Flames. Flames in the palace. They haunted the hearth of Adara’s bedchamber, crackling, spitting, hissing, a mosaic of reds and golds. She contemplated them. They were angry but subdued. Adara ascended a stairwell. Daylight flooded her. She stood at the pinnacle of the palace, as if at the top of the world. She turned in a circle, taking in the city she had grown to love. The shops. The houses. The people. The many, many, many people. Happy. Prosperous. Peaceful. Then a wind arose and blew the diorama from her eyes. In its place came a new scene—a terrible one. Smoke. Destruction. Screams. People running through the streets, scrambling to carry their children. And soldiers. Soldiers everywhere, clad in Calamar’s burning scarlet, cutting down all in their path. And piercing through the terrible scene, a calm but penetrating voice, echoing through her mind: Report to your comrades in yonder land. She cast her gaze beyond the walls. There, on the plains normally so beautiful and lush, were trenches and bulwarks of war. The voice sounded again: Evil stirs in the shadows of the night. Beyond the trenches, mighty war engines loomed, towers and trebuchets and battering rams, surrounded by forests of spears, all encircling the city in a ring of terror. Danger from the past returns. She fled the horrible scene, casting herself down the stairwell. Her quarters now were ransacked, the furniture broken and splintered, the floor covered with the shattered shards of what had once been a statue of her father. History threatens to repeat. She ran now, down another flight of stairs to her fore chambers, then out into a hallway. The flames from the hearth had spread, filling every corner of the stone passage. She ran between those greedy lines of flames, pausing only to stamp out the corners of her dress as they caught fire from stray embers. An avir’s life is in peril. She reached the throne room. Flames blocked every exit, but that was not all—enemies ringed her on all sides, their blades catching the light of the flames. They wore strange garb and shouted in a language unknown to her. Only the throne was unblocked. She ran to it. Ruin, fire, and flames. She stood upon her throne, screaming, but no sound came out of her mouth. The flames were coming closer now, and with them the points of a thousand swords. Scorching heat licked at the palms of her outstretched hands. She closed her eyes. To the skies— “Princess! Princess!” Adara awoke, jerking upright and throwing the covers off her shaking body. Two of her handmaids stood over her, their faces ashen white with concern. “Fire!” Adara screamed. “Flames!” “Hush,” one of her handmaids murmured. “It was just a nightmare. The palace is safe.” “No, it’s not.” Adara swung her legs out of bed. “Danger from the past returns!” A third voice spoke up. “Your Majesty, please, calm yourself.” Adara looked over to see Lady Luviana. The merfin was draped out on a couch in Adara’s quarters, her miniature harp in her hands. She must have been brought in hastily, carried by someone instead of transported in her normal traveling basin. A trail of small puddles led from the door to the couch. “Luviana?” Adara frowned. “What . . . Why . . . are you . . .?” “You weren’t waking up,” the merfin explained. “You were crying out and thrashing for a quarter of an hour. Emma and Charlotte tried shaking you, calling to you, even splashing water on you. Eventually, they sent for me to play a vivamantic song to pull you out of sleep.” Adara set her feet on the floor. The cold stone against her bare feet felt remarkably soothing. “A quarter of an hour? But the dream—it lasted barely a couple minutes.” “It seemed to be repeating,” one of her handmaids said. “You would start out calm, then slowly grow more agitated until you were kicking and screaming. Then you would calm down again. That happened three or four times. You had us so worried!” Adara kneaded her forehead, temples, and cheekbones with her fingers. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t I wake up?” “You were trapped inside the dream,” Luviana said. She began idly strumming her harp, plucking a soft but calming melody, like a mountain breeze rippling across a field of wildflowers. “I have heard of such cases, where a dream does not want to end. Often it carries a portent. May I ask what you saw?” The dream was still remarkably vivid in Adara’s mind. She described it as best she could, though as always when retelling dreams, it seemed impossible to transcribe the images in her head into phrases that made any sense. Part of her still felt a terrible sense of urgency, a looming threat that called for her immediate action. But the coolness of the stones beneath her and the melodic strains of the harp were, in conjunction, incredibly soothing. “There was a voice,” Adara finished. “It warned of danger and evil. It said that my life is in peril. Ruin, fire, and flames—that was one of the lines.” She paused, trying to recall the exact wording of the other lines. “There was more though . . .” She turned to her two handmaids. “Emma, Charlotte, could you step outside for a moment?” “Certainly,” they said, curtsying and withdrawing. As they opened the door, Adara noticed several worried-looking guards in the stairwell, peeking inside. Her thrashing and cries must have created quite a stir. She felt her face flush with embarrassment. “What is it, Your Majesty?” Luviana asked once the door had shut and they were alone. Adara took a deep breath, trying to sort the swirling vortex of thoughts within her. “Tell me again how my father died.” The merfin’s fingers paused, skipping a beat of her song. Then the melody resumed. “You were there,” Luviana said. “The fire—” “What caused the fire?” Adara asked. “We think a vessel of oil got tipped over,” Luviana said, talking slowly. She stopped playing. “The tapestries in a hallway caught ablaze, then quickly spread to the paneling in the throne room. Your father worked to make sure everyone got out, but before he could leave himself, the smoke . . .” Luviana broke off in mid-sentence, taking a deep breath. “Pardon me, Your Majesty, but that day brings back many painful memories. I’d rather not talk about it.” “The voice spoke of danger returning from the past, and history repeating itself,” said Adara. “Since the end of the dream was me standing on my throne, surrounded by flames, I can’t help but wonder . . .” “I wouldn’t worry about a fire,” Luviana reassured her. “We have been much more careful about open flames. Mostly we use lumen globes, though they are more expensive.” “There were swords in my dream, too,” said Adara. “And the city was under siege. It’s not an accident I fear. It’s an attack.” Luviana didn’t respond immediately. She stared at nothing, a distant look of worry on her face. Finally, she shook her head. “You have had many cares on your mind, Your Majesty. Likely this nightmare was just a reflection of them. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” “Could it have been demons, influencing my dreams?” Adara asked. Some people believed demons were the source of all nightmares. “Perhaps, Your Majesty. Who knows?” Adara sat thinking for a minute. She still had so many questions, coupled with a lingering sense of apprehension. Luviana was an excellent source of advice for anything political or social. But in this instance, Adara found the merfin’s answers sorely lacking. “Is Magistrate Cymer near?” Adara asked. “Alas, he is away on business,” Luviana said. “He left the day before yesterday. I believe he is overseeing the evacuation of records from the Sanctum of Kings.” “I see,” Adara said, disappointed. She stood and crossed the room to a basin of water, splashing it on her face. There had been one more line to the dream, right before she had awakened. What was it? It had been important . . . something about the skies . . . “What would you think if I moved my sleeping quarters?” Adara asked. “Perhaps to one of the lower palace rooms? I think I would feel safer there.” “I don’t see why not,” Luviana said. “But Commander Volthorn might want a say in the matter. He’s supposed to arrive late in the afternoon tomorrow—well, I guess today now. We can consult him then. As for now, Your Majesty, you should probably get some more sleep. I can stay here if you wish. This couch is surprisingly comfortable, as far as land-walkers’ furniture goes.” “I would like that,” Adara said. She strode to the door to thank and dismiss her handmaids, then lay back down. Luviana began strumming a low, quiet tune, supplementing it with a wordless song. Though thoughts and fears still clamored for Adara’s attention, the lullaby quickly did its work, and Adara slipped into a deep slumber, devoid of dreams. * * * * * The Hakiru pirates were only one day out now. As Twigly had predicted, they had had to churn their propellors most of the day, fighting to head south against winds blowing west. They were spending their last night anchored in the valley Durrin had found on the map. The plan was to spend the rest of the next day at their camp, then leave in the afternoon, travel the last forty miles to Saven, and attack the palace a couple hours before dawn. Durrin ate his dinner alone, brooding in the shadows of the trees, watching the pirates banter. He itched to climb the ridge to scout out the shrine on the far side. But not yet. Night had not fully fallen. And besides, he needed to get some answers from a certain nobleman first. As dinner wrapped up, During stood and strode over to Salidar. “Your Excellency,” Durrin murmured. “A word with you, please.” The vizier studied him for a few heartbeats. “If you insist,” Salidar said finally, rising and accompanying Durrin into the brush. Th
