Serek stopped pacing and leaned against the far wall. "Candles," he said. "Now."

Calen closed his eyes and emptied his mind. Lighting candles was one of the first acts of magic an apprentice learned; not only was it relatively easy, and a good stepping stone to more difficult magics, but it was also highly practical. Quickly he visualized the candles he wanted to light a" two fat, solid cylinders of wax on the desktop, the iron candelabra on the table across the room, the ring of candles set into the simple chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A gentle push, a flicker of mental energy, and he felt them all burst into tiny flames at once. Opening his eyes, he was rewarded by the soft glow emanating from each source of light.

"Good," said Serek. "Now the fireplace."

Same principle, just bigger. Calen reached into himself to draw upon a slightly greater amount of energy. He extended one hand toward the fireplace; not necessary, really, but it helped him to focus. He sent the gathered energy, barely visible as a faint, golden flow of light, out through his fingers across the room and into the small pile of kindling. At the whoosh of the flames, he looked back to Serek expectantly.

"Doors."

Calen smiled; he liked this one. Objects could fairly easily be manipulated to move in ways they were used to moving. He reached out with his mind to the three doors off the study a" the main door; the side door, which led to Calen's own small room; the back door, which led out to the yard a" and pulled them all shut with one satisfying slam. The candles flickered wildly, then recovered.

"Good," Serek said again. "Now a""

But just then the door to the main hall burst open again, and one of the king's household guards staggered through, panting. "Sorry," he managed between breaths. "Sorry Mage Serek, to a" to interrupt a""

"G.o.ds, man, what is it?"

The guard swallowed and seemed to get a better hold on himself. "There's been an accident, an attack a" a man wounded. Your skills are required."

Serek was striding toward the door before the guard had finished speaking. "Calen," he said over his shoulder, indicating that Calen should come, too. Serek grabbed a pouch of medicinal herbs and powders hanging on a cord near the door, then took off down the hall on the heels of the guard, who had broken into an unsteady run. Calen leaped from the chair and ran after them. The pleasant warmth of the magic energy from his exercises was driven out by a chill of dread. What had happened? He knew he'd find out soon enough, but he couldn't help imagining various possible scenarios as he ran, unseeing, past the tapestry-lined walls.

The guard led them out toward the main castle gate, where a small crowd was cl.u.s.tered around a figure lying on the gra.s.s. The guard who'd fetched them pushed some of the gathered people aside to clear their way. New uniforms? Calen thought distractedly as they approached the wounded man. The style was that of the Trelian Royal Guard, but the color was wrong, too dark, sort of a blackish red a"

Then he realized it was blood.

He stumbled to a stop as Serek and the house guard dropped to their knees on either side of the fallen man. He appeared to be unconscious. Someone had wrapped thick strips of cloth around his torso, but the blood had soaked through both cloth and what remained of his tunic. Serek swore, tearing open his pouch of medicines.

"We could not stop the bleeding," the house guard said quietly.

"Unwrap the bandages," Serek commanded as he pulled a.s.sorted items from the pouch. "I need to see the wound."

The guard paled but began to gently unwrap the sodden cloth. Several people standing nearby turned away. Calen stared, horrified, as the layers of covering came off to reveal an enormous gash across the man's chest. The edges of the wound were dark and angry-looking, and blood continued to well up from within, refusing to congeal.

"What happened?"

The other guards looked at each other uncertainly. "We don't really know," one said, finally. "We were returning from patrol when they set upon us. Bandits, we thought at first, although we'd never expected them this close to the castle. But then something came at us out of the woods. Something . . ." He shook his head. "Some thing. I don't even know how to describe it. It was huge, and a" wrong." He looked at the other men again, as if for support. "It was no natural creature, sir. None that any of us had ever seen. We think the bandits themselves actually drove it off; at least, it fell back when they did, but not before it took a swipe at Roeg. It seemed only a shallow wound . . . but there was so much blood, and when we reached the gate, he suddenly went white and fell to the ground a""

Serek waved his hand impatiently, silencing the man. "Calen."

Calen swallowed and walked over to kneel beside Serek. This close, he could feel a terrible heat radiating from the fallen guard. He could also see spidery thin red lines in the man's skin, branching out from the wound.

"What's wrong with him?" Calen whispered.

"Don't ask questions," Serek snapped. He handed several vials to Calen and tossed the pouch with the rest of its contents to the gra.s.s. "Find the bloodleaf and terric powder and set the rest aside." Serek closed his eyes and placed his hands a few inches above the man's chest.

The house guard peered uneasily at his comrade. "Can you save him, sir?"

Serek's mouth tightened irritably. "Don't you ask questions, either," he said without opening his eyes.

The guard opened his mouth again a" perhaps just to apologize, unless he was a particularly stupid man a" but at a warning glance from Calen he shut it without speaking and sat back on his heels. Calen nodded. Once Serek made it clear that he didn't want to be interrupted, it was very, very unwise to say anything else. That danger averted, Calen hurriedly turned his attention to the vials. The bloodleaf was easy to recognize. The large red-tipped leaves were wrapped tightly around one another inside the gla.s.s container. The terric powder was a bit harder a" it looked a lot like snowdust, and confusing the two would be extraordinarily bad, although he couldn't remember exactly why. Thank the G.o.ds Serek hadn't asked him to identify anything too difficult or, even worse, suggest which medicines to use. Memorizing reagents and their uses and effects was one of those things Calen had always considered a waste of time. Why memorize something you could just look up in a book or chart whenever you needed to? Clearly he'd never really thought it through before. The man on the ground a" Roeg, the other guard had called him a" didn't exactly have time to wait for Serek to page through reference material in his study.

Calen found the terric and held the two vials out to Serek, who was muttering to himself as he moved his hands slowly through the air above his patient. The mage was gathering information, trying to determine the nature of the injury a" Calen could just see the faint white tendrils of energy flowing between Serek's hands and the wound. The man groaned and tossed his head, although he still didn't seem to be awake. Serek opened his eyes and frowned. Looking up, he picked out two of the other royal guards who were standing around watching. "You and you. Come here and hold him down." Glancing at the house guard, he added, "You, too. What we're about to do is going to be painful, and it's essential that he remain still."

He noticed Calen holding out the vials. "When I tell you, start sprinkling the terric into the wound. There's a poison at work, and if we don't stop it, nothing I do will save this man." Calen nodded, tucked the bloodleaf vial between his knees, and then carefully opened the terric powder. He could smell its acrid odor and tried desperately to remember if this was one of those powders that was dangerous to inhale. Probably Serek would have warned him, but if it was something he was already supposed to have learned . . . Calen breathed discreetly yet forcefully out through his nose and held the vial as far away as he could.

The guards Serek had selected a" one appeared to be the patrol unit's captain a" were all in place, one holding the man's legs and the other two each gripping an arm and shoulder. They nodded at Serek to confirm that they were ready. Serek held out his hands again over Roeg's chest. Serek didn't speak, but Calen felt the hair on his arms and neck standing up in response to the sudden flow of energy. He'd seen Serek heal minor ailments before, but this felt different, not like healing energy at all. Calen let his eyes unfocus, a trick he'd discovered long ago that would sometimes let him better "see" a spell at work. Different kinds of spells involved different kinds of magic energy a" sometimes he could just feel the difference, as a person might note a difference in the weight of the air before a storm a" but he'd found that color was usually the best clue to puzzling out something Serek was doing. This wasn't something Serek had ever taught him a" on the contrary, Serek had never even mentioned the significance of colors relating to magic, probably because he didn't want Calen using the colors as a shortcut. Why teach your apprentice a shortcut when you could make him waste hours studying the long way around?

The man groaned again and tried to move, but the other guards held him fast. Another came forward to grip his head as it tried to turn. Red, Calen thought suddenly, as images of energy began to take shape at the edge of his vision. Why would it be red? Healing energy was green, or golden . . .

"Now, Calen," said Serek. Calen jerked himself back to the task at hand. He tipped the vial and began sprinkling the thick powder onto the exposed wound. As the first particle touched Roeg, he began to scream. The guards held him tight, but it was clear that he was trying to arch his back and pull away from the pain. Calen glanced at Serek, wondering if he should stop, but Serek remained focused on his own efforts. Well, he'd warned them it was going to hurt. Calen swallowed and kept pouring. The man's screams became even more intense. The other men looked at each other nervously. Calen didn't blame them. He felt sickened by it himself. The guard seemed to be in such agony.

Only Serek seemed unaffected, and Calen couldn't help but admire his focus. Like stone, he thought again.

The man's voice was beginning to go hoa.r.s.e. One of the guards spoke hesitantly. "Please, Mage Serek. Can't you stop now? The pain, it's killing him."

Serek didn't respond. Calen doubted he had even heard. Apparently the guard had the same thought, because he swallowed and tried again. "Please a""

"Be quiet!" Calen hissed. He understood the guard's concern, but distracting Serek certainly wasn't the answer. They had asked for his help, and now they had to accept it, whether they understood what he was doing or not. The guard glared angrily at Calen but did not speak again.

Finally Serek looked up and told Calen to stop pouring. Calen tipped the vial up immediately, with relief. The man's screams tapered off to exhausted whimpers.

"Now," said Serek, "take three leaves and lay them across the wound, covering as much as possible."

Calen winced as the first leaf touched the man's flesh, but there was no reaction from the guard. Either the bloodleaf didn't hurt or Roeg had pa.s.sed out completely again.

"Will he be all right?" the house guard asked.

Serek looked down at the leaf-covered gash. Roeg seemed to be breathing easier, but the edges of the wound peeking out from behind the leaves still looked swollen and unhealthy to Calen's eyes. "I don't know," Serek said finally.

The captain sighed heavily. "I've got to make my report to the king."

Serek nodded and rose to his feet. "I'm coming with you."

The captain gave orders for the wounded man to be carried to the infirmary, then he and Serek started toward the castle. As the guards set about their work, Calen gathered up Serek's supplies and returned them carefully to the pouch. He knew better than to try to follow or ask any questions. Serek would tell him more later, or he wouldn't. In the meantime, he might as well use this opportunity to get back to the library and start his dragon research. It was strange a" only a day ago, he knew he would have been sullen and furious at being left behind yet again. But today everything was different. Suddenly he felt invested in his own future in a way he'd never experienced before. He had a purpose a" two, actually. He was going to prove to Serek and himself that he could master whatever challenges Serek set before him and become the powerful, successful apprentice he knew he could be.

And he was going to find out everything he could about dragons for Meg.

Yesterday he had been alone, and not particularly happy with his lot.

Today he had a friend and a secret. And a spark.

MEG SAT AT HER DRESSING TABLE and began to brush the tangles from her hair. Now that her errand-girl clothes were safely bunched into a ball and stuffed in the back of her wardrobe, her face was clean, and she was dressed more appropriately (in the pale blue gown with rose satin trim that Morgan had given her for her last birthday), she supposed she looked a little more like herself again. Even if sometimes lately it was hard to remember which version of herself was the real one.

Maerlie came up behind her and took the brush, gently working it through the hard-to-reach parts in the back. Meg watched her in the mirror. At seventeen, with her dark hair caught up in an elegant knot below the thin gold circlet all the girls wore, Maerlie was beginning to look every inch the respectable future queen. She was a woman now, Meg realized a" no longer the playful girl who would wrestle her sisters on the floor or hide giggling behind the bed as Nan Vera came to collect them for tea. She hadn't lost her warmth or her mischievous smile, but somehow it was clear that she had put certain childhood games and activities behind her. Will that happen to me, too? Meg wondered gloomily. She didn't want to grow up into someone else. She didn't want Maerlie to, either.

A sharp tug on her hair interrupted her melancholy thoughts.

"Ow!"

Maerlie smirked but didn't look up to meet her eye in the mirror. She took up another section of Meg's hair and pulled it tight, twisting it together with the first section.

"Maer, that hurts!"

"Oh, quiet. Do you want to look ravishing at dinner or not?"

"Not. Stop pulling."

"Not even for your precious Wilem?"

"Very funny. You know he's not . . ." She trailed off, watching her sister's smirk stretch out into a grin. "He is? He's coming to dinner tonight? But I thought, I mean, he wasn't . . ." Meg closed her mouth in disgust. Did she have to turn into a babbling idiot at the mere mention of his name? Groaning, she pressed her hands to her face, which she could feel flushing with heat even now. "What's happening to me, Maer? I never used to get all moon-eyed over a pretty face. Remember that amba.s.sador from Black Island who came up a year or two ago? He had those two sons with him, and they were by far the handsomest boys I've ever seen. Finer-looking than Wilem, even. And they didn't have this kind of effect on me."

Maerlie paused in her hairdressing. "I think that was closer to three years ago, Meg. At least. And that probably makes all the difference. When the Black Island boys were here, you were only eleven. They saw you as a child, and that's probably how you saw yourself. But you're a young woman now. More of an age to notice young men, and to be noticed a" fourteen's not too young for a betrothal, you know. Wilem sees you as a young woman, maybe even a potential match."

Meg tried to ignore the way her heart lurched at that. Maerlie looked at her in the mirror. "I thought you liked the way he made you feel."

Meg considered. "I did. I do. Mostly. I mean, he chose me to walk with after dinner, and it was so . . . I felt . . . but he also makes me feel a" not myself. I get all tongue-tied and stupid. That's not who I want to be."

"Well, I imagine most of that's only nervousness, and in time you'd be able to relax around him and be more yourself. For now maybe you should just try to enjoy it." She smirked again as she went back to work on Meg's hair. "Who knows? Father might eventually marry you off to some ugly old n.o.bleman, and then you'll be pining away for the days when a man made you feel tongue-tied and stupid."

She meant it as a joke, although they both knew something like that was a definite possibility.

They didn't speak for a time. Maerlie finished Meg's hair and stood back to admire her work. Meg had to admit it looked lovely. She was never able to style her own hair like that.

Maerlie stood beside her in the mirror for a moment, then abruptly leaned down and hugged her. "Don't worry so much about everything," she said softly, pressing her cheek against Meg's face. "Soon enough we'll all be grown up and find ourselves with more responsibility than we ever wanted."

Meg hugged her sister back tightly. "I know," she whispered. Maerlie's words suddenly made her think of what Calen had told her about the spirit cards. That was something else she could share, she decided. Should share. They both had a right to know what was going on, after all. Maybe together she and Maerlie could get their parents to talk to them about it. Before she could open her mouth to speak, however, there was a tap at the door.

They both turned at the sound. Then Meg noticed that her sister's grin was back. She looked at the older girl, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Maerlie's grin widened even farther at her look. "Oh, didn't I tell you?" she said innocently. "Wilem asked if he could escort you to dinner this evening. That must be him now."

The early part of the evening meal had the quality of a half-remembered dream; Meg vaguely recalled engaging in polite conversation with various members of the small dining party and seemed to remember the fish tasting spicy and delicious. In addition to Wilem, her parents had invited Sen Eva and Sen Salyn R'ambe, another advisor to the Kragnir throne, and the talk had been lively and informative. At least, she thought it had been. Most of the details were fuzzy. Wilem had seemed interested only in her, and the force of his unwavering attention had been like a spear of white-hot light, pinning her across the table from him and throwing everyone and everything else into dim shadow by comparison.

Until she'd heard about the attack on the royal guard that afternoon. That dire news had eclipsed even Wilem's shining presence. To think that their soldiers could be set upon so close to home! Maerlie apologized quietly when she realized Meg hadn't known what had happened, but Meg couldn't be entirely sorry that her sister hadn't told her; it had been so nice to just talk about boys and kissing and lighter things, once the secret-keeping discussion was over. Still, it was not good for a princess to be uninformed about something so important, she supposed. Everyone else in the castle already knew all about it, since that poor man had collapsed right at the gates and gossip flew faster than falcons around here. Unfortunately, gossip also showed little regard for separating facts from fancy. What everyone "knew" was contradictory and confusing in its variety. Meg wanted real answers, but no one seemed to have anything other than guesses.

"Could it have been a dragon?" Morgan asked.

Meg's heart stopped in her chest, but King Tormon only shook his head. "A dragon would more likely use flame than claws, and even so, the men would have recognized a dragon. All of them swear this was no creature any of them had ever seen."

"But perhaps a""

Their father held up his hands. "Please, Morgan. This speculation serves no one. I do not want rumors of dragons to be added to those already in circulation."

Sen Eva spoke from across the table. "You speak of rumors, King Tormon; is it possible your men were simply influenced by the tales being spread by merchants and traders? We've all heard of the fantastic stories going around. Surely your soldiers have heard them as well."

"If I didn't personally know the men involved, if they hadn't been able to supply such disturbing detail, I might be tempted to agree with you," said the king. "But these are experienced fighting men, trained to recognize known dangers and evaluate unknown ones. They all agreed this creature was something foreign. Enormous, black as night, with pointed horns of uneven length, and of course, the poison . . . Well, I cannot pretend I am not concerned. But that doesn't mean we're speaking of ghosts and monsters out of tales, either. I have soldiers out in numbers, searching the area where the attack occurred. I have no doubt that we will discover what manner of creature roams about and prevent it from causing further harm. At the very least, my men will not be taken by surprise again." He turned his attention back to his meal, a subtle signal that he wished to end the discussion.

Meg's mother smoothly turned the conversation to other topics, asking Sen Eva and Sen Salyn more questions of Kragnir life and local customs, and soon the table was humming again with many smaller exchanges between table companions. Wilem smiled rea.s.suringly at Meg, and she could not help but smile back. She tried to follow her parents' example and put the matter of the attack aside for now. There was little that could be done at the moment other than to pray for the wounded man and hope that the soldiers were successful in their search. At least they had quickly dismissed the idea that it had been a dragon. Of course she knew it hadn't been her dragon, but the last thing she needed right now was some kind of fevered dragon hunt. She didn't think anyone would happen upon Jakl's cave by accident, but she didn't really want to put that to the test. Besides, she was sure he left the cave sometimes. That thought gave her a moment of panic a" what if Jakl encountered that creature? Meg took a sip of wine while she recomposed her expression and tried to make herself relax. He's a dragon, you idiot. He can take care of himself. Still, she reached out toward him, trying to sense his presence more strongly. This far away, he was just faint warmth; she'd have to go and visit him again tomorrow, just to make sure he was all right.

After dinner, Meg found herself escorted once more along the garden path, her arm delightfully linked through Wilem's. The night was cool and lovely, and many of the increasing number of castle guests were also out enjoying the gardens. Poor Nan Vera was trying to keep up with Maurel, who was skipping joyfully ahead into the hedge maze.

Wilem had cast his charming spell upon her again at the meal, tying her tongue and brain into senseless knots, and only now did the cool air seem to be restoring her to some sense of equilibrium. She struggled to take advantage of it. Come now, Meg, she told herself sternly. Think of something intelligent to say before he falls asleep from boredom. "I was sorry to have missed you this afternoon, Wilem. My sisters told me you had come to call."

"I was sorry to have missed you as well. I understand the demands of a wedding, however. The men seem to have it easier, but I've been a.s.sisting Prince Ryant with such preparations as have been necessary."

"Will you be standing with him, at the ceremony?" Mother had begun planning the arrangement for the bride's court as soon as Jorn had delivered the offer of betrothal, but the groom's court was planned by the groom's family.

Wilem nodded. "As the prince has no brothers, I am honored to say that he has chosen me to be his second."

Meg couldn't help wondering if Wilem could ever say the word brother without thinking of his own. That wasn't the sort of thing she could actually ask him, of course. She gave his arm a little squeeze, though, just in case. He looked down at her and gave her another of his sweet, sad smiles.

"Are you a"" he began, then stopped, looking out suddenly beyond her, into the night.

"What is it?" she asked, but then she heard it, too. Cries of alarm, distant, but growing closer. Everyone in the garden seemed to be aware of it now; some began walking in the direction of the commotion, heads craning, others stood in place, talking in low voices and looking worried.

Meg stepped forward to follow those walking toward the shouts, but Wilem's arm was still linked with hers, and he hadn't moved. She looked back at him. "Wilem, will you come with me? I want to find out what's happening," she said.

"No, Princess. You should stay here. It could be dangerous."

She fixed him with one of the steely glares that had such satisfying effect on Calen. "Well, yes, Wilem. People are shouting. I'm sure it is dangerous. That's why I want to know what's going on. Are you coming with me or not?"

"Meglynne a""

Suddenly a horrible, piercing scream tore through the night around them. Wilem's face went white; Meg felt the blood draining from her own as well. Her hand gripped Wilem's arm like a vise.

"What is that?" she whispered.

He could only shake his head silently. Around them, the other people in the garden began running for the castle doors just as several castle guards came running out. They saw Meg and approached quickly.

"Your Highness, please accompany us indoors at once," the lead guard said briskly. Meg nodded reluctantly. Normally she would have resisted being whisked away like a helpless child, but that scream had completely unnerved her.

The guard looked to Wilem. "You, as well, sir, if you please." Wilem looked torn but seemed to decide that it was best to honor the guard's request. He took Meg's arm again, and together they hurried toward the castle. The guards followed immediately behind.

There was another scream, closer this time. It seemed to vibrate in the air around them. Meg glanced back over her shoulder and gasped, stumbling to a stop. An enormous dark shape was visible past the trees that lined the royal gardens.

"What is that?" Meg whispered again. Her question came out sounding more like a whimper, and she struggled to pull herself together. She was not going to collapse in terror like some ridiculous coward.

The lead guard swallowed and forced his eyes back to Meg. "Please, Your Highness."

Before she could move, something burst out of the entrance to the hedge maze behind them. The guards, obviously jumpy by now, whipped their swords around to face this new threat. Meg almost laughed when she realized it was only Nan Vera, until she saw the woman's face. Nan Vera staggered forward, waving the swords away as if they were flies. "Your sister," she cried, "she's still in the maze a" I can't find her. . . ."

"Maurel!" Meg cried. Her own fear forgotten, she lunged toward the maze, only to have Wilem pull her back.

"Meglynne, no!" he said. Two of the guards ran off through the maze entrance. "The guards will find her. You need to go inside."

Meg shared an agonized glance with Nan Vera. Then she pulled loose from Wilem's grip and launched herself at the entrance. Someone swore behind her and she knew they'd be following, but she dashed ahead, hoping to lose them in the first few turns of the maze. The guards would never find Maurel in here; they wouldn't even know how to look for her. She could hear them faintly, calling Maurel's name. Fools. Maurel would only think she was in trouble and work all the harder at remaining hidden.

After several turns, Meg forced herself to stop. There were no sounds of pursuit directly behind her; now she had to focus on finding her sister. She looked around, frowning. Once she had known the maze almost as well as Maurel did now, but that had been a long time ago. With a start, she realized that she wasn't even entirely sure which turns she had taken so far. Meg fought the urge to panic. It didn't matter. Maurel would know the way out. She just had to find her.