The events that transpired with Averin were reported to King Joshua, and shortly after, the bodies of the two mercenaries Tims had killed were collected. However, a secret examination by Hawkeyes yielded frustratingly little information, no marks of allegiance, no letters, nothing to hint at who had sent them.
Later, in King Joshua’s private study, Tims recounted everything that took place in chronological order. He described returning to the store and finding Averin and Daniel sprinting out at a dead run, their faces pale with panic and fear. For a split second, he hesitated on sharing the next part, but Joshua had never betrayed a confidence. He explained their narrow escape through the winding alleys and the abandoned blacksmith shop he had claimed as his hideout.
Joshua held up a hand, a thin smile crossing his weathered face. “I approve, Tims. I think I’ll help you a little as well. You’ll need essential supplies, weapons, provisions, things that won’t draw attention if purchased separately.”
Tims coughed softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Averin has already made her own plans, dictating everything down to what color of furniture a hideout needs.”
At this, Joshua laughed genuinely, the sound warm and unexpected in the serious atmosphere. “Of course she would. That girl has her mother’s spirit.”
Tims paused longer than he should have, his gaze dropping to the floor. Joshua’s expression shifted, concern replacing his smile. “What else happened?”
He hesitated before describing the blood oaths Daniel and he had taken. “We tried to stop her, but Averin grabbed the knife before we could react and...” He shrugged helplessly, the memory still fresh and troubling.
King Joshua’s expression became unreadable, the lines around his eyes deepening as he turned to look out the window. The afternoon light cast long shadows across the room.
A long pause stretched between them before Joshua spoke, his voice quiet. “You trust Daniel?” He didn’t turn from the window, watching the courtyard below.
Without hesitation, Tims replied, “Absolutely. He stood his ground when it mattered.”
Nodding slowly, Joshua said, “I know his father, a good merchant from Cabol, honest in his dealings.” He rubbed his hand over the scraggly beard he wore, considering. “I’ll have him train with you in the art of the sword. If he’s sworn to protect Averin, he needs to know how to use a blade properly.”
Tims frowned, already seeing the problem. “Won’t that draw suspicion? I mean, if we spar in the practice field alone, someone’s bound to notice and start asking questions.”
Joshua gave him a knowing smile. “That’s why you won’t be doing it here or anywhere inside these walls.”
“The hideout,” Tims said, understanding dawning.
The King nodded before quickly adding, his tone turning serious again, “It will need to be done when Averin isn’t around. She can’t know everything, not yet.” He paused as a shadow of worry crossed his face. “For the time being, I’m assigning a guard to watch over her when she goes out. Use those times to train Daniel.” He reached over to the table next to his chair and picked up a sealed parchment, the royal wax stamp gleaming in the light. “This needs to reach Lord Stingar’s apartments before sunset. He’s expecting it.”
Tims nodded, recognizing the dismissal. Taking the parchment carefully, he made his way toward the door, the weight of all that had been discussed settling on his shoulders. As he reached for the handle, Joshua’s voice stopped him.
“Tims.” The King had turned from the window, his eyes holding both gratitude and concern. “Keep her safe. Whatever it takes.”
“Always, Your Majesty.” Tims bowed his head and slipped out of the study, closing the door softly behind him.
***
When the door finally closed behind Tims, Joshua released a deep sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire kingdom. “Am I doing the right thing in trusting him so much?”
From the shadows of the study, Anna appeared like a ghost, her footsteps silent on the thick carpet. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his back. “You’re doing what you think is best.”
He sighed. “But is it?”
For a while, they stood together at the window in comfortable silence, staring out at the bustling city below. Merchants haggled in the market square, guards changed shifts at the gates, and life continued its endless rhythm, blissfully unaware of the dangers lurking in the darkness. At last, Joshua murmured, “Averin will continue to reject every suitor that comes calling. She’s more stubborn than both of us combined.”
He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “She’s already chosen, and I fear what it will mean when the nobles discover her heart belongs to him.”
Anna’s grip on his waist tightened almost imperceptibly. They both had known for some time, had seen it in the way Averin’s eyes followed Tims through the corridors, in the fierce protectiveness that went far beyond friendship, in how she’d bound herself to him with a blood oath without a moment’s hesitation. It terrified him. Not because Tims was unworthy, the young man had proven his loyalty and courage time and again. But because the noble houses had already singled him out from the very beginning. He was a bastard born of a prostitute. They would never accept a princess wedding someone like him. The kingdom would fracture before they’d bend.
Anna leaned in, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, “I’m more worried about what you two plot in the labyrinth of these halls.” A knowing edge crept into her voice. “Secret hideouts, blood oaths, mercenaries, this isn’t the childhood I imagined for our daughter.” She paused, then added softly, “You know what I’m talking about.” She said it with a knowing tone and he felt the jab of an invisible knife wiggle its way through him. Secrets...deadly, shattering secrets of knowledge.
She continued, “And by drawing Tims deeper into our world, you’re encouraging something that can only end in heartbreak or war. You know what they’ll do if she chooses him.” She let the words linger, a gentle rebuke wrapped in concern, before releasing Joshua and slowly walked to the study’s door. Her hand paused on the handle, and for a moment he thought she might say more, but she simply glanced back with eyes that held both love and worry before slipping out.
He watched his wife leave, the soft click of the door echoing in the sudden emptiness. Something heavy settled in the pit of his stomach, cold and unrelenting. Every life in his kingdom hung in a delicate balance, suspended by threads so fragile that a single breath might snap them. One misstep, one mistake, one moment of poor judgment could send everything spiraling into chaos, war, bloodshed, the very destruction of all he’d spent years building.
He turned back to the window, his reflection ghostly in the glass as twilight crept across the sky. Below, lanterns were being lit throughout the city, tiny flames pushing back against the encroaching darkness. He pondered all that had transpired, the attack on Averin, the mysterious mercenaries, Tims’s unwavering loyalty, and his daughter’s fierce independence that both terrified and filled him with pride.
And still, he was stubborn, discovering things he shouldn’t have that were dangerous. It kept him awake at night wondering about everything.
But answers remained elusive, dancing just beyond his grasp like shadows at dawn.
****
Tims took the King’s advice to heart, and within a day or two, had Daniel follow him into the city, back to their hideout. Already, Averin had been clearing out the blacksmith shop, sweeping away cobwebs and redecorating the neglected space. She wasn’t there that day, which was fortunate.
Stepping into the middle of a chalk-drawn circle, Tims handed Daniel a wooden practice sword and grinned. “If you’re going to be part of this gang of ours, you’ll need to know a thing or two about fighting.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow before softly saying, “Are you the one who should teach me, though?” He wasn’t going to mention the bitter truth everyone knew, Tims’ notorious failures in the art of swordsmanship.
Tims bit his lip, his gaze dropping for a moment. How much should he reveal? In an emotionless tone, he replied, “I was commanded to fail, Daniel.” He looked up from beneath hooded eyes. “That’s not who I really am.”
Daniel’s eyes widened in astonished realization. “You were pretending all these years? Whatever for?” His expression shifted to eager curiosity, hungry to learn another of Tims’ secrets.
But Tims shook his head slowly. “That’s all I can tell you, Dan. It’s....for your own safety.”
At Daniel’s frown, he added, “And you can’t tell Averin what we’re doing, that I’m training you.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow again and whispered, “You’re full of secrets, man. Even the princess doesn’t know? How? You two are practically inseparable!”
He knew where Daniel was steering the conversation and stopped it immediately. “Let’s just do this, okay?” He raised his sword, indicating Daniel should mimic his stance. “Now step like this with your left foot.” He slid his feet apart slightly. “I’m going to show you a form of dance, it’s part of the pattern I’ll teach you with the sword.”
For several hours, Tims taught Daniel what he had learned, and for the most part, Daniel proved a quick study. When at last they finished, Tims smiled reassuringly. “You’re a natural, Dan.”
Daniel shook his head, sweat streaming down his face. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m a stableman, not a swordfighter.”
Tims held his gaze earnestly. “We swore an oath, Dan. In doing so, we’ve placed ourselves in grave danger. We must prepare as best we can. We only have each other.” He let the weight of his words sink in.
Daniel sighed and slowly nodded. He looked up and raised his sword once more. “Again?”
A slight smirk crossed Tims’ face as he stepped forward to meet Daniel’s wooden blade.
***
Later that morning, when there were several hours to himself, Tims hurried into the palace, easily evading eyes until he reached the lost hallways of Sarsda Palace. He had made it a habit to always evade detection when entering the parlor with the secret passage.
It was only at the beginning of the year he discovered the water receding from the flooded wing. Now, with the water all but gone, he was ready to explore. His mind reeled with anticipation at the thought of venturing into places where nobody had stepped foot in who knows how long!
Each floor of the palace had various wings and halls leading in every direction. But here in the labyrinth, after mapping out all the available places he had scouted, he discovered that almost all halls turned aside at odd angles. Nobody noticed because it wasn’t obvious in most instances. The halls were crafted cleverly enough that the whole palace felt connected. The maze of corridors was a feat to memorize in itself, straining his mental capacity. He had taken to sketching maps in a notebook, which he kept locked in a chest in his room.
Making his way down the main hall again with lantern in hand, he kept a steady pace from memory until he reached the right hall leading to the grand flight of stairs going down.
Marking one last check with a piece of chalk on the wall, he carefully descended the staircase into a vast lobby scattered with fallen pillars and walls thick with green moss. He was careful to note when the floor felt soft beneath his boots, marking those areas as unsafe.
After passing through two more halls, he descended another flight of stairs. The entire descent was accompanied by a strong scent of must and age, the smell of centuries undisturbed assailing his nostrils.
The stairs opened to another expansive hall spreading to different corridors. It seemed the halls were carved out of the rockface Sarsda was built on which made a substantial hill. This section was apparently hewn directly into the rockface itself.
To one end of this new lobby, a corridor opened to an enormous chamber.
He made his way across the empty space, stepping carefully over long stretches of green algae, and passed through a wide doorway where the door had eroded to dust long ago.
The chamber was breathtaking. It was so high and vast that he stood in speechless wonder. How could the King not know of this place?
Ancient paintings adorned the walls, their images obscured by centuries of decay and rot from moisture of the flooding water. Ornate curtains had crumbled to the floor or hung in tattered shreds. The smell of must came to him even stronger than before, making it difficult to breathe.
Making his way toward the center, he pushed aside the mud covering the length of the floor before pausing. Was that part of a design he just uncovered? Hurriedly, he scraped away more muck, clearing as much as he could before lifting his lantern high and turning in a slow circle.
All about him, an enormous design was etched into the stone floor with strange, intricate patterns.
Suddenly, recognition struck him. It was the pattern used by the Black Knights! At least, it seemed that way.
A Black Knight, when his training was almost complete and he had passed each of the required phases, faced one final test. The design was divided into several sections, each holding a specific style and level of difficulty. The closer one moved to the center, the harder the challenge became.
He studied the pattern more closely before frowning. There was a resemblance here to what he had seen in the Academy hall, but where that design held the dance patterns he was familiar with, this was much larger and far more intricate, almost like it was a map of something greater. It resembled a wheel with spiral nodes at certain intersections of a maze, like a cosmic diagram of unknown purpose. Shaking his head, he had no idea what to make of it.
He looked up from his study of the floor design and raised the lantern again. Where exactly was he?
A coldness slowly settled over him. In the golden glow of lamplight, towering pillars stood at intervals across the chamber. Runes were carved deep into the rock, much like the enormous standing pillars that circled Sarsda City.
A second chill ran through him. Was this related somehow to those ancient pillars in the countryside? Each of the pillars here stood directly across from where points of the wheel pattern protruded. The thought he’d been trying to avoid finally surfaced.
Perhaps this chamber was designed with a vast rune on the floor itself, a spell of some kind, woven into the very foundation of the palace. Had he just discovered a magical artifact? Was this why this section of the palace had been abandoned and left to flood?
He shook his head slowly. “No...this can’t be...” He stepped back from the wheel pattern involuntarily, his heart hammering.
That would make the palace itself part of the problem, wouldn’t it? Was there something evil lurking here, buried beneath layers of time and water?
He turned slowly, his eyes tracing each of the giant pillars with their intricate, foreign symbols that seemed to pulse in the flickering lantern light.
The more he thought about it, the more he dreaded having come here at all. This discovery was too significant, too dangerous to keep to himself. He had to tell someone. He should tell Hawkeyes later today!
An immediate thought rushed in, halting him mid-step. What evidence did he have? Had he examined things in enough detail? Hawkeyes would have his head if he didn’t at least investigate more thoroughly. He wasn’t Hawkeyes’s pupil for nothing.
He continued his examination of his surroundings, forcing himself to be more methodical.
From the opposite end of the chamber, a hall beckoned. Following it, he came to a massive alcove that stretched from floor to ceiling in its graceful curve. Etched into the curved wall was a carving of trees with seven stars positioned above them. Above these was one last star that stood apart from the rest, its color the brightest of all. And from its center emerged the unmistakable form of a dragon.
His heart began to hammer against his ribs. He whispered in slow, growing panic, “What are you doing? You’re too curious for your own good!”
The hall continued past the carving and ended at a wide balcony with a grand staircase descending on either side into shadow.
He was certain now that he was way over his head. How could anyone not know this place existed? He glanced back at the carving of the dragon star, panic rising like bile in his throat. Dragons were myth and legend, stories told to children. But something told him the symbols and drawings here held significant meaning lost to today’s world. “Maybe there’s a reason this was sealed beneath the water,” he whispered, the words barely audible.
Hesitating a moment longer, he lifted his lantern high and descended the stairs into the darkness below, mindful of the slick, mossy carpet that threatened his footing.
Upon reaching the bottom, he found himself in a much smaller hall. Only a few rooms opened to each side of the corridor, their doorways black and uninviting.
Once again, another stairwell plunged deeper into the depths.
He was keenly aware that he had descended far below the main level of the palace, perhaps even below the foundation itself. He heard the steady dripping of water somewhere in the distance and wondered with growing unease just how far beneath the earth he had ventured.
At the bottom of the next flight, a short hall led to a substantial circular floor where no other corridors branched off. It held a domed ceiling that soared above him, moss creeping across the marble tiled floor like a living carpet. The walls were matted in strange depictions of trees with even stranger lettering that flowed in graceful, wind-swept patterns, as if nature itself had written secrets into the rock. Two massive oak doors that bore an uncanny resemblance to the entrance of the palace gardens stood at one end of the chamber, oddly pristine amid the decay.
Looking up, he traced the path of the staircase he had descended, then turned his gaze to the doors. An irrational fear swept through him, cold and primal. What would happen once he opened them? Where would they lead? And more importantly, should he?
He slowly walked to the double doors, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space. Taking hold of the iron handle, he pushed.
Old hinges gave an echoing screech that shattered the silence, but the doors swung open without much resistance.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, alarm bells rang. This part of the palace had been submerged in water for who knew how long, decades, perhaps centuries. And yet the doors opened easily? The hinges weren’t rusted solid? The wood hadn’t rotted or swollen?
“You’re an idiot,” Tims muttered, berating himself for letting curiosity override common sense. Despite every instinct screaming at him to turn back, he stepped through the doorway into whatever lay beyond.
A powerful scent of old vegetation flowed in with a soft breeze, carrying with it the whisper of something ancient and untouched.
He found himself in a domed tunnel thick with moss and overgrowth, the air heavy with the smell of wet earth and decaying leaves.
When he emerged from the tunnel, he could feel more than see that he was in a vast expanse of space. The scent told him this was some kind of cultivated area, though it was impossible to see anything beyond a few feet in the gloom.
Holding the lantern high, he could make out branches covering everything like a woven ceiling. Trees crowded everywhere, untrimmed for so long that a massive canopy of leaves blocked out whatever sky lay above.
On the ground was a faint trace of what had once been a walkway, now nearly consumed by creeping vines and fallen debris. It led deeper into the underbrush and massive tree limbs, looking more like a wild forest than anything that had ever known a gardener’s touch.
With lantern held before him, Tims slowly followed the path until his entrance disappeared completely in the thick tangle of branches behind him.
He heard birds chirping in the distance, their songs bright and cheerful.
Birds? What were they still doing here? It was the season of Rawtis, nearly winter. Birds had already fled Calmone weeks ago for warmer climates. Yet here they sang as if it were spring.
The longer he followed the half-concealed path, the more he questioned everything he thought he understood. The trees seemed to grow even taller as he progressed, their trunks thickening, their roots gnarling across the ancient stones. This was no garden, this was a grove, primal and otherworldly.
Tims suddenly connected the dots, his breath catching. The bricked-up windows had once opened to the sight of this grove! Was this the actual center of Sarsda? An ancient grove hidden at the heart of the palace? But for what purpose? What power did this place hold? It couldn’t be that significant if it had been sealed away and forgotten.
After what seemed like an eternity of walking through the green twilight, the canopy began to thin and golden sunlight started streaming through. All about him now, he saw moss-covered boulders and towering trunks that stretched impossibly high. Above, there was no ceiling, no stone, no structure. Sun beat down and brushed across his skin in a warm summer breeze that carried the scent of flowers in full bloom.
He froze, every muscle tensing, all thought of exploration evaporating into pure panic.
The trees should be bare and skeletal! The sky overhead should be grey and heavy with clouds as Rawtis always was. The air should be biting with cold. He turned slowly in a circle, inspecting his surroundings with growing dread. This wasn’t Calmone! This wasn’t even the same season! Where had he been taken?
The path ended a few steps ahead at an open clearing carpeted in lush green grass that swayed in the breeze. The smell of lilies and summertime washed over him in waves, confirming his terrified suspicions. Somehow, impossibly, he had walked from winter into summer.
At the center of the meadow stood the tallest tree he had ever seen. Its trunk measured five times the length of both his arms stretched out, its bark silvery and smooth as polished stone. The leaves were the size of his body, each one shimmering faintly as they cast the meadow in long, dancing shadows.
“What have I done?” Tims whispered, his voice trembling. He looked about desperately, searching for some clue, some understanding. There was no obvious significance to the tree, no markings, no shrine, no altar. Yet looks could be deceiving. He had just stepped through an impossible doorway from winter to summer with nothing more than a flight of stairs to mark the transition.
He studied the tree with mounting unease and walked around it several times, his boots silent on the soft grass. There had to be something he was missing. “This is what I was led to?” he said aloud, frustration mixing with fear. “Just a tree?”
But even as he spoke the words, he knew they were a lie. This was no ordinary tree. Nothing about this place was ordinary.