"Where is Maclevirr?"

  Emerlun closed the door of the office behind him. Yuffilis Lainter, the junior assistant to the head of the Royal Intelligence—who had clawed his way to such a high position in just the past two years (an incredible career for an official in the court!)—jumped up from the desk where he had been working on his papers and bowed.

  "Your Majesty, Mr. Maclevirr has gone to a meeting. Shall I pass on a message?"

  Emerlun looked the junior assistant over, evaluating how trustworthy he was. But he was itching to speak.

  "Tell him we’ve agreed to go to Nubelrain together. The three of us."

  There was a pause. Lainter stood at attention, waiting for more.

  "I know it was reckless," the king began pacing in front of the desk, not looking at Lainter. He clearly needed to get things off his chest. "But they cornered me. Left me no choice. Of course it sounds ridiculous, a king personally visiting some old scientist... My father would never have allowed it. He would’ve just sent in the army and burned that estate to the ground. But this is a delicate matter, you understand? Raniot clearly wants to get his hands on that damn diamond himself and wouldn’t trust anyone else to take it to the Islands, even if I handed over the Lake of Aktida as a gift. And Jake is bored and just wants to humiliate me. I decided not to make a big fuss over it. I’ll take my personal retinue and go with them. It's about time I talked to this Nubel anyway. Better to get him on our side than on Jake and Raniot’s. What do you think?"

  "I completely agree, Your Majesty," Lainter nodded eagerly. "So far, Nubel is on our side of the barricade. Ideally, we should speak with him one-on-one before he meets with Jake and Raniot. We could try contacting him through the orb at Mainor University..."

  "I already ordered Romenford to do that, and he tried," Emerlun waved his hand. "Nubel isn’t responding. Must be caught up in his experiments. No, someone should’ve been sent there long ago, but now that all three monarchs of Laugdeil are gathered here, we’re simply obliged to go ourselves... Here’s the thing. I don’t know how this trip will end, what Nubel will do, or how my quarrel with Vaimar will turn out. I also don’t know how much authority I really have with the people. I have no idea who would support me if Jake decides to push toward the Olmaer Ridge..."

  "Jake’s no fool either, Your Majesty," Yuffilis sighed. "He’ll wait. Aktida is not weaker than Vaimar, but he’s counting on your weakness. And he’s wrong. No one doubts the monarch yet. What hinders you most is the conflict with the Mages' Guild and the Academy of Sciences. But even that can be fixed, so I repeat, abandon your claims to the diamond. Believe me, as long as you haven’t seen it with your own eyes, it’ll be much easier to break off negotiations, inform Jake Farian that Nubel acquired the diamond legally, and send him packing. He won’t be able to do anything, because here in Aktida, you define the law."

  "No," the king pressed his lips together stubbornly. "Not a chance. That would mean surrendering to Jake Farian, because he won’t give up the diamond. I’m almost sure his agents have been snooping into my affairs for a long time..."

  "Your Majesty, we’re keeping tabs on many spies. Some have already been discovered and used to spread disinformation, so Vaimar is unaware of of our internal issues. I would advise against sharply raising taxes on the military industry. Banks and merchant guilds will immediately draw conclusions, and they’re all tied to the Mage Guild in one way or another. This might turn the mages against you, and they closely watch your actions."

  Emerlun nodded and placed a stack of papers on the table.

  "This is the meeting protocol. Give it to Maclevirr, let him read it, but this material must be kept in the classified section. I’ll write him a few instructions myself. During my absence, he will be in charge at the palace. Uh... hm..."

  "Ordevix," Yuffilis bowed, silently recalling what had happened to the real Ordevix. A shame, but royal documents on official letterhead weren’t easy to come by.

  "Right. Sorry, I always forget." The king finished scribbling a note, rolled it up, and handed it to Yuffilis. "Run to Maclevirr and deliver it to him. And one more thing: gather the ministers in the Golden Hall in half an hour. I’ll give instructions for my absence."

  "Of course."

  They walked out into the corridor together, and Yuffilis locked the door behind him. There were no windows; the lamps illuminated the stone corridor walls and cast dim reflections on the golden suits of armor standing in alcoves, and on glossy lacquered paintings. It was quiet.

  "Ah yes," said Emerlun, stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow. It was hot. "I almost forgot. About the intelligence division—tell Maclevirr to intensify the search. After the Surrell uprising, I don’t want any rebellions undermining my authority, especially with an external threat looming. Let the Secret Chancellery step up its work and expand the staff. I will appoint Maclevirr as the Secret Chancellery’s new chief. And everyone with access to information and weapons must be checked. I’m almost certain there are people inside the palace working for Jake and Raniot. After all, Maclevirr managed to plant spies in Vaimar’s capital."

  "You can count on me."

  "I don’t doubt it... Wait."

  He froze. In the silence, behind the locked office door, came a creak and the sound of footsteps.

  Yuffilis spun around sharply and shoved the key into the lock with lightning speed. It took him only a few seconds to handle the lock, but when he flung open the door and stepped into the room, it was empty. The window was wide open, still swinging and creaking in the wind. The yellow envelope with the papers and the report from the meeting of the kings were gone from the desk.

  Yuf reacted instantly. While the king stood frozen with bulging eyes, he dashed to the window, leaped over the desk in one bound, sprang onto the windowsill, and looked down from the seventh floor.

  The alley surrounding the palace was empty. At least that was encouraging. Whoever had been there didn’t know how to fly.

  Yuf looked up. He climbed onto the frame, praying it would hold, grabbed the cornice above the window, pushed off, and climbed onto the edge of the tiled cone covering the corner tower, then scrambled onto the roof of the main palace building, just in time to see a figure in a black monk’s robe sprinting toward the far tower.

  He launched into a run, leaping in huge strides, cursing himself for his carelessness. The distance between them shrank rapidly. The fugitive reached the corner of the wall, vaulted over the parapet, and vanished just seconds before Yuf did the same, only to crash feet-first into the iron railing surrounding a balcony and tumble down, smashing a few pots containing rare plants. He groaned, jumped to his feet, drawing his dagger, and saw the thief descending even lower, onto the tiled roof of a side wing that ran not far from the outer palace wall. Yuf jumped after him and landed squarely on top of the short man.

  The tiles cracked and shattered in all directions as they rolled together in a tangled heap along the edge. Yuf managed to swing his dagger blindly, and it seemed he hit something, because he heard a hoarse scream. Then he saw a fist adorned with jeweled rings smash into his forehead. Darkness fell. His ears rang. Millions of bright stars danced before his eyes. A sharp elbow struck his chest, and he realized he was slipping off the slanted roof, falling somewhere below.

  For just a moment, he saw the bright blue sky, blazing in the hot sun, then his back hit something pliable that cracked under his weight and shattered into hundreds of shards. All he managed to do was cover the back of his head with his hands against the sharp bits of glass. Pain flared up suddenly, scorching every exposed part of his body. Then he slammed into a wooden beam, flipped over, struck another, lost his breath, and landed on something soft. He twisted quickly to shield his face from the glass and rolled off a flowerbed in the massive royal greenhouse.

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  Lying on high-quality black soil, specially brought in from the Southern Province, he allowed himself a brief rest. For a few seconds. Then he jumped up, glanced wildly around the hot, shaded room with its still green stems, kicked the greenhouse door open, and bolted along the outer wall. There, about thirty to forty feet ahead of him and four stories up, the short man in the black robe was sprinting toward the city gate.

  Yuf ran straight for the gate, slowly catching up, trying to ignore the pain from glass shards embedded in his skin. Guards strolling along the main alley cast suspicious glances at him. He reached the base of the wall just as the short man did and rushed up the staircase leading to the top, knowing the fugitive had no other way out—he’d have to come down here eventually.

  But Yuf was wrong. The short man didn’t even glance at him, he just vaulted over the crenellated wall and flew downward. Yuf wasn’t even surprised as he followed. While midair, he saw the tightly packed tiled roof of the barracks nestled directly below the wall.

  From this highest vantage point, Mainor looked like a flattened cone, its sloping sides crammed with little houses stretching far down to the city walls. The gaps between facing buildings barely allowed two wagons to pass. Between adjacent roofs, a short leap was enough. The rooftops varied—some higher, some lower, some flat, others sloped; some boasted tall chimneys, others had dark attic windows. The short man chose his path carefully to evade pursuit and avoid dead ends.

  He weaved, leaped from house to house, climbed walls with practiced ease. Yuf panted heavily, trying to keep up without tripping in this death-defying rooftop ballet. He cleared one alley, then another, never pausing, knowing he couldn’t afford to lose momentum. He startled screeching cats and flocks of pigeons that took off with a deafening flutter of wings. He lost count of the roofs they'd crossed since leaving the palace, and any sense of direction in the loud, sprawling maze of Mainor’s streets.

  Then the short man tried to jump over another alley, but misjudged. He grabbed the roof edge and hung there, struggling to pull himself up. Yuf leaped after him, slammed into him, and began to slide, barely catching the man’s boot and dangling above the street, where wagons clattered lazily below. They rocked and scraped, Yuf tried to climb over the fugitive's back, while the man flailed his free leg, finally kicking Yuf in the face.

  His nose cracked. Blood spurted, flooding his mouth, soaking his collar. Pain twisted his face. The junior assistant to the head of Royal Intelligence howled and let go, only to grab a windowsill just inches lower, scraping skin from his fingers.

  His legs beat against the warm, rough wall. He wheezed with lungs that refused to take in air. Somewhere above, the short man in the black robe managed to twist and pull himself onto the roof. Yuf clenched his teeth and dragged himself leftward, toward the roof’s edge—toward the drainpipe.

  He knew a few more moves would drain his strength completely, but still, he reached the smooth metal, wrapped himself around the pipe, set his weary feet on a bracket, clenched his jaw, and climbed. He barely remembered how he covered those final three or four vertical feet, pushed off the wall, and, writhing like a lizard, hauled himself up onto the tiled slope, right beside the short man.

  The fugitive sprang up as if scalded. As Yuf tried to rise, the man kicked him again, aiming for his face, splitting his forehead with his iron boot sole and knocking him flat. Yuf miraculously held onto the roof, rolled to the side. Now the fugitive loomed over him, his hood had fallen back, revealing the brown face of a Nocturn. Sweat rolled in fat beads down his temples and triangular ears. The short man bared his teeth, clenched uneven fangs, struck again, this time under the ribs, and Yuf barely managed to roll once more, hiding behind the ridge.

  He ducked, avoided a sharp punch, then staggered as knuckles smashed into his ribs. The fugitive wheezed and unleashed a flurry of blows, not letting Yuf rise to his feet. He pinned him to the roof. Yuf shut his eyes, shielded his head, and tensed his abdomen, feeling his ribs and muscles crack under the boots. He endured it, growling low, and waited, while the opponent beat him with savage pleasure, stomped him, tried to knock him off the roof. Then suddenly, punches stopped, and heels clattered away across the tiles.

  The sun blazed overhead. Yuf propped himself up, first on his hands, then to his knees, snorting and cursing as much as his broken nose allowed. Finally, he stood, holding onto a carved wooden ridge. He brushed off the rags left of his clothes after the fight. He didn't touch the bruises he clearly felt all over, and ran again, relieved that his legs had taken less damage.

  He leaped across a narrow passage, dropped into a light jog, trying to catch his breath. The short man was no longer on the roofs. Yuf ran, scanning from the cornices, then spotted him in a back courtyard of a small chapel, calmly climbing down balconies. Yuf vaulted over the barrier, clattered down a spiral iron staircase linking the second and first floors, and leaped, almost catching the thief at ground level.

  This time, he wasn’t going to let himself be beaten so easily. The short man backed away slowly, waving a short knife. The precious letters stuck out from his cloak.

  Yuf closed the distance in a few huge leaps. He was furious. He grabbed the fugitive’s knife hand mid-air, twisted it until a joint cracked audibly. The man screamed. Yuf punched him again, satisfied to feel his fist smash into the cheekbone. He threw him so hard he slammed into the town hall wall. Yuf approached, grabbed him by the collar, yanked the papers out with the other hand, lifted him off the ground and broke his nose.

  The short man howled, writhed, screamed, and gasped. Yuf squeezed his arms, slammed his head into the wall several times. Then something flashed, and circles swam before his eyes. His muscles went limp. He staggered, dropped the fugitive, and collapsed to his knees. Somewhere behind a terrible gray haze the fugitive got up, staggered toward something dazzlingly bright, where another figure emerged, raised a hand, and Yuf toppled sideways, barely clutching the envelope. Something vast rose before him, blazing white, and he heard a voice like crashing sheets of rusty metal:

  "You thought you could hide behind another’s face? You fooled the king, but not us. You don’t know who I am, but we know who you are, Yuffilis Lainter. And believe me, we have a common cause!"

  There was another flash, and then everything vanished. Yuf managed to rise, eyes darting wildly. He stood in the middle of a small, dirty lawn. High above, in the dazzling blue sky, the sun shone. The bell tolled calmly from the city’s steeple.

  ***

  "We don’t know what he might have heard," said Emerlun. "Damn it, at least we managed to save the papers. Thank you, Ordevix. You did well. None of my people could have done better."

  "Thank the wizards," Yuf muttered, barely able to move his battered limbs. "For my nose… Tell them that, Your Majesty."

  "He didn’t say anything at all? I’ll still try to consult with Maclevirr about where he might have fled... Well, tell me again how it all ended."

  "I already told you, Your Majesty. I managed to grab the papers, but then a portal opened and he just vanished. Someone helped him. Someone among the mages... To pull off a trick like that, you’d need at least a Master of Magic. Someone very experienced."

  "A Master... There aren’t that many in Aktida," Emerlun muttered. "I’ll demand that Romenford looks into it." He nodded to his own thoughts, staring grimly out the window, then seemed to remember Yuf again. "Well then, Ordevix. I’ll leave you for now. I hope the doctors patch you up and you’ll be back on your feet in a week. Thanks again for everything."

  ***

  The day before the departure, the king spent the whole day in his chambers, and no one saw him except the servant who brought his dinner and asked if His Majesty wished to take a bath before the journey, to which he received a firm refusal. The king felt nauseous, exhausted from long hours of work, and more than anything, he wanted to be alone.

  It was decided to travel incognito, with a small detachment, stopping at ordinary inns, and to arrive in Nubelrain with as little fuss as possible. Before leaving, the king once again wished to see the junior assistant Ordevix, who lay in the hospital. When Yuf, who had by then recovered somewhat from his bruises, opened his eyes slightly and weakly nodded to Emerlun entering the room, the king spoke to him without preamble:

  "You did very well, risking your life to catch the spy. I have few people I can rely on, and I’d like you to keep certain documents… in case anything happens while we’re away. You understand… I simply can’t let Jake win in anything. It’s even more serious because I have no heir. I don’t know what will happen to the throne after my death, and it could come very soon… This journey is deadly dangerous for me, I know it."

  "I don’t know what to advise you, Your Majesty. Take the most loyal and devoted bodyguards. Try not to be alone and be cautious in conversation… And it wouldn’t hurt to arm yourself. You do have a sword, just in case of betrayal?"

  "Yes, but if something happens… I doubt any of that will help. Still, thank you. Here are the letters… I hope to return as soon as possible, but I’m relying on all of you, my provincial governors, and the Cabinet of Ministers… If something happens, do your best to prevent unrest."

  The young man nodded. The king sighed heavily and slowly left the room. Yuffilis stared long at the door that closed with a mournful creak, then fell back onto his pillows, caught his breath, and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper from under the blanket—a newly started letter to someone he respected far more than the king.