Kromwell and his four toadies lurked in an alley down the street and across from Dortham’s smithy. Bermin kept an unobtrusive eye on the place as Kromwell stewed in his malice. Sethor, Raynold and Lerg shifted their feet nervously as they waited.

  “I’m really hungry,” Lerg muttered. “Can’t we come back here later?”

  “We’re not moving until they come out of that cursed smithy,” Kromwell growled.

  A few minutes went by as the boys waited impatiently. Raynold occupied his time by pulling the legs off of an insect he found. He seemed to be fascinated with how the legs twitched and flexed after they were ripped off. A man stopped in front of the alley they hid in. Kromwell recognized him at once. It was one of his father’s nameless servants, and the man had recognized Bermin. The servant then saw Kromwell deeper in the alley and gave a little wave.

  “Master Kromwell, your father requires your presence immediately,” the servant said.

  “My father can go kiss a render for all I care,” Kromwell said with a sneer.

  “Very well, young master. I’m obligated to tell him you said that.” The servant turned to go.

  “Wait! I’m coming! I’m coming!” Kromwell said hastily, already jumping to follow the servant. “You louts stay here. You know what to do.”

  “Sure do,” Lerg said, punching his open hand.

  Kromwell walked back towards the Surekeel residence, which was a couple of blocks away in the upper city. The nameless servant paced him a little behind and to the left as he walked. Kromwell passed the time thinking of all the various ways he would extract terrible vengeance on the Smith brothers for the injury they had done him. The two guards by the front door did little more than jingle a little in their chainmail armor as they shifted to let Kromwell and the servant into the home.

  “Your father is in the dining room, young master,” the servant said.

  Kromwell walked down the hall and entered the spacious room. The wood paneled walls matched the long, perfectly polished dining table in the center of the room. There was room for twenty-two people to sit at the table comfortably, though right now only Sivash and Nystara sat there at opposite ends of the long table, attended by servants stationed along the walls on each side of the room. Nystara was perfectly poised and looked to have already finished her midday meal. She waited patiently for Sivash to finish. Sivash glanced up at his son as he took the second to the last bite of his chicken breast.

  “What time is it, boy?” Sivash asked calmly.

  “It’s lunch time, father,” Kromwell said with trepidation as he walked slowly toward his chair in the center of the table. Traditionally, this was where the least interesting people sat. Kromwell was hungry and eyed the elegant meal as he got closer. It smelled delicious.

  Sivash stood up, letting his napkin slide to the floor, and Kromwell froze in mid stride. Kromwell began to tremble slightly. Sivash took three strides towards his son and struck him on the side of his face. The blow was hard enough that Kromwell briefly saw stars.

  “No, you little swine, this is not lunch time. For you.” Sivash gestured to a servant and pointed at Kromwell’s lunch. “Take that away.”

  The servant hurried to obey. Sivash removed the thick leather belt he was wearing and took a solid hold on both ends. He then grabbed Kromwell’s dark hair and slammed his head down on the table with a solid “thunk.”

  “I’m sorry, father! I’m sorry!” Kromwell cried.

  Sivash beat Kromwell with the belt on his backside for several minutes, until Kromwell was crying uncontrollably and Sivash was red-faced from exertion. Sivash finally relented. He returned to his chair, leaving the belt on the table top. A servant immediately put a fresh napkin in Sivash’s lap and retreated.

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  “Lunch time is when I sit down to eat, boy, and you’d better be there in that chair when I get here,” Sivash said darkly.

  Kromwell stood next to his chair, tears flooding from his eyes and his backside feeling like someone had set fire to it. He knew better than to sit down without permission. In his mind, Kromwell blamed me and Bran for this latest atrocity. It was written all over his face.

  “You may sit.”

  Kromwell gently sat, staring down at the empty table before him. Sivash picked up his fork and ate the last bite of his lunch, making sure to get as much of the sauce on the chicken as he could. He chewed slowly as he thought, staring at his son the entire time. He took the napkin out of his lap, wiped his mouth, and placed it on the table. As soon as he did that, the servants cleared the table with a very quick precision.

  “Bring me the book,” Sivash ordered.

  A servant walked quickly down the hall to the study and soon returned carrying a large, black, leather-bound book with the bones of birds sewn into intricate patterns on the cover. The servant stopped at Sivash’s chair.

  “It seems to me that you need something constructive to do. This book came into my possession recently, and I thought I would see if you had the aptitude to master its contents. Do you think that’s something you can do?”

  “I can, father,” Kromwell ignorantly said.

  “See that you do.”

  Sivash got up from the table and exited the room. The servant set the book down close to Kromwell and departed.

  “Your father was lenient with you this time, Kromwell,” Nystara said as she got up. Kromwell stood with his mother as he had been taught to do. “Try not to disappoint him again, and especially not with that.” Nystara glanced down at the book with a shiver.

  Kromwell picked up the book as his mother left the room. He at first struggled with its weight, clearly expecting it to be lighter. He took a quick sniff of the cover and turned his head in disgust. It appeared to make Kromwell feel sick to his stomach to even touch the thing. He took the book upstairs to his bedroom and shut the door. When his father said to do something, he meant that it should be done right now.

  He opened the book to the first page. It looked like the script written there was squirming and actively moving in a strange way to keep it illegible. Kromwell wiped his eyes, thinking that maybe he still had tears in them. He looked back at the page, and the writing there still moved and writhed in a nauseating way. He turned to the next page, but that page was illegible also. Kromwell panicked. If he couldn’t read a single word, then he wouldn’t be able to master anything in this book, and his father would be most displeased with him. Kromwell turned to every page in the entire book, but it was always the same. The book couldn’t be read. Not by him, at least. Kromwell lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering what he was going to do.

  A knock sounded on the bedroom door.

  “Enter,” Kromwell called out.

  Raynold opened the door and closed it again after he came in. His eyes were instantly drawn to the book lying open on Kromwell’s bed.

  “Oh. It’s you,” Kromwell said sullenly.

  “Yes. Just me. Um. The others sent me to tell you the Smith brothers aren’t coming out of their workshop until it’s dark, so we plan to try again later,” Raynold said, staring at the book for a few moments. “What’s that?” he asked.

  “It’s my father’s latest test. Some sort of magical perversity that cannot be read.”

  “May I have a look?” Raynold asked. He stared at the book with an unblinking gaze.

  “You may as well. It’s useless to me.”

  Raynold closed the book reverently, then opened it to the first stinking page. “It’s beautiful.”

  Kromwell eyed Raynold with instant suspicion. He noted how Raynold’s eyes moved back and forth as if he was reading it.

  “You can read that?” Kromwell asked in a guarded tone.

  “Of course, I can,” Raynold said, finally tearing his gaze off the tome and looking Kromwell in the eye. “Why? Can’t you?”

  “No. The words squirm to my eyes.” Kromwell immediately took the book away from Raynold, shut it securely and regarded Raynold evenly. Judging. Considering.

  Raynold lowered his gaze to the bed. After a moment, his eyes slid back to the book and locked onto it. “Can I see it again, please?”

  “With certain conditions, you may. You see, I need to know what’s in this book, and I can’t do that without your help, it seems. I’ll let you read as much as you like, but you’ll have to agree to teach me what’s in there, so I don’t disappoint my father. Do we have an agreement?”

  “Yes. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Kromwell handed the book back to Raynold and smiled in a calculating way, suddenly feeling a lot more hopeful. As Raynold began reading again, Kromwell’s expression grew thoughtful. And grim. He was determined to get stronger somehow. Strong enough that people he had never met would cower before him from his fearsome reputation alone. He would find a way.