Alex's warning echoed in his mind.

If you value our friendship, don't go looking for her. 

Yet here he stood, at that dusty, rowdy corner where Alburkhan's main street forked into two. The path upwards led to the Queen's Palace, the other down into the city's belly. A strong scent of spices and ground coffee wafted in the air but already clashed with the typical odour of civilisation.

Drops of sweat leaked down from the Scorian scarf around his head. The heat of the Scorian summer was murderous; the shade too short to provide relief. 

Ahead, high above the bustling chaos of merchants praising their wares to strolling onlookers and passers-by, glistened hooked halberds in the sunlight. Children playing with wooden figurines in the middle of the street broke off their game as the soldiers approached.

He turned the corner. Not that they would arrest him for roaming the city, but he wished to avoid questions he had no acceptable answer for. His visit to Scirocco's family was a secret he only shared with Alex, who already disapproved of his action.

He was a Muttonhead for being here but, Seven Hells, he would be a bigger one if he did nothing. Magic ran in their family like in his. If anyone could tell if his dreams of Fox killing Uncle Tom were of magical origin, it was them.

He entered the maze of narrow winding streets and clay houses with little variation and high, narrow windows. A steady stream of murmurs resounded from the roofs. Next to the door of beaded curtains, numbers were inscribed into the clay. The first indicating the district, the second the street, and then the house. Four three thirty-three, four three thirty-four.

Still far from house seven one seven. Not that he had remembered the number from his last visit, after Scirocco's funeral, which he had attended to show his respects to the girl who had saved him from a Silvermarker attack in the bay of Faith. Scirocco's family lived next to Aqid Nitasha, who was no less than Alburkhan's Captain. Her house number was public knowledge within the palace walls. The servant Sebastian asked recited the information without having to ask another.

He marched on, his gait steady. Scirocco shouldn't have died, and neither should the Aqid's son spent his golden years wasting away in a labour camp at the edge of the Suhrian desert. While his fingers itched to overrule any decision taken by the Council of Rajas, he knew better than to intervene in Scorian matters. 

When he was King...

His scalp prickled. No, he wasn't ready to be King. He would stay in Alburkhan for three moons, or nine, or perhaps a year. Until King Storm's army was defeated, Fox locked up or beaten, and peace returned to The Greenlands. He and Uncle Tom would continue to annoy each other until his uncle was a grey, doddery old man who went to bed one night and never woke up again.

Images from his nightmare flashed before his eyes. Running but unable to help. The shattering of glass. Blood bubbling from Uncle Tom's mouth. Flames all around him.

He shuddered.

This was why he needed answers.

At the second crossroads, he headed right, under a crescent arch carved out into the sandstone walls separating the districts. 

A rusty-spotted cat glared at him as he passed but didn't move from the rock she was guarding. He took a second take to make sure she wasn't following him. Big or small, felines unnerved him. The cat dozed on.

There was no one else in the street. 

A warm wind rose up. The road steepened, then levelled out where the houses began, wider and taller than the ones downtown. Their numbers starting with seven one.

A vile, painful smell washed over him.

Years ago, Captain Jonathan had taught him the wealthy of Alburkhan lived not near the Queen's Palace, but at a similar height, on one of the hills. And while that must have rung true half a century ago, and many prominent figures still lived at the top, when three generations lived up and under the same roof, their home may be all the wealth a family still possessed.

Seven one five. Seven one six.

He stopped abruptly. 

'Traitor' had been scribbled across Aqid Nitasha's house in thick crabbed writing, maroon in colour. Streaks of the dried-up liquid ran down the wall. A trail of fly-infested blots soaked into the sand led him to the house next door where the word 'Witch' tainted the front.

And that smell. He pulled the scarf over his nose, but the scent crept through the fabric. But as temporary as the rotting process was, the words would never fade. Marked for life, and that of the next generations.

Holding his breath, he rattled the beads in the doorway. The copper tails jingled like a dozen miniature bells. 

No answer.

How did Scorians announce their arrival?

He pounded his fist against the wall. "Hello, is anyone home?"

Silence.

Given the hostility, he saw no reason to dawdle. Besides, he was Crown Prince Sebastian, husband to Princess Jhara, and had previously been welcomed in this home. The worst that could happen was finding an empty home. He wouldn't blame the family for moving onto a different town.

He barged in. "Is anyone..." 

There was nobody sitting on the square of red and purple pillows around the open hearth. No one standing by the ornate cabinet, the ivory figurine of a warrior still on top. The ceramic pottery untouched. Whoever had defaced the front wall hadn't invaded their privacy.

"... home?" Sebastian finished the sentence.

A faint scent of mint leaves a clue the place hadn't been abandoned either. The coals shimmered in the hearth.

In the back, there was a room where the hammocks hung from ceiling joists. Four where there used to be five, all empty too. The screw of the fifth exposed. 

He stepped onto the stairs leading to the roof. "Hello?"

"Oo-hoo, up here," called an elderly voice. Scirocco's grandmother.

He quickened his step.

The woman sat in the shade of a red and blue tent crafted out of old silk garments, silver pots and other earthenware jugs and bottles around her. Her dark eyes glanced at him, unblinking, as she pinned a snake's head to the edge of a phial and pushed. A light yellowish liquid squirted into the glass.

"I'm glad you're alright," Sebastian said to her.

She threw the chopped off head onto a pile of other snake remnants. "I'm not alright, but I can't sit around and do nothing."

After removing his scarf, he brought his hand to his moustache. Sweat was better than rotting blood. "I apologise, that was rude of me." 

"Life is what it is, Prince Sebastian. The Gods of Virtue give, and the Gods of Sin take away. What brings you back here, tired of the palace already?" she asked. "Surely, as royalty, you don't concern yourself with what happens down here."

"I am concerned," he said. "But, I didn't know, and if I had, I wouldn't have been able to do much. Queen Rainah rules these lands—she doesn't need a pompous Greenlander to tell her what to do."

It was a joke, but the Markudyan woman didn't smile. She grabbed another snake, set the teeth against the rim, and squeezed.

"I requested to have you invited to my wedding. Politically, it wasn't possible. I wish to apologise for that too. Without your granddaughter, I wouldn't be standing here."

"Sci died chasing her dream. I hold no grudge to you, the Gods, or our Queen, as I have told you before. My family has lost everything, but we manage. Diligence rewards those who fight and work hard."

Sebastian crossed his arms behind his back. The next snake landed on the pile. She held the phial against the light, shaking it.

"Are you a Healer?" he asked.

"A Fugura? No, I'm not that skilled. I prepare tonics and elixirs for simple ailments. Can I interest you in something to help you sleep? You look tired, young Prince."

Memories of the poppy potion flooded back to him. "No, thank you. Sleeping is not an issue, or not any different from the usual. It's more." He found it hard to admit his weakness. "I have strange dreams."

"I can cook a draft for that too."

"It's not that." He sat down cross-legged, the conversation more intimate. His voice turned to a whisper as he said, "I wish to know what they mean."

"Unwise of you to speak of matters so freely, Prince Sebastian." She peered at him through the phial.

He leant forwards. "But perhaps not to you, Sayida..."

Though her hands floated above the bowl of snakeheads, she didn't grab another. Instead, she reached for a silver cup and poured him a steaming hot mint tea. "You may call me Nana."

"Then you can call me Seb."

"I prefer Sebastian."

"As you wish, Nana." 

Touching the cup scorched his skin. His thirst outmatched the pain. After taking a few sips, he told her about his nightmares, about Uncle Tom dying before he could get to him, Sundale burning, and how those flashes of Fox, of his red hair and green eyes, haunted him.

"Is this what I left behind, what is happening right now, or my future?" Sebastian asked.

She tapped his forehead. "It's what's conjured there."

"I'm not sure." His voice croaked. "You see, your granddaughter and my father, they were of the same kind."

"That explains your brother."

"Half-brother," Sebastian said. "Magic flowed from my father to him. But can it be that I.... that maybe... it is possible that..." 

Magic flows from parent to child, from my father to my half-brother. But can it be that I... that I maybe, you know."

"That you are a wizard too," she said softly.

Sebastian nodded. "Can it?"

"Magic manifests between the ages of four and eight. If you've never connected with any of the four elements as a child, you won't as an adult. It's not possible."

"But there's more than the four elements. Certain magicians can heal or predict the future or read someone's mind."

"They exist, but not without the power of the element to back them up."

Her answer didn't bring the comfort he predicted. "I'm a good swordfighter, always have been. Perhaps the power of the wind aids me."

Nana chuckled. "Do you fear the alternative so much that you prefer to be cursed?"

"No," he said, though yes was the answer. He set the tea to his lips and drank.

The only other explanation was that he was going crazy. Without any news from the north, he could be King in all but name. Had he known how this uncertainty pained him, he would have fought harder to stay in Sundale, would have stood among General George and Captain Stephen, moving the units of soldiers to drive the Silvermarkers out. He would have faced Fox, even it meant his death.

Except, he couldn't die.

"Your father's blood runs through your veins, but a wizard you are not. I see Wrath in your grip, fear in your eyes."

"You're not the first to tell me that." He touched his nose. "Don't get me wrong, I understand why my uncle sent me here, far away from war, and I agreed with him. But now, my family, my comrades, they may die while I wait and wait, either for victory or... my uncle's death. In which case, I'm their second chance, backed by Scorian warships, their hope when all hope is lost. Funny, how their faith rests in the son of a magician." 

"It's not lost hope," she said. "Death lies in your wake, but also in your path ahead. Magical blood or not, for a Greenlander Prince to wear the crown, a Greenlander King must die."

"What if I fail?"

"Then you have tried."

"It would still be failing. I've failed before, recently."

"Oh?"

"Your granddaughter..." He contemplated his next words, thought them twice before saying. "After revealing her powers, I had to sentence her to die. It's the law, even at sea. All I could grant her was the privacy of the captain's cabin. I had my dagger ready to slit her throat—had done it so often, on pigs, sheep, and a horse who would never run again. But when the moment came, I couldn't do it... she had saved my life. It was wrong."

"Then who executed my Sci?"

Sebastian removed his hand, his fingers trembling too much. "She did to herself what I couldn't do. One flick was all she needed."

Nana gasped, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry."

"No, Gods and Goddesses, no," she said. She grabbed her throat as tears rolled down her cheeks. "My Sci, my brave and bold Sci."

"Forgive me." He cowered.

Her eyes shot wide open. Her hand resting on his foot. "No, Prince Sebastian. You need no forgiveness, not when the Goddesses of Humility and Kindness live in you. It's not cowardice to show compassion to those others condemn. My Sci... I think I love her even more now." She took a deep breath. "And you. You see right where others see wrong. In my book, you're more than ready to lead your people."

He didn't believe her. How could she have such faith in him when he was the reason Scirocco had not only died but killed herself? "I won't. As you see, I've never handled death well. Not now or in the past, and I doubt the future will be different. And the uncertainty of the news ever reaching me. I never realised just how far and isolated I would be."

"That's the source of your nightmares." She wiped her cheek. "Not magic, your own mind."

"Crazy Prince Sebastian."

"Compassionate," she corrected him. "News travels with the northern wind. You can watch the skies only to hear the whispers coming in through the harbour. It may take a moon or three, but Alburkhan always finds out what stirs on the continent. Always—you must believe me."

He could try.

"And in the meantime?" he asked.

"Enjoy life, your wife, and this city." She leant closer to him. "And for your sake, don't come back here."

There was no threat in her words. Merely, a warning, not for her family, but his in-laws, but still the hypocrisy hurt. As though there was any difference between the son of a magician and the grandmother of one. These people were shunned, while he had married the second daughter of Scoria. 

Life was unfair, but he could only do his part.

He still didn't know what, but it had to be more than waiting.