” said Roxleigh, “shoals of amber fish, particular types of cloud formations, high winds, shipwrecks, cyclonic waves—”

“I don’t know about shipwrecks, but the rest have all happened,” said Oland.

Roxleigh’s eyes widened. “In that case, we must return to Decresian at once,” he said.