"Bart, the boy is alive. He's breathing."

"The girl isn't. But look at her wounds, Sam. I don't think The Plains killed her."

Sebastian's eyes fluttered open. Above him stood a man with a dark green army uniform, his face pimpled and blotched. "Father. Lord... Laneby."

"Hand me your waterskin, Bart. He's waking up."

The pimpled man hooked his hands underneath his armpits to pull him up. The second the water touched Sebastian's lips, he grabbed the half-filled waterskin with both hands and drank. Never before had tepid water tasted so fresh and sweet.

The other man crouched next to him. He was only slightly older than his comrade, and had brown braided hair that ended in two tails that hung over his shoulders. "What's your name? Can you tell us why you were on The Plains?"

"Sebastian." He paused before taking another big gulp of water. "Laneby. Attack."

"The poor sod has lost his mind on the Plains, Bart. It wouldn't be the first one."

"That's why I'm a serjeant, Sammy, and you're a soldier." The smile on his face died as soon as it appeared. "Laneby was attacked, wasn't it? Is that why you are here?"

Sebastian nodded. "Fire... magic. So many dead."

"The source of the polluted river." The Serjeant gasped, his eyes widening. He scrambled to his feet. "I'm fetching Lieutenant Stephen. He has to hear this."

"No, get... Father. My father... Lord Brandon." Sebastian thrashed about before collapsing against the soldier's chest.

"And what do I do?" the soldier asked. "The boy needs more water. He's clearly talking nonsense."

"Stay here. I'm not dragging a horse with a corpse on its back into the city. Lieutenant Stephen would throw us in the dungeons for a week." The Serjeant snatched the waterskin by its strap. "I'll get more water from the well."

Sebastian would drink the entire well if he could. He was so incredibly thirsty. His head continued pounding with each breath, but he had made it to Sundale. Soon he would be reunited with his family.

"So... you are the son of the infamous Lord Brandon." The soldier cleared his throat. "I've never met him, but I heard the whispers when I was a young lad. Some men claimed he was the most stubborn man in all The Greenlands. Even more than His Majesty."

A shrug was all Sebastian could muster. They must mean some other Lord Brandon because although Father had his principles, he wasn't that stubborn. Fox was at least a dozen times worse.

"Was the girl your sister?"

"No." He didn't care if the soldier thought him rude or impudent, though it was perfectly understandable why he was asking him these questions. Father would have done the same if a stranger had arrived in Laneby with a horse carrying a dead girl.

Behind the city gate passed a constant stream of people. He counted at least twenty wearing the same dark green uniform as the guards. Then there were women and children carrying bags in all sizes, and men riding their carriages full of round, juicy-looking fruits and vegetables. Not one halted to look at him, like the world outside the walls didn't matter to them.

"Here they are." After what seemed an eternity, the soldier patted him on the arm. The Serjeant had returned with a ponytailed man who had an abundance of medals on his uniform. Sebastian stiffened. There was no Father or anyone else from Laneby. "Don't be afraid. Lieutenant Stephen is a kind man."

The Lieutenant had friendly eyes and a firm handshake. "Pleased to meet you, Lord Sebastian. My men will take care of the girl and your horse. I'm gonna get you out of here, bring you someplace where you can drink and eat and rest a little while we talk."

Sebastian clutched his hands around the full waterskin that Serjeant Bart gave him and drank. Lord? He mustn't have heard that right. He was only the son of a Lord; he had no right to bear that title yet.

"Can you walk, My Lord? The Captain's house isn't too far away. I'm afraid the man is out on a mission so you'll have to do with me, but Mary will give you everything you need."

"My father... I need him." Sebastian breathed in and out, then rose to his blistered feet.

It was a miracle that they had taken him across The Scorching Plains, when the short walk to the other side of the city gate already seemed too much. He clenched his teeth in pain and carried on, excruciating step by excruciating step.

Relief came in the form of a large two-storey brick house, where a freckled woman with pixie-black hair stood in the door frame. She held her hand to her chest. "Oh poor boy, come here. Make yourself comfortable. You can find water and berries on the table. I'll get you some fresh clothes."

"Thank you, Mary." The Lieutenant nodded. "If you see Healer Mark, ask him to come too. Tell him it's urgent."

"Yes, Stephen, I will. Don't you worry about it."

Sebastian flopped down on one of the straw chairs surrounding the round table with the grace of a pig in a fresh pool of mud. He took the glass of water and drank it all in one enormous gulp. One by one, he popped the blueberries into his mouth and chewed until the gooey paste had replaced the last remains of sand and salt.

"You're eating. That's good." The Lieutenant sat down on the opposite side of him. He fished a small booklet and a pencil from the chest pocket of his uniform. "Can you tell me what happened? To you? To the girl?"

"Am I the only one from Laneby?" Sebastian shifted in his seat. Though the man seemed friendly, he was avoiding the topic of his father as much as the guards had done.

"Sundale is a large city, so it's possible—theoretically speaking—but you were the first to mention an attack to the guards."

"Maybe they're still coming. I can't be the only one."

An uneasy smile appeared on the Lieutenant's face. "The Gods know their fate."

"They do." It was Sebastian's cue to start telling the tale. It took him four glasses of water before he had explained it all: the fire in the forest, the massacre in the river, and his journey to Sundale. He only left out Fox's tricks. Even though every part of him wanted to deny it; his best friend was a magician. He didn't want to lose him too.

The Lieutenant listened attentively, never interrupting him, while carefully scratching notes into his booklet. When Sebastian stopped talking, he put his pencil aside and rubbed his hand against his forehead. "That's a lot to take in. How old are you exactly?"

"Ten." He hesitated, counting the days on his fingers. He had left Laneby three days ago. "No, I'm eleven. My birthday is... it's today."

Lieutenant Stephen inhaled a sharp breath, a frown of pity creasing his face. "I'm sorry, My Lord. Eleventh birthdays should be pleasant occasions. Not this."

"But what will happen to me now, while I wait for the others?" Sebastian whimpered. He had looked forward to this day for as long as he could remember but he hadn't spared it a thought since leaving Laneby. Somehow it didn't seem to matter anymore. Everyone he wanted to celebrate it with was either dead, lost, or leagues away. "I have an uncle who lives here, but I only know Father called him Tommy."

"Tommy?" He tilted his head, chuckling nervously. "Don't think I've ever heard anyone call him that, but I know who he is. Everyone in Sundale does."

"Is he famous?" Maybe Uncle Tommy was a prize-winning officer in the army with even more medals than the Lieutenant, or perhaps he was one of the King's most loyal advisors. After all, he was the brother of a real Lord.

"My mother always used to say that fame is for singers, actors, and other Muttonheads. He's neither of those..." The Lieutenant leant forward and whispered, "most of the time. But don't tell him I said that."

Sebastian crinkled his forehead. If it were a joke, it wasn't a good one. "Can you take me to him?"

The chair squeaked as the Lieutenant stood up. "I'm gonna try to find the General. He'll arrange a meeting with your uncle for you."

"Thanks, Lieutenant." Sebastian was too baffled to say anything else. How important was his uncle that the General of The Greenlands had to be involved?

"It's my duty, Lord Sebastian." The man bowed, his ponytail flicking over his head. So strange. Nobody back home had ever bowed to Father.

Not long after Lieutenant Stephen had left, Mary returned with a large bowl of water and an army uniform. She placed both on the table. "I can't wait to see you in this. It will make you look like a proper little Lord."

"Why? My father never wears a uniform." Sebastian winced as Mary attacked his face with a wet piece of cloth. "You don't have to do this. I can do it myself."

"Poppycock, take off your shirt."

"I insist. My mother hasn't bathed me since I was a baby."

"As you wish, My Lord." Lowering her head, she handed him the cloth and pushed the bowl closer to him.

"And stop calling me My Lord! My name is Sebastian."

"Of course... Sebastian."

The cloth washed off the tears that had formed in his eyes, as well as the dust and the days-old sweat that had crystallised on his body. He didn't understand why the God of Wrath was trying to take hold of him when Mary was just trying to help.

"Thank you," he muttered as he buttoned up the fresh army shirt, "for taking me into your home and feeding me. It's very kind."

"It's my pleasure. You've clearly been through a lot." She placed the bowl on the wooden floor. "Here, time to soak the dirt off your feet."

He stared at his worn-out shoes, the stitches nearly falling apart. When he yanked them off, a stink more deadly than one of a skunk spread through the room. His socks were so crispy that not even ten laundry sessions would be able to save them. "Sorry."

"Don't be." She giggled as she buried her wrinkled nose behind her hand. "You should smell the city when the army returns from their training camp each spring. This is nothing."

Placing his feet into the bowl, he leaned against the back of his chair, the weight of sleep crashing down on him. Now that he was eleven and in the capital, he might as well join the army and rise in their ranks. If Father allowed it, he could train and become a serjeant or even a lieutenant too.

A simple knock on the door shook him awake. Mary darted to the front to open it. "Come on in, Healer Mark. Lord Sebastian is waiting for you."

An old man in a long green robe entered, carrying a large metal box that from the man's groaning was just as heavy as it looked. "It's about time Her Majesty arranged that errand boy I've requested moons ago. How hard can it be to find a strapping young lad who wants to learn the ancient art of healing?"

"You know how young boys are, Healer Mark. They all want to show off their prowess in battle."

"Battle... Don't make me laugh. These children don't know what a war is." He dropped the box not even an inch from the bowl, causing water to splash onto the floor. "And pray that they never will."

Sebastian lowered his head as the floating corpses flashed before his eyes. There had been so many of them. He shuddered. His parents and sisters had not been among them, but the village had been littered with bones as well. If the attack had been an act of war, the Lord's family would have been a logical target...

"Enough talking. Let me have a look at you." The old man placed his wrinkly fingers on Sebastian's cheekbones, forcing him to look up. "Beautiful deep blue eyes. A grandson of the late Lord Ian, are you not? And then... pitch-black hair and a sturdy chin. Oh yes, there can be no doubt. You are the child of Lady Karen and Lord Brandon."

"I am. Did you think I would lie about that?"

"I've been at court for over sixty-five years. One can never be sure." He opened his box and took out a wooden cone. "Take off your shirt, lad, and breathe in and out. Let me hear those lungs of yours."

Sebastian grumbled. He might as well have left off the shirt in the first place. Breathing in and out... what was this man trying to achieve?

He flinched when the cone landed on his bare chest and Healer Mark brought his enormous ear close to the broader end of the wood and squinted. "Can you breathe a little louder?"

Sebastian gave the man a series of deep inhales and exhales, and a good cough as a result. The Healer didn't say a word for minutes on end, merely focused on lifting the instrument and placing it on other parts of his chest and back.

"Can I stop now?" Sebastian asked when Healer Mark turned around and plopped the cone back into the box.

"Breathing? Never." The Healer chortled. "You're healthy, my lad. You've got nothing a few days of rest won't heal. Keep on drinking water until your urine has a pale straw colour."

"And what about my feet?" Sebastian showed him his right foot. The only thing that remained of the skin around his heel was the dried-up peel that dangled on his ankle. And on his left foot, his toes had been reduced to blood-seeping stumps that had coloured the water.

"Gonna have to cut them off. Who needs feet anyway?" The man's deadpan expression turned into a wink. "Let Patience have mercy on your soul, lad. Let the water first do its work."

When the Healer began meticulously removing the sand grains from his wounds with a small dagger-like tool, the sour taste of berries rose in Sebastian's mouth. His blisters seemed so insignificant compared to what Abby had gone through. If he hadn't fallen asleep, this man could have been saving her.

The man was still bandaging the last of his toes when the Lieutenant returned. Instead of entering, he remained by the open window and shouted, "My Lord, His Majesty has requested your immediate presence in his office. You will have to come with me at once."

"His Majesty the King?" Sebastian's eyes blinked rapidly. "What about my uncle? When can I see him?"

"Soon." The Lieutenant impatiently tapped his fingers on the wooden sill.

Mary crouched down, assisting Sebastian as he pushed his feet into the heavily polished and surprisingly stiff army boots. His feet stung so badly that he bit his lip to suppress a few yelps.

As soon as Sebastian had closed the door behind him, the Lieutenant jolted off into a small back alley where only small groups of young men in army uniforms were walking. 'Royal Military Academy for Cadets' read the gilded plate on the three-storey limestone building that covered half of the street.

"Is this where people learn how to fight?" Sebastian asked.

"No, it's where the theoretical classes are taught." The Lieutenant kept a steady pace, which Sebastian could barely keep up with. "History of our nation, Military Tactics, Ballistics—to name a few."

"Weird. I'd rather learn how to fight."

"And I'm sure you will, My Lord."

A calm autumn breeze guided him through the narrow street and onto a square larger than hundreds of Laneby houses. In the middle stood a gigantic bronze statue of a sundial, around which half a dozen children were playing tag.

A ghost-like hand tugged at his shirt. Fox would have begged him until he agreed to join them, but his best friend wasn't here. Not yet.

He looked up, to the red light of the setting sun that came peaking from behind the white tapering tower of Sunstone Castle. Though the Lieutenant was still marching as if he was being chased, Sebastian slowed down to take in the endless rows of sculptures that guarded the castle's sky-high walls.

Upon entering the main gate, white marble walls covered in paintings greeted him. The black floor was decorated with an alternating mixture of silver and golden ornaments that had somehow been carved into the stone. Compared to this wealth, the small hall in Laneby where Father always held his council meetings was but a shack.

Sebastian halted in front of a painting depicting a square full of marching soldiers. The amount of detail was astonishing. Each of their faces bore a different expression: someone was smiling, another one was frowning.

"My Lord, His Majesty is waiting for you," the Lieutenant urged.

"I've never seen anything like this." Sebastian closed his mouth, which had been open the entire time, and followed the man through a large door which led to an enormous spiralling stairway.

His feet protested as he climbed the steps. Just as he was beginning to fear that the Lieutenant would take him all the way to the top, he opened a door that led into a corridor. There, about halfway, stood a middle-aged man in a grey uniform that bore notably fewer medals than Lieutenant Stephen's.

The stern look didn't leave the man's face as he shook Sebastian's hand, his cat-like eyes examining him from top to bottom. "Pleased to meet you, Lord Sebastian."

"I'm really who I say I am. Your healer confirmed it." Sebastian wanted to punch himself in the head for uttering such nonsense, and to the General even.

"Unmistakingly a son of Brandon. I don't need a Healer to confirm what I can see and hear." He shot a grin at the Lieutenant. "You may take your leave. I will escort him to His Majesty's office."

Lieutenant Stephen bowed, which was possibly even more embarrassing than the previous time. "Till the next time, My Lord."

"Bye," Sebastian muttered.

"Follow me." The General pushed his hand on Sebastian's back to lead him to the end of the corridor, where he halted in front of a fortified door that was guarded by two men crossing lances.

The men parted in synchrony, revealing a painting on the door of a white sycamore in a field of green. Sebastian had seen a picture of The Greenlands' coat of arms before, but there was something so overwhelming about seeing it like this.

"One thing you should know is never to speak to him while his right ear is facing you. Don't stare and don't ask any questions about it. It's a sensitive subject." The General held his hand on the golden handle. "Is that understood?"

"Yes."

Sebastian's heart pounced against his ribs as he entered. In Nick's stories, Kings were always described as old men with long grey beards and big bellies who did nothing all day except for sitting on their throne while they made plans to start a war and raise taxes again to rob the poor.

King Thomas looked like the complete opposite of those mythical men.

He was sitting behind a paper-covered desk, wearing a grey uniform with no medals that emphasised his broad muscled shoulders. His black hair was cut in a fashion that Sebastian had never seen in Laneby, with trimmed sides and a long mane in the middle. He didn't have a beard, apart from the typical five o'clock shadow that Mother used to tease Father with whenever they exchanged kisses during the evening.

What was even more remarkable was the large black jewel that covered most of his right ear. Frankly, it made the General's advice not to stare at it an impossible task.

"You can sit down." He didn't even glance up from the sheet he was scribbling on.

As Sebastian sat down on the green velvet chair in front of the desk, the door fell shut. It didn't trigger any reaction from the King. Sebastian turned his head towards the General, who was standing right behind him, his arms crossed on his back.

With the scratching of the feather as the only sound in the room, Sebastian waited for either of the two men to start speaking. The God of Patience was testing him, and he wasn't very good at obeying Him. "My name is Sebastian. I'm the only—"

"—son of Lord Brandon of Laneby." The King finished his sentence. "I know who you are, Sebastian, and I know what happened to you."

"Then why am I here?" Sebastian flicked out some dirt from underneath his thumb's nail, causing a stain on his pants. Great, he and his quick tongue were doing a fantastic job of offending his King.

He winced as the King stood up, turning his back on him to stare out of the wall-long window. "On your journey here, did you drink any river water?"

"Erm..." Sebastian didn't know if he was allowed to speak when the King wasn't facing him, but the man had asked a question. And it would be rude not to answer. "Yes, but it tasted funny."

"There were talks on the market this morning that it had gotten an odd flavour overnight. I didn't think much of it at first—people complain about the smallest things—but when George handed me a glass, I immediately assumed a forest fire was raging somewhere upstream. I sealed off the river and sent a patrol full of my best men to examine the damages. We'll have to stick to the water in the wells for a while, especially now that we know the pollution's true source."

"Laneby." Tears stung in his eyes, but he wasn't going to cry. Not right here and now. Real men didn't cry. "The river... it was awful. Half-burnt corpses wherever I looked. And then, when we got to the village, there wasn't anything left. The magical flames had consumed it all. I think... maybe... nobody survived the attack."

Sebastian sniffed to keep the tears from flowing. He so wished that his family would still come, but he had to be realistic. The chances that anyone had escaped the burning inferno were slim to none. Nick had tried to tell him, but as usual, he hadn't listened.

The window reflected the King closing his eyes. "No words can describe how sorry I am for meeting you like this. After so many letters to your father, begging him to send you to court, I was a happy man when he finally agreed. I truly wish I could have hosted that party instead of... I don't know... a funeral."

Sebastian twisted his forehead into a frown, his heart skipping a beat. "Wait. You were expecting me?"

"Yes. Your father wanted to keep you all to himself; give you the childhood that you deserved."

"I'm a man now, and I have nowhere else to go. My uncle lives here in the capi—"

The King jerked around, banging his hands on his desk. "Bran never told you, did he?"

"Bran?" It was so weird that the King called Father by his nickname. Apart from Mother and Vanya, nobody had ever dared to do that.

"You really don't know?" The King sighed back into his chair, sounding as confused as Sebastian was feeling.

"What is it I should know!" He was screaming, but his thick skull reminded him that he was still talking to the leader of The Greenlands. "Your Majesty."

The King kneaded his eyes, exhaling a deep breath. "Look, your father... he and I used to be very close. Almost inseparable, you could say. Even when I grew taller than him, he still called me Tommy."

"You're Tommy." Sebastian's mouth fell open. "Uncle Tommy. But that means that he... that I..."

"Yes, Sebastian, you're a Prince." He leant forward, rubbing his hand over his stubble beard. "And Bran is... was my brother. My older brother."