I sat in a now-familiar burgundy and grey chair, my arm in a sling, trying not to look too uncomfortable. Connor stood beside me, wearing some old clothing I'd found that was more appropriate for a formal meeting than his rags had been. He looked only the slightest bit nervous as the two of us waited patiently to see the Prince.

Shifting in my seat produced a stab of pain in my shoulder, and I winced. It had been murder trying to lower myself from Connor's roof the day before, even with help, which made me realize that I'd been very lucky to have climbed all the way to the top after injuring my arm. Adrenaline was pretty amazing stuff.

After that, and once our feet were safely on the ground, we'd headed south and found Cyrus and the others less than a block away, quite relieved to see us. Blackstaag's knights were with them, bound hand and foot and looking extremely surly. They all wore bandages as well, and their various injuries looked like they'd been attended to.

My own knights had appeared okay. Sonja was tending to her horse, Khia and two of her injured companions were talking in a carriage, and Theo was holding Orin's axe and demonstrating a few things to the attentive young knight. Cyrus was coordinating things with the remaining knights, figuring out how to get everyone back to Tucat Keep.

I'd located our public carriage driver, a small fellow who looked as though he'd just experienced the most exciting day of his life, and quickly settled the matter of payment, offering him three times the going rate for a full day's hire. Then, after observing the sheer amount of blood and muck staining the inside of his carriage, I doubled it.

The ride home had been uneventful, and things went pretty smoothly from there. We'd housed Blackstaag's knights in the stable, under guard, and then tended to our remaining wounded, which included Connor and myself.

Connor was exhausted by the time the main hall torches had to be lit, and it had taken very little effort to convince him to accept a room and get some sleep. Once he'd been looked after, I'd sent a messenger to the Palace, sent other messengers scurrying back and forth, checked in with Garrett (who had been bullied into staying the night by Talia, and who was overjoyed to learn of Connor's rescue), talked over some new plans with Cyrus and Theo in the basement, and identified the remaining objects I'd collected from Jaedemus Keep. Somewhere in there, I'd managed to return my father's journal to its proper place in my study, nearly weeping with relief as I did.

I'd also attempted to locate Talia so I could thank her right away. She'd been the one responsible for dragging me to see Garrett in the first place, which had in turn led to everything else. Actually, she'd been a critical part of everything that had gone right.

She wasn't around. I did find a note from her, however, one that explained where she'd gone at that hour and why. When I read it, I laughed out loud at what she had planned, and desperately hoped that she'd be able to pull it off. If successful, it might even help with the plans Cyrus and I were in the process of making.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. When not coordinating things with my staff or doing any one of a dozen things I suddenly had to do, I was staring into space, thinking of Talia and pondering what exactly I was going to say to her. Hours flew by.

I didn't recall when I got to bed, or how . . . and I didn't recall much about getting up either. I did wake up quite a bit earlier than I was used to, and very suddenly. One second there had been a mighty pounding at my door, hot tea hurriedly shoved into my hands, and the next thing I knew I'd been in my carriage with a sleepy-eyed Connor, both of us headed to the Palace at breakneck speed.

It turned out that a Palace messenger had come in the pre-dawn hours and informed my staff that Connor and I were due at the Palace right away, the two of us being Tenarreau's first appointment of the morning. Although it was a truly ungodly hour to be up and awake, there was one advantage to being dragged over there this early - it meant that there was nobody scheduled to see the Prince ahead of us.

So, naturally, the two of us ended up waiting for almost an hour in the Prince's antechamber.

At one point Connor asked me why it was called that. I told him I didn't know.

He didn't seem to be much for idle chatter, so most of the time passed in silence. There was nobody else in the room with us except for two fairly familiar-looking guards. I briefly considered asking one of them if they could direct me somewhere where I could freshen up, and then thought better of the idea. I wasn't trying to blow off steam or vent my frustration, so those sorts of hijinks weren't strictly necessary.

“Lord Tucat, may I ask a question?” Connor asked.

“I've told you before, Connor - it's Vincent. And yes, by all means.”

“It's just . . . you're older than me, and first names are kind of, well . . . never mind. Uhm,” he said, looking thoughtful, “you had mentioned that it was important to you that I meet the Prince. That you'd appreciate it. Why, exactly?”

“Well, Tenarreau has been holding something over my head these past months. Information. When I had my meeting with him before, he'd hinted very strongly that finding you was a good way to get this information from him.”

“And if he recruits me, you'll get it?”

“Possibly. I don't know . . . he's tricky.”

Connor knitted his brow, a flash of something unidentifiable crossing his face. “Is it important, this information?”

“Yes. Terribly important to me, but,” I frowned at him, feeling another twinge of guilt over bringing him down here in the first place, “I was working towards getting the information anyways. To be perfectly honest he may have expected me to fail. And he may choose not to give it to me regardless . . . he's been tweaking my nose lately, maybe to keep me in line. Either way, you shouldn't let it influence any decision you're going to make. Be mindful of that. This meeting isn't about me, or what I want.”

He appraised me briefly, and then nodded slowly.

“Once we're all done here, regardless of how it goes, would it be okay if I came back to Tucat Keep? Maybe to talk for a bit? Or, maybe, to sleep some more?” he added sheepishly. “It's been so long, I'd kind of forgotten what an actual bed was like.”

“Of course! I'll let my knights know to admit you, so you don't have to float your way up to an open window all ghost-like,” I smiled. “Coming through the front doors is quite a bit safer as well. My place isn't nearly as mind-bogglingly scary as yours when it comes to lethal traps and other things of that nature, but it'll do.” I gave him a wary look. “Would you mind showing me how you're able to do that stuff you do? Flying, dealing with traps, other things like that? Professional curiosity, you understand.”

“How about I show you later, right after we're done here?”

“Hmm . . . It would probably be best if we waited until later this evening, when I had a free moment. I'll be returning some of the things you've stolen this morning and this afternoon, and I'm making a special trip to Blackstaag Keep. I'm anticipating that meeting will be fairly tense, so it could take a while. I want him to know exactly how I feel about his behavior these past few days.”

Tight-lipped, he merely nodded, not saying a word to that. Doubtless he was still a little traumatized by his treatment at the hands of Blackstaag's knights.

If everything went as planned with Blackstaag this afternoon I'd probably have to share the details with Connor. Maybe even Garrett as well. Vengeance by proxy wasn't quite as satisfying as meting out revenge in person, but there were times when simply hearing about someone getting what they deserved was all you needed.

Five minutes later, a somber-looking fellow dressed in purple-trimmed white robes appeared at the doorway entrance to the Prince's greeting room. He took his time walking forward, stopped, slowly unfurled the scroll he held and took a deep breath.

“Would Lord Vincent Tucat, Viscount of E'ren-Dell, and guest, please make themselves known,” he announced to the virtually empty chamber, powerful voice booming out the words, his eyes fixing themselves on the main Palace entrance once he was done.

Connor turned his head left and right, eyes casting about the practically empty room. Leaning toward me, and in a conspiratorial manner, he sarcastically whispered, “Do you think he means us?”

I decided that I liked this kid.

My chuckles turned into a groan of realized pain as I rose out of my chair, waving away Connor's offer of assistance as I did so. We made our way to the herald in white, who gave us a disapproving look before nodding for us to follow him. I did so, Connor following behind me, his eyes taking in every feature of the palace interior with interest.

The Prince sat in his usual spot, positioned almost exactly the same way as I'd seen him the day before. In fact, I might have thought he hadn't moved from his chair at all were it not for the fact that he was wearing different clothing. The pile of papers stacked atop the armrest of his throne was a bit taller as well.

I bowed. Connor didn't, choosing instead to look around the room appraisingly.

Tenarreau didn't notice Connor's breach of protocol, or if he did notice he decided not to make it an issue, eyes alternating between watching us and looking to the piece of paper he held. Then, he turned his full attention on the two of us. His smile made me wonder how often he practiced it in the mirror.

“Lord Tucat! A pleasure to see you again . . . and so soon! Why, with all the treasures you'd liberated from the palace the other afternoon, I was certain it would take you an entire day just to sort through them all.”

I kept my expression as neutral as I could. “Highness, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes, I'm sure you don't,” he said, blandly. Then he gave me a puzzled look. “Good gracious, what happened to your arm?”

“I had an accident while not falling down some stairs, Highness,” I said, shrugging slightly with my good shoudler.

“You got that because,” he frowned a moment, “you didn't fall down some stairs?”

“They were unusual stairs, Highness. If I'd actually fallen down them, it would have been much, much worse.”

Connor chuckled.

“And it appears you've brought a guest with you,” Tenarreau said, appearing to take notice of Connor for the first time. “Fast work, even for you, Tucat. Well done! Why, it was so quick, I may be tempted to overlook the fact that he appears somewhat marked up.”

“Oh, what . . . this?” smirked Connor, gesturing to the bruises on his face. “This wasn't Lord Tucat, I got these before he and I talked. Stairs as well – I'm a bit accident prone myself.”

“Ah. I see,” the Prince said, sounding dubious. “Well then, on to other matters. I'm afraid that 'guest' doesn't really tell me much about you, my lad. What's your name?”

“I am known as Connor Jaedemus, Highness,” he said with a small bow.

“Connor. Well, I'm delighted to finally meet you, especially after hearing so much-”

“We've met,” said Connor, matter-of-factly.

I went completely still, breath catching in my chest. The guards, heralds, messengers . . . everyone else inside the room went still as well. The Prince's face was frozen in a grin that was attempting to disguise the fact that he'd been taken completely off guard.

The sudden silence was oppressive.

“Uhm,” he said about a half-century later, eyes a touch wider but face still furiously maintaining a smile of good cheer. “Have we? The last name is familiar, but I don't recall actually-”

“Don't you? My father, Uriah, brought me with him when he'd come here to beg that you take back the territory and Lordship you bestowed upon him, remember?” Connor looked up, as though he were picturing the moment in his head. “You told him that he'd do marvelously well, called me a good lad, gave me a shiny grey mark and a pat on the cheek. If I'm remembering it properly, that is.”

A forced smile still stubbornly clinging to his face, Tenarreau appeared to be hastily reviewing the contents of his memory for some trace of what Connor was talking about.

“Uriah,” he said, finally, a look of wary recognition playing across his features. “Jaedemus. My, that was a while ago. Just over ten years, I'd say. Goodness, how you've grown.” He exchanged his new expression for a somber one, bowing his head gently towards Connor. “Terrible what happened to your father. A true shame, that. I investigated his death personally. If memory serves, I had two rather unsavory men hanged later that week, if it's any consolation.”

I grimaced privately at the wording Tenarreau had used. While he'd certainly implied it, he didn't actually say that the men he'd hanged were responsible for killing Connor's father.

It was very rare for him to outright lie about something, but when it came to twisting language and misleading people, he was one of the best.

Having very little experience at this sort of thing, the boy might be too young to realize that he was being manipulated.

“Thank you, Highness,” Connor said after a significant silence, dipping his head in acknowledgment. I winced a little.

“There is no need for thanks – it's my job, after all. Maintaining order, punishing the wicked, that sort of thing. It's a frightfully large responsibility, of course, but very rewarding in many different ways. It does take up a fair amount of my time,” he said, waving to the tall stack of parchment resting on the arm of his oversized throne, “but it's important, and it concerns the safety of the citizens of Harael, and so I do what I can.” He gave Connor a shrewd look, like he'd just thought of something. “You know, speaking of . . . it occurs to me that a young man of your considerable talents might be able to help me out with a few things.”

“Things?” asked Connor, his expression wary. “What sort of 'things'?”

“Why, exactly the sort of things you've been doing lately, more or less. A little more channeled, perhaps, but very much the same idea. Sometimes, a Prince has to let certain Lords know that their actions are unacceptable, or keep track of them the tiniest bit. You may not be aware of just how important a role people like yourself play when it comes to keeping everything in the city moving smoothly, or how well people doing that sort of thing are rewarded.”

“Rewarded?” Connor asked.

The trap was baited . . . I could already see how this was going to play out, and my imagination caught glimpses of this remarkable young man's future. Caught up in modest wealth and comfort, he'd hardly be aware of the fact he'd gone from a position of freedom into one where his every move was predetermined, where his own thoughts and desires were irrelevant. He'd become nothing more than a talented weapon for the Prince, all other promising futures extinguished like a candle flame trapped under a glass.

I swallowed a bit more guilt and said nothing.

“Indeed,” said Tenarreau, leaning forward slightly and giving Connor a serious look. “There's the money, obviously . . . the sort of wealth that gives a young man the freedom he needs – the ability to live his life the way it aught to be lived. Nobody in the city could tell you what to do, where you should or should not spend your time.”

“Nobody?” Connor asked, sounding intrigued.

“Beholden to no-one. Except myself, obviously. And, perhaps most importantly, you would have the opportunity to occasionally put right what is wrong. Punish the guilty. You could make certain that things such as what happened to your father don't happen to anyone else. Inform me of things that need to be corrected, things like that.”

He was using all the right words and phrases. Freedom. Nobody telling him what to do. Punish the guilty. He'd brought up Connor's father, the idea that he could prevent things like that from happening again. It wasn't very subtle, but then it hardly needed to be when it came to this politically naive young man . . . this boy who had been all alone, and who had perhaps come to trust me a little.

It wasn't my life, I reminded myself. Not my decision to make.

“Sounds too good. I mean, what can I offer you, after all? I'm just a guttersnipe,” he said, shrugging slightly.

“Don't sell yourself short, Connor. You may be directionless and alone right now - a guttersnipe, as you've said – but it doesn't have to be that way. I'm a fairly shrewd judge of talent and what it's worth, and from the things that Tucat here has told me about what he's seen, I could very likely end up paying you three times what I pay some of my other staff and still consider it quite a bargain,” Tenarreau said, smiling in a jovial, friendly manner. “Though you'll very likely consider it extremely generous, the recompense I offer is but a fraction of the true value I place on the services of people such as yourself, and the much needed good someone like you can do for all of Harael.”

“Well,” Connor said, smiling in a relaxed manner, “that does all sound rather nice, your Highness. Very nice. I'd have to be mad not to accept an offer like that.”

“Excellent,” beamed the Prince. “I've got a feeling tha-”

“And being a snipe, I don't know many fancy words, so I'm afraid I can't say it any better than this,” he said, drawing himself up before Tenarreau, his chest puffing out the slightest bit. “Stuff it up your ruddy bum.”

The silence Connor's last statement provoked was immediate, and encompassed everyone and everything in the room. It was the kind of quiet where, at some point, you suddenly realize you've been holding your breath.

Holy crap.

Tenarreau's mouth was slightly agape, eyes a little wider than usual. His expression was, however, relatively composed when compared to the expressions of everyone else in the room, which ranged from dumbfounded all the way to absolutely horrified. Nobody moved, or did anything at all aside from standing very still, listening and waiting, perhaps asking themselves, “Did I just hear that?”

Connor simply stood there, smiling contentedly.

“Perhaps,” Tenarreau began, his voice wavering slightly despite the forced cheerfulness in his tone, “you need time to consider. Quite a bit to take in all at once. I'm sure Lord Tucat here will be more than happy to explain things to you, should you have any questions regarding the sort of-”

“Won't do any good,” interrupted Connor once more, giving a nonchalant shrug as he did so. “See, I've got this memory running through my head, over and over again. My dad, the inventor, the successful merchant, practically on his knees and begging you not to make him a Lord. It didn't really matter what he wanted – you needed him for some clever plan or such, making sure some Lord over here behaved himself, make it so he didn't fight this other Lord. Something like that.

“I got to see first hand what your clever plan did to him. I watched him try and fail, again and again . . . watched as he worked himself to nothing, watched as everything he had was taken away from him, bit by bit. I swore that I'd never let that happen to me. You see, I've made a few plans of my own, and they're kind of the opposite of yours. Bottom line - I'll never become a lackey for the likes of you. Now, a week, a year . . . ask me any time you like, the answer will always be the same,” he said, smiling hugely. “Get stuffed. Go to Hades. Kiss my ass, Tenarreau. Should be easy enough . . . if I grow a few more inches you won't even have to bend over!”

Bowing my head, I started looking down at the floor, suddenly afraid that I might lose control over the carefully neutral expression I was maintaining, or end up betraying just enough of a smirk to get myself beheaded.

There was more silence. Dangerous silence.

“Maybe I should take you up on that offer, hey? Give you some quiet time,” said Tenarreau, his voice clipped, his eyes angrier than I'd ever seen them. “Shall I have you escorted to the jail? Check in on you in . . . a week? Or a year, I believe you said? Perhaps I'll have my guards do that.”

Smile still on his face, Connor clapped his hands together sharply. There was a violent snapping sound, and the very air around us changed ever so slightly. The dress tunic I'd given him to wear flared outward at the sleeves, his collar string whipping the air in front of his face, like he was trapped in a wind storm that only he was experiencing. He held his hands with the palm towards the ground . . .

And he was floating. His feet hovered a good four inches off the ground. Guards tensed, some taking a half-step forward, concerned looks on their faces. Heralds and messengers shrank back.

Without any sort of warning, Connor gestured with his arms and spun in a tight circle, his entire body dropping back down onto the floor. Landing gracefully, he extended both of his hands in front of him with a snap, towards the Prince, palms angled slightly upward.

There was an ear-splitting crack.

The top corner of the Prince's wooden throne splintered violently and tumbled to the floor below, a small shower of precious stones following closely behind it, some of the gems bouncing gently off Tenarreau's hair before noisily coming to rest on the tiles at his feet.

Connor angled his palms down towards the floor and began floating once more, arms tensed as if he were pushing down against an invisible table.

“Guards? Jail, you say?” he said amid the shocked silence. “Well, I do hope you ask them to try.”

There was no sound aside from the gentle crackling noise coming from Connor as he floated there before us all, impossibly, inches above the marbled tile. Guards, heralds, messengers, they all stood around with stunned expressions, unsure of what to do. Both Connor and the Prince just stared at each other.

“Was there anything else you wanted to ask me about?” Connor smiled.

Jaw clenched, Tenarreau attempted to exert control over his composure, shaking his head slightly.

“No, that is all,” he said, waving a gesture at the boy who was floating before his eyes. “You may go.”

“I don't recall asking your permission,” said Connor, sounding bored. He made a slight adjustment to how he held himself, lazily spinning in place, turning his back on the small figure sitting upon his newly damaged throne.

Now looking at me, Connor adjusted himself again and floated forward several feet until we were face to face.

“You were lucky, Lord Tucat,” he sneered, regarding me coolly as he levitated a foot away from where I stood, his eyes level with my own, hair flying about his face. “Catching me that first time was a fluke. You come after me again . . . I'll kill you.”

And then he gave me a very quick wink, one that only I could see.

It took every single ounce of self-control I possessed to keep from grinning at him. I've never been more proud of my stone face.

A split second later Connor was moving with superhuman speed, zipping around the room before flying out into the antechamber, his every move a blur.

There was the sound of a muffled commotion occurring in the room beyond, followed by a muted 'bong' of something metal falling to the floor and voices raised in panic, and then silence.

Nobody moved, or said anything, or did anything . . . not even Tenarreau. The Prince simply sat there, eyes locked on the door through which Connor had just left, both hands gripping the armrests of his throne as though he were afraid it was about to buck him off. The guards, heralds and messengers were staring as well, all of them appearing thoroughly amazed at what they'd just seen, and not certain how to react or what to do.

Finally, Tenarreau looked back to me. His eyes seemed to be asking, “Did that really just happen?”

I shrugged.

“They grow up so fast, don't they? One moment they're running around with wooden swords, next thing you know they're lipping off their sovereign and telling him to go to Hades,” I said, keeping my face as serious and solemn as I could. “Boys will be boys, neh?”