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No-Cozen.
Having been the source of Della s ire on more than one occasion, Chime sympathized with his alarm.
Very well. Please open the door. He hesitated, then spoke firmly. If he wakes up, you must call us in
immediately.
Relief washed over her. I will do so, Lieutenant.
He bowed to her. Then he opened the door and let her inside, giving her the chance to satisfy her raging
curiosity.
The chamber was a tiled box, with eight walls, a domed ceiling and a tiled floor. On the octagonal table,
a rose-glass lamp burned with a low flame, casting more shadows than light. A four-poster bed stood
against the far wall. As Chime s eyes adjusted to the dimness, she made out a man asleep on the bed.
Jar id.
She went close enough to see him sleeping on his side, his wrists tied to a bed post. Her breath caught.
They dared too much, binding him that way. Every one of them surely recognized this man. He had the
same dark hair as the portraits of the young King Daron, the same handsome features and broad
shoulders, the Dawnfield long legs. He resembled the late king, yes, but even stronger, taller, more fine of
feature.
The resemblance ended there, however. King Daron had epitomized culture and elegance. This man was
wild. He wore rags, all gray. A scar ran down his neck from his ear. His hair lay across his back in
matted tangles and stubble covered his chin.
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Chime didn t envy Iris marrying this stranger. Yet Iris continued to insist he was Jarid. Anyone could see
his heredity, but if Iris expressed any doubt at all, no one would hold her to her initial judgment. Too
much was at stake to make an error. Chime knew Iris had no wish for the crown; the Tallwalk mage
stood by her assertion because she was honest. If Iris said this man was the grandson of the late king, she
believed it to be true. The man stirred, restless, and an odd sensation came to Chime. At first she didn t
understand. Then she realized spells were swirling around her, diffuse, hard to define, unfocused. He was
a mage. His power suffused the room even as he slept, pouring through her with a strength she had never
experienced from Muller, Della, or Iris. He wove a type of mood spell she had never encountered
before. It made her recall her youth in Jacob s Vale, the balmy summer nights when she and her friend
Merry had snuck off to the barn and stayed up late, making squares of red light when no one else could
see. They used to tell stories, especially those of legendary power within the Dawnfield line, whose
ancient kings had reputedly wielded incredible mage gifts. But a limit existed. A mage might be strong
enough to save a life, but no more, for the mage had only one life to give if the spell somehow turned
around. But those were only stories. It made Chime wonder if she overestimated the power of this
stranger; whatever dreams haunted his sleep might create a misleading sense of his abilities, a sense,
magnified by the high-level shape of this room. She hoped so, for she dreaded to think what it would
mean if a mage of such incredible and untamed power were let loose in Aronsdale.
Chime found Muller at the top of the Mage Tower in the chamber with perfect shapes. He stood by the
window staring out at Aronsdale. Going to stand behind him, she bowed her head and set her palm
against his back. Chime. He whispered her name.
You must do what you believe right. Her eyes felt hot with unshed tears. Even if it means taking Iris
as your bride.
She deserves better. So do you. He spoke with difficulty. Aronsdale deserves better.
You misjudge yourself.
He turned then and pulled her into his arms. She held him close, her cheek against his shoulder.
I know what I must do. His words sounded muffled against her hair. She couldn t bear to hear any
more, but she had to know. What have you decided?
He drew back to look into her face. For so long I feared the day when I would have to wear the
crown. Then you came, and I began to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could be a good king. You
made me believe. I cannot tell you how much that meant to me. For the first time in my life, I ve felt as if I
were more than everyone s last choice. His voice caught. Now I must do what is right for
Aronsdale regardless of what I want.
Chime touched the tears on his face. I know.
Della paused in the doorway of the room in the Starlight Tower. Unaware of her, Iris sat in a chair by
the bed, watching Jar id. The guards had bound the unconscious youth s wrists to a bed post, but Iris
must have freed him. He lay on his back now, sleeping, one hand resting palm down on his stomach. She
wished Iris hadn t untied him. The girl believed she could have coaxed Jarid to come of his own free will,
given more time. Perhaps she could have. But they had bungled their chance to earn his trust up at his
cabin in the Boxer-Mage Mountains. The range seemed apt, somehow. The mountains took their name
from a hermit who had retreated there centuries ago, embittered when he lost his family. Only the
desperate lived in those cruel peaks, outcasts who had little to lose. Such as Jarid? No one knew what
he might do when he awoke. Iris reached out to the stranger asleep on the bed, then pulled back her
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hand and set it in her lap, as if embarrassed by her wish to touch him. Her impulse didn t surprise Della.
For all his ragged appearance, he was a compelling man. How he and Iris had formed their remarkable
bond or what would come of it, Della couldn t say, but she had no doubt it existed.
She spoke quietly. Muller has made the announcement. Iris turned with a start. Seeing Della, her
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