Chapter 1
The man I'd known as King Leon was buried on a rise at the edge of the royal estate. The site offered a view of the palace, and the grave was marked with a hastily carved headstone. Theodore suggested a mausoleum be built to honor him, but no one else had championed the idea. Balthazar went so far as to suggest the headstone shouldn't acknowledge Leon as king at all.
But that would be a sign to the world that Leon had gained the throne through trickery. While it was the truth, it wasn't the official stance of the ministers and noblemen. They didn't believe magic was involved, despite hearing his dying confession.
Those of us who knew about the memory loss that plagued the palace’s inhabitants did.
I was still in shock, some four days later. It was one thing to use the sorcerer's magic to become king, but it was another to lie about it to those affected. It wasn't just the palace staff who'd suffered from Leon's actions; residents of The Thumb had lost their livelihoods when the magical event known as The Rift cut off their peninsula from the mainland to make Glancia a richer nation. The people of Mull had also suffered as the Vytillian refugees from The Thumb swarmed into our village looking for work, shelter, food and basic necessities.
Months later, there still wasn't enough accommodation, employment or basic necessities to support the newcomers pouring into the village, and the locals were angry at the rising costs. Unrest simmered, occasionally boiling over onto the streets, particularly in the village's underbelly, The Row.
The one good thing to come of Leon's death had been the hush that had blanketed Mull ever since the crier announced his demise. Troubles were set aside to discuss what his death meant to Glancia in general and Mull in particular.
The whisper of war was on everyone's lips. Without an heir, Glancia had no king. The two highest ranked nobles, the Dukes of Gladstow and Buxton, were rumored to be gathering support from among the other nobles to claim the throne for themselves. Both refused to allow the other to become ruler, and neither was prepared to hand the country over to a foreigner.
The only legitimate claimant to the throne was King Philip of Vytill, a distant cousin to King Alain, Leon's purported father and the previous ruler of Glancia. To be swallowed up by Vytill went against every nobleman's sense of honor and pride. They'd rather die than see him sit on the throne.
The Glancian townsfolk weren’t too enthused by the notion either, but it didn't matter what we wanted. We would bend with the wind, no matter which way it blew. We would be become Vytillian citizens if it was deemed the best course, or our men would become soldiers if the nation descended into a war over the succession.
I felt hopeless as I waited, along with everyone else in Mull, for the dukes or King Philip to make the first move. Gladstow and Buxton had remained at the palace, each of them occupying a different wing from which they schemed. Neither was prepared to give up the seat of power, even though the palace hadn't existed mere months ago and the official Glancian capital was still Tilting. The glorious building had become a symbol of Glancia's newfound status as a rival to Vytill, and symbols of wealth and power would become important in the coming weeks and months.
I saw little of Dane and the other servants in the four days since Leon's burial. Four days of frustration as I waited for him to come to the village or send me a message. Four whole days wondering what he would do now that the truth was out.
Too long wondering if he would leave and go in search of his past.
If he did decide to leave, what would become of me? My days stretched on into nothingness in Mull. With my apothecary work taken from me by Doctor Ashmole's wife, I had little to do. The few pregnancies in the village weren't enough to keep me busy, and there was only so much cooking and cleaning at Meg's house that I could stomach. Besides, I couldn't impose on her family forever.
On the fifth day after the burial, I decided to visit the palace. Meg came with me. She claimed she merely wanted to go for a walk, but I suspected she was as keen to see Sergeant Max as I was to see Dane.
The palace looked exactly the same. There was no sign that the king had recently died and the country was now facing uncertainty. The gilding still glinted in the sunshine, the northern and southern wings still dwarfed the twin pavilions, and two guards still stood at the front gate.
"The captain didn't tell us to expect you, Josie," the one named Ray said with an apologetic shrug. "Are you here to meet him?"
"Not specifically," I said. "I came to see how everyone is faring after…" I glanced at Meg. "After the king's death."
Ray shifted his stance. "I don't know how I feel. Numb, I suppose."
"I know how I feel," the other guard spat. "Angry. That prick lied to us for months. He stole our lives from us. And now he's gone and we can't get answers."
"It's frustrating," I said heavily.
"You don't know. You can't know."
Ray thumped the other guard's arm. "Don't get mad at her. It ain't her fault."
"Sorry, Josie," the guard muttered. He stepped aside. "Go on through."
"We shouldn't let her in without an appointment or the captain's instruction," Ray said.
"It's just Josie, you idiot."
I gave them both grim smiles and hurried through the gate before they changed their minds. As we crossed the large forecourt, I braced myself for Meg's questions.
They came as soon as we were out of earshot. "Were they talking about the king? What did the guard mean by stealing their lives?"
It was time to tell her. Both the large outer and small inner forecourts were relatively quiet. Sedan chairs traversed from the palace door to the gate and back again, ferrying noblewomen. Nobody walked past us. Most of the men would be inside discussing the succession, and the women were either with them or walking in the formal gardens on the other side of the palace.
I stopped Meg at the fountain. We were far enough from all buildings that no one could be lurking nearby and listening. It was easy to spot anyone who came close.
"I should have told you this days ago, but I wasn't sure it was my place to do so," I said. "It's time you knew."
"Let me guess your next sentence. You don't want me to tell anyone, not even my family."
"You're smart."
"I know you too well," she countered. "Go on then, Josie. Out with it. What’s the big secret the guards have all been hiding?"
"It's not just the guards, it's everyone at the palace, including the king."
I told her everything I knew about the memory loss and magic, and I finished with the king's dying confession. Her jaw dropped a little more with each sentence. When I finished, she simply stared at me.
"Have you got nothing to say?" I prompted. "You must have questions, although I doubt I can answer them. We all still have questions, perhaps more than ever. The king died without giving any answers."
"I'm trying to fathom it all," she murmured.
I squeezed her arm. "It's a lot to take in."
"How do the poor servants feel, knowing the only person who could give them answers is dead?"
I gazed back at the two guards at the gate. "It's no wonder they're angry."