y preparations are complete. However, difficulties have plagued me as of late. In order to keep from being shamed again in front of Goran, I have been testing these new rituals prior to approaching him. The resultant failures sit coldly pensive on my workbench, as if they wonder why I lack the skill to transform them. After three failures, I can waste no more valuable time and reagents.

After that last failure, I grew angry and smashed an iron file against the table. I broke a flask, and further enraged, I cursed and hurled the tool against the wall. I fumed, shaking my head and pounding my fist against the table. So little was working as it should.

It was at this inopportune moment that Fina knocked on my door. I stifled another curse and picked up the file, noting the large chip in the wall.

“Come in, come in,” I said.

“What is going on in here?” said Fina.

y work in the castle has settled into a routine, and there are times when I do not feel harried or put upon. Rather, I spend my time in the proper, deliberate practice of magic, enjoying the simple pleasures of the craft such as the sweet smell of honeysuckle, the restful gurgling of an alchemical process, and the pleasant thud of my staff as I complete a ritual. However, with the arrival of the springtime sun and windblown scents of grass and earth, working in the dark confines of the castle loses something. As I enchant yet another archway, garderobe, or set of lady’s paints, my mind wanders to the songs of great deeds and far-away lands sung by troubadours and bards.

ina graciously accepted my apology, but my situation is more complicated for it. I now know that she confides in Lady Reiling, and that some of that knowledge passes on to Karl, captain of the guard. He seems an intelligent man, and discreet enough to keep our secret close, especially since I know his. But the strangest part is that by meeting him, I feel I have joined a ring of secret-sharers.

Fina confessed to me that a king had indeed visited her, King Theran of the southern realm of Kossaria. But all had not been as it appeared in my dream, at least not according to her telling of the story (and corroborated by Lady Reiling). She was brief, and left out many details, but she stressed that she was not intimate with him. And although I already doubted the vision, one moment captured me. As I stood there, holding her in my arms, drinking in her beauty, wanting everything I had thought I knew to be false, she said:

“Do you love me? Then have faith in me. Trust me, not a vision born of Kean’s poisons.”

My faith in the starscopes was shaken. However, though they may have been wrong (or perhaps just misleading) in this case, there was no reason to discount everything they had shown me. The problem was that so little of the vision made sense to me.

The morning after I had read the starscopes, despite my distress, I had sent a message to Dalbach to arrange a meeting at his first available convenience. Today I met with him to tell him what I had seen, and all that I did not understand. Perhaps he could make sense of it. And if the signs pointed to danger, his steady hand would be ready to guide the duke.

he magical incantation wormed its way around my mind as I crept to Fina’s door in the early morning darkness. I realized it was the time of skullduggery, the time of thieves. If seen and recognized, my night travel would raise suspicions.

I arrived at Fina’s door. I reached into my cloak and removed a small pouch of pollen, and measured a pinch of it into my hand. To this I added the extra powdered ingredients that the book had recommended for my purpose: ground rose petals for romantic association, and ashes of a page covered in my own confessions. Over it I whispered my desire for persuasion in the secret language Kean had taught me, followed by the singsong phrases of the spell.

The enchantment on the carrier pollen was set. For a moment, I was struck by a sense of foreboding, so I paused, listening for footsteps, and peered down the hall. Only a muffled wind haunted the darkness, so I laid down on the cold flagstones. I felt for the crack under the door and quietly blew the dust into it. Surely, some of it was caught by the light breeze in the hall, but I was confident that enough had found its way into her room. It would carry the enchantment to her by morning. I imagined it floating up into the air around her sleeping form, thousands of tiny motes carrying a suggestion, a hint, that she should give me the knowledge I sought.

Later that morning, I knocked on Fina’s door. The sun had just crested the far hills, but she routinely rises early to write letters and read in the quiet of the castle solarium. I gulped, and prepared to ask her to walk with me, running the words over and over in my head.

A thunk sounded as she drew the bolt aside, and the door creaked open a crack. One green eye peeked out at me, framed by the half of her face that I could see.

“Ivar?” she said.

“Good morning,” I said. I caught a glimpse of her nightgown. Bloody hell! Too early! Idiot! “Uh, ah—I apologize. I thought you would be ready to walk down. I’m so sorry.” I bowed meekly, not knowing what else to do, and left.

Or I would have left, had I been a moment faster. Her hand reached out and clasped mine, and she reeled me back into the room.