Of the 8,942 ships arriving in the Port of Diligence, only 6,143 proved to have cargo fit for Greenlander consumption. Non-food sailed further north. 85% of tainted food that came ashore was incinerated. The remaining 14% was sold as animal food. We have no knowledge of the 1%

Nick chuckled inwardly when the General shoved him to the Lieutenants who normally patrolled the hallways of the castle. He had known these men for moons; they had even helped him write some of his essays when he had procrastinated doing his homework until the evening before the deadline. Once they had set foot in one of the underground tunnels, they would playfully smack him on the back and release him.

The Sundalers were quickly gathering around him. The curiosity in their eyes sparkled with the need for a dramatic show, and he was going to give them precisely that. He opened his mouth and yelled, "Let me go! I didn't wanna attack Lady Alana. I love her. She's the most gorgeous woman that ever walked on Greenlander soil."

While Lieutenant John wrung Nick's arms behind his back, Alex rolled her eyes and the Princess snorted a laugh into her hand. He doubted she would have found it equally funny if Vic had been there in his stead.

Vic. It had all been the besotted muttonhead's fault to begin with.

Nick wasn't exactly sure how he had gone from sipping the wine to concluding that the best thing to do was ask Princess Alana for a kiss, but Vic losing his temper over her kissing a little boy on the cheek had started a lively discussion within the patrol. Thanks to Eric's uncontainable enthusiasm, wine had flown all over Nick's uniform, and Jas and Dan had concluded that Nick had more chance to woo the Princess than Vic ever would.

It was truly peculiar what a drop of fermented grape juice had already done to his brain, but there were no regrets. He had done what had to be done, and this was a tale his friends would talk about for years to come.

"Ouch, you're hurting me!" He tried to squirm loose as Lieutenant Max locked the iron shackles around his wrist.

"Good to go, General." Lieutenant Peter grabbed his mask, pulling it off. "Shall I take him to the dungeon?"

"No, I'll do it." He placed his warm hand on Nick's neck and squeezed it.

Nick whimpered. Without the mask, he was no longer an unknown Cadet. The lingering stares of the Sundalers intensified along with the insinuating fingers that were pointed into his direction.

"The army lads can't be controlled," said an old, deep voice.

Though his heart beat faster, Nick wasn't too worried yet. Soon this would all be over. Much earlier than expected he would be able to visit Billy before spending the rest of the evening in his chamber, devouring his fresh stack of books until all of the candle wax melted and the wick burnt.

Until then he would keep the Sundalers entertained for a little while longer. "My Lady, help me! I only ever wished to praise your dazzling beauty. I'm no danger to you or your family."

"Aww, George, are you sure manhandling him like this is necessary?" The Princess asked with an unusually high-pitched voice, theatrically bringing her hand to her throat. "It seems cruel."

"I simply cannot tolerate this kind of behaviour in my army, My Lady. The fool needs to be taught a lesson."

Just as Nick was pulled away, Bart appeared out of the crowd, out of breath, his mask so askew that the dimples on his cheeks were visible. "General, please. I can explain."

Nick sighed. His patrol leader shouldn't have this urge to play the hero; he was the only one in the patrol to know that he could be on first-name terms with the high officers if he wanted to. This was all an act, a jest, something they would all laugh about over dinner the next day.

"This happened on your watch, Serjeant," the General spat. "Care to explain why he reeks of wine? The stripes on your uniform tell me you've been in the army long enough to know the young ones only get one beverage."

Nick tugged at his shackles. "One drink wasn't enough to forget your sparkling grace, My Lady! I will dream of you tonight and all the nights to come."

"General, I swear to the Gods that he didn't even drink half a cup." Bart shook his head, appearing confused by what was going on. Nick shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "But he's tiny so maybe that's why... I mean... I'm sure you remember what it was like when you were a patrol leader."

"Stop talking, Serjeant," The General said loud and clear, though still calmly. "I'll report the incident to Captain Jonathan and Serjeant Stephen–let them come up with the appropriate punishment for the pandemonium your patrol has caused. Now scram! Get back to your men before they accidentally open the gates to The Seven Hells."

Bart bowed. "Yes, General, of course."

The General let out a short grunt and yanked Nick away. "Move along, Cadet. Let your appalling behaviour be a good example for the other dimwits who think with their manhood instead of using their brain."

"He's taking the boy to the dungeon," a mousy-haired woman with a bronze mask said.

"No! Don't take me there!" Nick yelled. "I don't wanna die there. Not during the Feast of the Dead!"

"Too late, Cadet!" The General grabbed him firmly by the collar. "I have to do something to relieve the people from your boar-like squeals. You'll soon find four walls that are a much better audience for that."

"No! I don't want to. You can't make me!" As Nick turned around, he caught a glimpse of Alex's curls and her Jade green mask.

She had abandoned the Princess to chat to a merchant. That was odd.

The last couple of moons had passed swifter than a summer storm, leaving little time for him and Alex to discuss how life at court was treating her, but that was no excuse for her to take off while he was getting arrested. This was easily the funniest thing that had happened to her in weeks. How could she?

A twinge of regret settled in his gut as the General took the long, official route through the back of the castle where the entrance of the dungeon was situated. Three of the four corners of the crowded square they met at such a snail's speed that every passer-by had the time to make a scolding remark about Nick's stench or to praise the General for being so adamant.

Whatever fog that had numbed his brain was slowly lifting. Without Lana or the Lieutenants, the show wasn't as comical. The Goddess of Humility descended on him, but She had brought her brother Wrath with as well. He tugged at his chain, but this only made the General's grip on him tighter.

Together they walked down the steps of the dungeon, not a word between them. With every foot further away from the thick, iron-fortified door, he expected the General to let him go. The smell of rotten hay and rat droppings pierced his nose as they moved from through the torch-lit labyrinth of corridors.

Then the General pushed him onto a small, rickety stool that had seen too many bottoms.

"Alright, you've made your point," Nick sneered. "I won't ever do it again. You can release me now."

But the General seemed not to listen. He crouched down and untied Nick's boots. He yanked them out, not caring that one sock stuck to the leather. "Stand up. Arms stretched as far as you can."

"What? You're taking the mickey out of me, aren't you? You can't be serious."

"Hmm... what gives you that impression? Do as I say."

Slowly Nick rose from his seat and stretched his shoulders backwards for as much as the heavy iron chains allowed him to. The General unbuckled his belt to remove his sword. He grabbed a wooden box from the dingy shelf above him and threw it in, along with his boots and the one sock. Then the man proceeded to an extensive body search, digging in every pocket and tapping every inch of his body.

Nick gulped as the wooden box swallowed his pocket knife, a few gold coins, and even his white handkerchief. "But I didn't do anything wrong. I barely touched that cup of wine. I was just playing along..."

"You played and lost, Nicolas. Honestly, I figured you'd be a lot smarter than this. All in all, you're just a little boy in desperate need of attention." The General pressed the wooden box back on the shelf. "Since you have mine now, what is it that you wish to tell me?"

Nick let out a deep sigh, his gaze set to the cracks between the broken tiles. The chillness of the stale air washed over him and penetrated deep into his lungs. In the distance sounded a cackling laughter, the clattering of chains "I don't think it's fair. Send me to my room if you wish to punish me, General. I'm not a criminal. I don't belong here."

"Is that so?" The General chuckled, a deep rumble that bounced off the walls and repeated itself. "I still vividly recall a little boy begging His Majesty and me to not treat him any differently from the other Cadets, so what's there to complain about? I'm sure you will remember this lesson in humility for all your years to come. It's a grander lesson than any book can teach you, boy."

It was still a heavy sentence for whatever crime the General thought he had committed. He sniffed, shifting his attention from the floor to the dingy wall behind the General, where shadows loomed like silent bystanders. If it weren't for the one torch on his right, this entire corridor would be darker than the night. "How long do you plan on keeping me here?"

"Minutes, hours, days perhaps." The General screwed his lips into a scowl. "It doesn't matter–soon you won't be able to tell the difference."

"What?" Nick's voice throbbed in panic as the General grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a small, six by six feet, cell. "But... Billy... I need to look after Billy."

"I'm sure he'll be fine."

"No, he won't." He swung his shackles around in an attempt to squirm loose from the man's grip, but the General shoved him onto the wooden plank that had been chained to the wall and served as a bed. "You don't understand! He'll get sick again if I don't feed him and read him stories."

"Calm down. Master Richard will take care of him." With marching strides, the General stepped out of the cell. With one hand on the doorknob, he glanced over his shoulder. "Don't get so attached to the animal, Nicolas. It's only a horse."

"No!" Nick still sprinted to the door, but the thick, metal door was slammed shut before his eyes. The darkness of his solitary confinement became the sole witness to Wrath taking hold of him. "Let me out! You have to let me out, General! Billy's not just a horse. He's my friend, and I can't stand another person in my life dying. Please, General, you can't do this to me!"

He banged his fists into the metal, over and over again, until his knuckles stung so badly that he couldn't take the pain any longer. Fighting the unbeatable was not the lesson that the General was teaching him, but what was it then?

He sat down on the floor, sticky with a substance he did not wish to identify. Even to knowledge, there were certain limits. He coughed, but no relief came to the raspiness of his dry throat, which only worsened each time he inhaled the sour stink of decay.

Water. He craved the heavenly liquid just as much as he craved Billy's muzzle breathing down his neck, but prisoners had no access to water outside of the mouldy meals they received two times a day. He had no idea if or when he would receive his portion.

He retreated back to the wooden plank, his knees huddled to his chest to remain warm. It was all to no avail. His fingers and toes had already turned into numb, useless sausages. The General had been right about one thing: time could not be captured in this place; his wildly beating heart was the only unreliable clock he had.

He rubbed his eyes and coughed. No wonder stories described prisoners slowly losing their wits. Prince Lewis had been but a shell of his former self when the King had incarcerated him for seventy days and seventy nights to make him forget the Pastry Maker's daughter. It hadn't worked back then, and nor would it work for him; he would never forget about Billy.

Or his family for that matter. His stomach growled with the memory of his mother's Sunday roast and the too many potatoes that she always baked and insisted he and George ate because they still had to grow. Though he always had to unbutton his trousers to be able to breathe, he had always gladly volunteered, even long after George had given up. His brother had always been the weakling in the food department.

The engulfing darkness pulled at his eyelids. He did nothing to withstand its power, embracing the peaceful dream of him, George, and Abby playing hide-and-seek in Uncle James' stable. Everything had been so simple back them; the only conflicts about whose duty it was to do the dishes.

It couldn't be Abby. Never her. She was too small to reach the sink, the plates too big for her tiny hands. George wanted to make her try, but Nick didn't let him. He pushed him against the wall but received an elbow in his belly in return. "She really wants to do the dishes, Muttonhead. Why are you attacking me?"

His brother's brown eyes flashed in fury, then disappeared as a grand, piercing light blinded him. "Stop squirming, Nicolas. His Majesty wishes to see you in his parlour."

"What? How long have I been here?"

"A couple of hours, tops." Above the ball of fire hovered a shadow that stretched out his hand. He pulled Nick to his feet. "It's just after nine."

Still disoriented, Nick shook his head. His features on his liberator's face became more clear: a pair of bulgy eyes and a pockmarked face; that could only be Lieutenant Michael. "I need to see Billy. I need to feed him dinner."

"You'll still have plenty of time after you've talked to His Majesty."

Lieutenant Michael patted him on the back, guiding him out of his confinement. As soon as they were outside, the man grabbed the wooden box from the shelf and handed it to Nick, who immediately took out his lost sock. "Shouldn't His Majesty be at the ball?"

"He never stays long–nor does the Queen. Once all business has been conducted, they prefer to leave it in the safe hands of the royal children and the General. I suspect it's because of the music." Lieutenant Michael tapped his right ear, which didn't need much more explanation.

King Thomas couldn't stand the high tones, but didn't want to ruin the ball for his guests; it made sense so Nick shrugged in reply. He hastened to put his shoes on, reattached his belt and sword, then stuffed the coins, his knife, and his handkerchief back into his pockets. The faster this ordeal was over, the sooner he would be able to see Billy.

His Majesty wasn't in his parlour when the Lieutenant left him there. He ordered Nick to sit down on one of the couches and wait, which was hard to do with a tray of cakes, biscuits, and a steaming cup of tea sitting on the table. The God of Greed whispered to scarf everything down, but he clutched his hands to his seat to prevent more mistakes from happening. After the scene he had caused on the square, he didn't need the King displeased with him eating all of the biscuits.

In the distance played jolly, upbeat tunes. Neither Alex nor Seb would take the first step to leave the table and dance, but Princess Alana would convince them to join her in one of the many circle dances, or whatever the Sundalers liked to do on the dance floor. It was nothing for him; he preferred the stillness and peacefulness of the parlour. Nobody would be able to persuade him. It didn't happen a lot, but his unwillingness to dance outshone Fox's aimless persistence in many ways.

He peered at the tea, a shiver running down his back. His stay in the dungeon had chilled him, his fingers and toes still tingling as they recovered from the cold. One sip and he would be warmer already. Just as he made the first move to crouch down and take the cup, King Thomas walked in, carrying a small box under his arm. "Dive in, Nick. It's all for you. I've already eaten too much."

"Great!" Nick took a mouthful of honey-flavoured tea that was exactly the right amount of sweet and let the heat seep down to his stomach and then the rest of his body. He stuffed three oatmeal biscuits into his mouth, one by one, enduring the small coughing fit that followed. Greed had gotten him after all.

Meanwhile, King Thomas had placed the box on the table, next to the tray. A chequered black-and-white board smiled at him. Out of the side drawer, he was taking the pieces in marble green and pearl white. "How was your stay downstairs? Perhaps not the most pleasant experience of your career thus far?"

"Not really."

"Had it been anyone else, I would have truly worried about Lana's safety." He put the white pawns at the far end of the board, then held up his thumb and index finger, both less than an inch apart. "I was this close to forbidding her and Alex to attend the fair. There are things stirring in the heart of this city, and it worries me. Some of my guards had to leave their post to interfere in a brawl between soldiers. It's not the first time it's happening–the men are growing restless."

Nick munched on a cupcake with so much cream that his nose got sticky. The King's story didn't surprise him that much. He had heard complaints from the older patrols that all they did all day was train for a battle that would never come because His Majesty always strove for bloody peace. "Is this why the General got so angry with me? Because, after everything, he didn't wanna deal with a Puddingbrain like me?"

The King chuckled, yet his forehead was puckered in thought. "Perhaps. Though part of the blame lies with me too. I guess I talked too much about impressing your patrol buddies to befriend them. It may not have been my best advice."

"Maybe."

"Let's have a chat, Nick. You and I, and a game of chess. Lana told me Frederic taught you." He placed the last of the marble pieces on the board, a Queen.

"He did, but..." Nick eyed the door.

"You have to be somewhere?"

"I normally always visit Billy at night. I'm already late."

"One game." The King held up a finger. "Use it to you finish your tea and snacks. As long as you don't plan on serenading my daughter, I don't care what you do after that."

"Oh, I don't sing or dance." Nick licked his fingers. "I only tell stories."

"It's still the quickest way to her heart, so don't." He tilted his head, as if to tell him to start the game.

"Oh sorry." Nick pushed one of his pawns to the front. He didn't like the Princess like that; she was just a friend.

"Don't be." The King put his knight into motion. "You did great stuff today too, like when the little girl fell in the temple. You were nobler than the noblemen filling their bellies in my hall, yet seemed spooked out. Are you alright?"

"Yeah." Nick moved his rook one spot up. Living in two different worlds was difficult, especially when it felt like he belonged in neither. The contrast between the army and the life in the palace was so big; too big sometimes. How could he ever explain his comrades that he played chess with the King? It was impossible.

"You're a more convincing liar than Seb, but I can see that you miss Laneby and your family just as he does."

"Of course I miss them, but sulking and crying won't bring them back. Nothing will."

Silence settled, allowing room for one quick move after the other. Pawns were captured, Kings had to be protected by their Queens, and a green knight barely escaped an ambush of pawns.

"There's something about you," the King said. "One quick glance at you and people assume you're eight or nine years old, but then you open your mouth and baffle everyone in your vicinity."

Nick scratched his nose to wipe off a sticky residue of cream as he captured the green bishop with his rook. "I'm not that clever. Most of the time I repeat what others have told me, or what I've read."

"I disagree." The King got the white rook with his Queen. "You take the knowledge from others and from your books, yet apply them in another context. That's a sign of real intelligence, Nick."

"Then why does everyone always call me a Muttonhead?"

"Because you are, but you learn from your mistakes, and thus grow into a better person."

The hour hand of the pendulum clock was pointing at the number seven. If he forfeited the game, he would have more time to spend with Billy. So after taking another gulp of tea–finishing the cup–he advanced his knight to taunt the King to bring his green Queen into a checkmate position.

When he didn't capture the piece, Nick knew the man wasn't done talking.

The King rubbed his ear, cocking his head slightly. "From one muttonhead to another, I need to ask you this–for Seb's sake. How close were you and Fox?"

Nick raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "Not very, but we were friends. He liked my stories."

"What was he like?"

His fingers floated over the board as his brain was working at a hundred miles per hour. He grabbed a pawn, lifted it, then placed it back in the exact same spot. King Thomas was now sitting leant back in his chair, squaring his ankle over his knee. Deliberately forcing a quick checkmate wouldn't work. Since he wanted to keep the conversation going, he wouldn't allow him to lose. The only way to end this was to win.

He moved one of his pawns forwards as bait. "Fox was a little strange. Small, insignificant events could turn him into a slobbering mess in no time, yet he never failed to remind us that he wished to be the best warrior in the world. In his head, he already believed that he was."

"Hmm... carry on." King Thomas took the bait, which allowed Nick to capture the rook that was standing too close to his Queen.

"What else? I've heard your brother getting called Lord Brandon the Stubborn, but the Sundalers obviously never met Fox. Nonetheless, he was a good friend with a great imagination. He may not have been the best warrior, but he was the best listener to my stories. After Abby."

"I can imagine." The King sacrificed one of his own pawns to place his bishop in check position. "Talking about stories, when I caught you and Alex snooping around in my office on your first day here, you told me that you believed Fox to be dead."

"Yeah, you said to prepare for the worst. I couldn't think of anything worse than dying." Nick dropped his King a square down, back to safety.

"How did that make you feel?"

"Not very good. I knew him all my life, but dying in itself can be a relief from pain, from being locked up, or tortured. I guess I came to peace with it."

"You guess?" The King made a non-movement with his bishop, placing it back in its original position.

"It doesn't matter." Nick placed his knight in a check position. "Nothing I say or do will bring him back."

"Well..." King Thomas shoved his King to the next square; a move Nick mirrored with his Queen. "A reliable source told me about Fox's whereabout–he's alive–so it's a discussion worth having. What is the worst possible outcome for him: dead or growing up a magician, trained by the man behind the attack on Laneby?"

"That's a joke, right?"

"I'm afraid not."

Though the pendulum clock ticked on in the background, Nick appeared to be frozen in time. The board told him he was winning, but real life had cornered him as the King seemed to wait for the words he did not dare to speak. His head pounded with the urge to knock over the table and run to the stables. With his nose buried in Billy's manes, he could pretend he had never heard this news: Fox was living with Katla, the monster who had destroyed everything.

"I apologise for startling you with this information." The King brought his King behind his Queen. "But if you were here in my shoes, what would you do?"

"I don't know." It was absurd that the King was asking him this; he would never be in his shoes. "I'm eleven years old."

"I'm thirty-four. Doesn't become easier with age." King Thomas leant back in his chair. "Share your thoughts. This isn't the Academy–there are no wrong answers."

"I wanna go to Billy." Nick blurted out. "I don't understand what you want to hear from me."

"I think you do."

He did. It was what he had been thinking about during lunch too. Fox was a pawn in King Ariel's hands, who was waiting for the right moment to bring his magical piece to the board. The question wasn't what the worst outcome for Fox was, but what the impact on The Greenlands would be once King Ariel made his move. Fox needed to die, but he couldn't form those words in his mouth. "I want no part in this. This... I cannot decide."

"So you prefer going to the stable?"

Nick nodded. "Please. I'm not the man you were looking for. I'm..."

"It's fine. I won't keep you from Billy any longer." He moved his rook to take the white knight off the board. "Let's end the game right here. Truce."

"Truce."

Nick got up, the King twirling the white horse between his fingers. The game had not ended; not really. Behind a facade of friendly smiles and fatherly advice, the King would always get what he desired.

The epiphany scared him more than a thousand trips to the dungeon could have done. He rushed out of the room and ran down the corridor. This was the real lesson that General George had wanted to teach him. Like Fox, he was nothing but a pawn in this game played by Kings, Generals, and shady magicians. No matter what the commonfolk wished to achieve, they were always in control. Every step of the way.

Whatever they were planning, he would never play along again. From now on, he was going to be invisible.