The sun lay heavy over the garden square beneath a cloudless sky. Four faceless statues stood at the center, each turned toward a different wall. The children sat in the narrow strips of shade beneath them.

Their governess carried on with the morning’s lesson from a low chair before them. Her face, as hard as the stone around her, warned against wandering attention, though the summer heat kept tugging at the children’s focus. Her dark robes were too heavy for the season, all high collar and stiff folds of institution, while the children sat in light tunics stitched with the colors of their houses.

“Maeric,” she cut sharply through the lesson. “Does the Veneroth family not interest you?”

A few of the children shifted, stifling giggles. Maeric dragged his attention back to her. Heat climbed his neck.

He shook his head. “I—uh…”

Her expression did not change. She looked toward the garden wall, where kings of old had been carved into the stone one by one. Only beside Faerin Estorath was another figure etched—Adoses Surelian.

Her gaze returned to Maeric. “Or perhaps you are more interested in names of the past this morning.”

A bead of sweat slid down Maeric’s face as color rose in his cheeks.

She lifted a hand to fan herself. “Though on a morning like this, I doubt any of you have heard a word I’ve said. We will continue tomorrow. Dismissed.”

Relief stirred through the children as they got to their feet. Maeric stretched, catching a flash of Estorath colors as Ranoric stepped ahead of the others.

He started across the garden to catch up with Ranoric, then stopped short before the carving of Faerin Estorath and Adoses Surelian.

The sun-disk crest beneath Faerin Estorath had been pried from the wall.

“What’s the matter, Maeric—did the Estoraths lose something again? Bigger than Morvath this time?” A freckled boy jeered from between two others, both already smirking.

Maeric’s fists clenched. “Where is it, Stess?”

Stess shrugged. “Don’t know. The hounds always did like a good throw.”

Maeric closed the distance and seized Stess’s collar, yanking him forward. “Where. Is. It.”

Stess’s grin faltered. “Irithi’s wrath, Maeric. Have you gone mad?”

His eyes flicked toward the governess’s back as she made her way toward the garden hall. “All right, all right. You’ll get us both strung up by our ankles if you keep on like this.”

Maeric’s grip tightened, dragging him inches from his own face.

Stess’s grin returned. “We took it to the Darkwood. Left it in the temple. Seemed the right place for it.” He gave a lazy shrug while the boys at his side laughed.

Ranoric had made it halfway to the arch before he stopped. He turned back at last, more irritated than surprised, his gaze settling on Maeric’s hand twisted in Stess’s collar.

“Fine,” Maeric snapped, shoving Stess back as he released his grip. “If you made it out alive, it can’t be half as haunted as everyone says. I’ll get it back—and then I’ll string you up by your ankles myself.”

He spun around, still fuming as the boys’ laughter rose behind him, then stopped short. Ranoric was already leaving through the archway. Maeric stomped across the garden toward him.

“You’re just making our name worse, Maeric,” Ranoric said, low enough that the others would not hear.

“Some help you are for a big brother.”

Ranoric’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t need my help lashing out in front of everyone. It’s a game to Stess to get you like that—you know that, don’t you?”

Maeric folded his arms tight across his chest as they passed through the arched corridor into Castle Veneroth’s great foyer. Pillars lined the vast chamber, and guards stood alert at every passage.

“You’re as bad as Stess. You act like he’s right about us. What have we done wrong? Father has made a name for himself among the sifters—”

“And they’ve given him many names here,” Ranoric cut in. “The great captain of dirt and wagons,” he said with feigned wonder.

“The kingdom needs a captain of dirt and wagons,” Maeric pressed, tilting his head up at Ranoric. Two years had given his brother nearly a foot over him, and where Maeric’s hair curled in unruly waves, Ranoric’s lay lighter and sleek against the same sharp family features.

Ranoric let out a bitter laugh. “Faerin needed peace. Aldarath needs Kaida. Estoraths are always there to keep us hiding behind barriers.”

They stepped through the foyer’s iron doors—tall as the chamber itself—into the courtyard. Beyond the stone archway, a brick road wound down the cliffside toward a small village of elegant manors, all of it held within the royal grounds.

They walked on in silence, passing a horse and carriage bound for the castle, wheels and hooves steadily clattering against the brick.

Ranoric’s voice came low at last. “The Irithos want a world without barriers.”

Maeric furrowed his brow. “The Irithos pray for a world without barriers. Safely. Behind the barriers that Father helps maintain.”

“Maybe their prayers were answered.” Ranoric’s mouth twisted into a smile. “The Illuminary cast out the King’s fool of a brother and put Cerus Viceri in his place.”

Maeric sighed, shrugging. “With the storms the way they’ve been, maybe they needed a priest to pray the Kaida back into the skies.”

He tipped his head back, squinting at the morning light.

“Still enough time to look through the Darkwood,” he muttered.

Ranoric’s steps faltered beside him. “You’re truly going?”

Maeric turned toward him. “That little twig would snap at the first sight of a Murasi. I’m not letting him think I’m afraid of the Darkwood.” He shook his head. “I’m getting Father’s crest back. And if Stess touches that wall again I’ll break his fingers myself.”

Ranoric said nothing, watching Maeric cross into the manor’s front garden. Their house stood nearest the castle, older than most of the others in the village.

The wood groaned beneath Maeric’s feet as he skipped steps up the stairway and hurried down the hall to his room. He threw open the cedar chest beside his bed, snatched up a striker, and shoved it into his pocket.

His hand fumbled through the chest before closing around a small dagger. His eyes lingered on the gemstone set into the hilt above a carved sun sigil—the Estorath crest—before he slipped it into his belt.

As he left the room, he pulled an unlit torch from the wall and was back down the stairs before anyone could stop him.

When he stepped outside again, Ranoric was leaning against the old willow in the front garden, a torch already in hand.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Maeric nodded.

Ranoric pushed off the trunk.

Together, they set out toward the Darkwood.

✦☽✧❖⨁☼✺☼⨁❖✧☽✦