The Dark Master. Daes was his real name. He was the only one bold enough to let the mage slaves know his name. Why would he wager on her? She did not want his attention. But fear of him would not help her now—she needed to focus. Was there anything else she needed to know? Anything she needed to get the Mistress to amend to the orders she’d just received?

“Do I need to bring him back by a certain day? I can be quick or quiet, but not both.”

“Err on the side of stealth. No one must know that we are the ones who have him, and you must not be caught. But if you have not returned in one turning of the moon, we will send others to… assist you. Any other questions?”

Miara shook her head. She had many questions, but none for the Mistress.

“So be it,” said the Mistress with a curt nod. “Go. Do not disappoint us.”

Miara turned and left. Her horse Kres waited outside. They headed for the library, which would hopefully ease some of her already-mounting desire to be gone, to throw caution to the wind and ride full gallop for Akaria. She could not go unprepared, she reminded herself. The Mistress had commanded. The tension that had intensified at the sight of her horse eased.

As Kres led the way, her eye caught on a fallen branch from a large oak tree against the wall of the dormitory building. She whispered a bit of energy across the wind to it, and her eyes lingered to see the first buds. Leaves of a rosebush broke from beneath the bark, and fragile tendrils of roots reached down into the earth. Her blooms would be bloodred; they always were.

“It’s high time we found a suitable wife for you, Aven.”

“Suitable, yes. Excellent choice of words, Mother,” he replied. Eyes closed, Aven took a deep breath of the crisp fall air and savored the sunlight on his face. Inside, the drafts that rattled through the stony corridors would be colder than the wind out here. This terrace was his favorite spot, a shrine of sunlight carved out of the side of the mountain.

“If you never meet this woman, how will you know if she’s suitable?” He opened his eyes to see her frowning, arms folded. The sunlight shone so brightly on her golden hair, his eyes ached.

“I could meet many more if I could leave Estun.” He examined the leaves on the cherry tree as if their gradual change to yellow was terribly interesting. He didn’t mind going to meet this newly arrived princess, although he did dread the awkwardness that was sure to follow. But did he have to leave the sunlight? Inside, there’d be only torches and hearth fires, and not enough of them to frighten the goose bumps away. This terrace was his refuge, its wind blowing through his hair, swirling the fall leaves, tinkling the wind chimes.

“You know it’s not as simple as that. Come, this one is quite beautiful. And a warrior. Wait till you see the bow she carries. Not just a puppet, or at least she doesn’t play that part.”

He said nothing. He knew he could not leave Estun. That didn’t keep him from resenting it. What kind of bow would she have? Did it mean anything? Most of the eligible noblewomen who called on Aven had one characteristic in common—they were as docile as lambs in a herd. He couldn’t marry someone like that, nor did he trust that it wasn’t a ploy to gain favor. Aven had long ago resigned himself to looking for the bare minimum to meet his needs. His wants would have to be set aside. So while he might long for a warrior wife, he knew he didn’t really need one—although someone who could also prevent him from getting killed in his sleep was certainly not a bad candidate. He did need someone he could trust absolutely, who would give him her true opinions, even when it was difficult. It would help if those opinions weren’t morally reprehensible, if she had a conscience and an internal compass he could trust that wouldn’t waver. He would like that very much. Wait, was that a need or a want?

The odds that this random princess would have even some of the qualities he needed were not in his favor. Coming here to blindly marry him did not exactly raise his hopes.

“Are you coming?”

He nodded. “One more minute.”

She eyed him.

“I swear I’ll be right there.”

“Try not to be excessively late this time.” She shook her head, turned, and headed back inside.

The white rosebush next to his bench was in bloom again, one last display for fall. Perhaps a spray of flowers would make up for his dawdling.

The early afternoon bells had rung several minutes ago. They marked the beginning of sport in the Proving Grounds. Not only did they have a competition among the young knights and nobles beginning in three weeks, but the assembly of visiting Takaran diplomats lingered on and required endless entertainment. Another few days, and Aven would get to try out a part of diplomacy he rarely practiced—politely kicking out the rascals without damaging relations in the process.

Until then, he’d have to endure another afternoon of watching duel after duel amid the fire pits. He was beyond bored with the show—the Takarans had little skill compared to the average Akarian but insisted on taking part in every skirmish. He sighed. It wasn’t like he had real duties to attend to or anything. It wasn’t like there was a military to keep trained or a nation to tend.

Well, he might as well get on with it all.

Aven reached down and carefully plucked a spray of roses from the rosebush beside him. He reached the door before he thought better of it and returned for a second spray of the small white flowers.

What if she were a beautiful, intelligent warrior after all?

He headed back inside. The heavy iron doors that led to the terrace clanged shut behind him, and he was again enveloped in the darkness of Estun. He paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust, hating every second of blackness.

And, of course, he felt it start up, first a tingle inside him, then a flitter of air. Of course it would. This was the worst time for such a thing. This was the reason Aven could not leave Estun: his magic. The air began to whip around him unnaturally, threatening the torchlight with even greater darkness. It often reared its ugly head at moments like this, when he had just come in from the terrace after soaking up the sunlight. Other times, it acted up when tensions or emotions ran high. He could not control it, although he continued to try. He never left Estun and carefully controlled what he did with whom in hope of keeping this a secret. So far, he’d been fairly successful at hiding it, although his occasional strange absences did not go unnoticed. Lord Dyon was quick to point them out.