He speaks his orders in a quiet voice that nevertheless carries to the back of the ranks even over the clinking and chinking of armor and swords. He himself is in a simple leather tunic with only a long, armor-lined cloak to protect himself: he hates the stuffy, hot armor that the others cherish for its protection.

His fellow knights listen carefully, and charge off as silently as possible, with the chain mail and armor clanking and tinkling.

He doesn’t like the way his father, Lord Mylev, runs the fief. It’s far too rigid and controlling and—he shudders inwardly, shaking the word out of his head. Quite honestly (though he would never be fool enough to admit it to Father), he much prefers the former Lord’s way of ruling. He is old enough to remember the usurping of former-Lord Andde: the event occurred when he was ten, just old enough for his memories of the day to remain preserved crystal clear.

All the knights leave him, charging off in pursuit of the escapee. Silently, he sheds the heavy cloak and springs at the ceiling, hauling himself over onto a support beam.[2]

Before the usurping of Lord Andde, he was the playmate to a knight’s daughter—Pyrazure (it doesn’t say much, because he only remembers her name). Pyrazure was devious, and often dragged him on exciting adventures that he was not-quite-so reluctant to take. Most of those escapades were overhead, on the supports, where they would sneak by the dining room guards and giggle as they listened to the over-formal speech of the dinner and supper[3] guests.

He shakes his head and races up higher, clear green-gray eyes seeking the escaped girl, the support beams like branches as his keen eyes hunt.

I stared at the ceiling, frowning to myself. That girl who escaped and was captured and then killed in the second struggle for freedom—Father snarled “Pyrazure” in alarm when she had burst into his chamber, blue-grey eyes burning with hatred, a sharp thin kitchen knife clenched between her teeth

Most of the serfs disliked Father, I knew. But the intensity of her hatred was startling. I could not be sure of her name, though I was almost sure of her identity, for only she would have such a reason for such loathing.

My theory was that the now-dead Pyrazure was the same as the one I had played with so long ago. Her parents were in all likelihood either Lord Andde and Lady Felylses or Sir Jakobi and Lady Krystal, most likely the latter pair. They were the only nobility that Father had disposed of so cruelly.

Pain snicks at my heart. I had unknowingly developed a fondness for the girl when I was small. I feel cheated, as though I have lost a younger sister. Worse than that, I helped her die. Shaking my head uneasily, I get up automatically as the bell tolls dinner.[1]

A hand on my shoulder stops me: Kai, a well-respected and dangerous archer who can kill just as easily as he can wound, and almost as handy with a blade as he is with bow and arrows. He is not, however, sadistic; I am merely saying that he was a valued soldier. A good man.

"Sir Krystan," he greets. "I would dine with you."

I eye him carefully. Father would not be above spying on his own son. At the same time, I found no good reason to refuse.

"And you shall," I replied.