Yechvan never found Zadria’s Realm that night. Sekku stayed and talked until Solonia’s crown graced the eastern sky, then he dissolved like suds in the bath. Rather than lament losing his Yog a second time, Yechvan savored the pleasant memories his visit had dredged up. Of his time in the Five Nations: visiting with Dorin Sen in his garden, reading classical plays with Kenji, making Haru blush. Of his childhood in Banton: Thrice lessons with Sekku, sparring drills with the other orphans. Of Zu: their first meeting and the strength of their bond.

  Yechvan groaned, yawned, stretched. He dressed and crossed to the spot where Sekku had stood moments before. “Goodbye, Yog.”

  Young knuckles rapped against the wooden door, barely strong enough to make a sound. Yechvan opened it and looked down into the expectant eyes of Qince Grask. “I had a feeling it was you.”

  “I thought we were to leave at dawn.”

  “So we are. Have you been next door?”

  “To Zu’s?” the boy asked in a timid voice. Yechvan admonished him with a silent stare. Sulking, Grask turned away and began the arduous trek to the next room. “Should I knock?”

  “Would you prefer to wait for him to divine your presence?”

  Grask heaved a resigned sigh then stood to his full height. This time, the knock was harder, more confident.

  Zu’s grumble was muffled by unsteady shuffling. “Gru, what is it now?” He opened the door in his small clothes, filling the frame, but not before Grask and Yechvan spotted his companion pulling a shirt over her head. Her bare back was turned, but the boy blushed all the same.

  “Is it time already?” Zu asked, the question tinged with regret and longing.

  As Zu moved to gather his clothes, the door swung open. The ebon-skinned woman slid beneath the covers under Grask’s admiring gaze, an awkward smile dimpling her cheeks. Zu apologized for his hasty departure, entreating her to stay as long as she liked. Just as he was about to quit the room, he stopped, leaned his yari against the wall and crossed back to her side in two long strides. He knelt on the bed and kissed her, all hint of haste forgotten. “Wait for my return before you leave the city,” he cooed. “I’d rather not go another seven years without seeing you.”

  “Oh, gods to hell,” she replied.

  Zu slipped from the room and closed the door. The trio stood awkwardly in the hall, Zu catching Yechvan’s eye first before lowering his gaze to Grask’s.

  “Well, shall we?” Zu asked.

  “After you,” Yechvan laughed.

  They descended the stairs and left the castle, Grask taking two steps for each of Zu’s, almost running to keep up. He was nearly out of breath when they reached the stables. “Will we stop in Innik along the way or go straight to the temple?”

  “We discussed this last night. Do you not remember?” Yechvan asked.

  “Remind us,” Zu said.

  Zu had been several cups in and drunk on the promise of a pleasurable evening during their discussion, though Grask could give no such excuse. Yechvan sighed. “We decided it was best to go straight to the temple and stop in Innik on the way back, if time allows.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “But I’ve never been to Innik.” Grask sulked.

  “Then you’ll see it on the way home,” Zu said, wedded to the idea he couldn’t remember just five seconds earlier.

  Yechvan rolled his eyes and led Grask to a horse that was saddled and packed for the long journey. He locked his hands together to give the boy a boost. From atop his mount, Zu craned his neck to catch the attention of the smiling lady leaning against his bedroom window. As they rode out of the stables, she waved goodbye, squinting against Solonia’s rising figure.

  “You miss her already?” Yechvan teased.

  “Oh, leave it.” Zu turned around and didn’t look back.

  The unlucky soldiers who’d drawn the watch the previous night called down a good morrow as the trio passed through the gatehouse. The waters of Lake Banton rippled in the wild winds of Banx’s stormy Ondynon season. Yechvan lost himself in the mesmerizing dance of the waves, trusting his mare to follow her companions.

  The towering form of Banton Castle receded as they crossed the land bridge that spanned the lake, connecting the castle’s small island to her bustling town on the shore. The water had begun its steady encroachment, narrowing the path. By the time they returned home, the bridge might already have disappeared under the water’s glassy surface, as it did every year. In that case, they would need to stable their horses in town and return to the island by boat.

  Yechvan remembered his first trip across the bridge. “A hundred hundred paces,” Sekku had said, nearly fifteen years earlier. A hundred hundred paces from the town of Banton to the castle walls. A hundred hundred paces that could feel like the slow crawl of a lifetime…or whisk by in the blink of an eye. At only six years of age, Yechvan had counted them. As he’d been ushered into his new life, his new home, those strides had stretched on for an eternity. Sixteen hundred fifty-seven steps without his wise mother, his stalwart father, his squishy baby brother.

  The town had grown since his arrival. Young people, human and orc alike, flocked to Grusk with each of his impressive victories over the surrounding lands. Many even emulated him in marrying across the races, giving birth to a boom of blooded children. He was a magnetic and magnanimous leader, particularly among the needy and those who had opposed him in the War of Emergence. He and his advisors had seen fit to forgive the humans who’d fought to protect their country, lauding their bravery and honoring their fallen. In return, they’d given him their undying loyalty. Though his people might not take so charitable a view if they knew the truth, Yechvan thought bitterly.

  But Grusk’s policies had angered the nobility, the merchants, even many of the artisans. The Senda Clan’s philosophy dictated that soldiers who were willing to fight and die for their qish’s ideals were the most important members of society. And they were far more numerous than the stuffy nobility or haughty merchants. The artisans eventually came around, since the qish and his people appreciated good craftsmanship, whether masonry or carpentry or smithing, and they paid better than the previous king.

  Against all odds, the cantankerous orc had won over the humans of Banx.

  “What is it like?” Grask asked. His voice cut through the misty morning dew, bringing Yechvan back to the present.

  Skirting the town along the lakeshore, the three companions shifted to ride side by side as the narrow lane widened.

  Zu waved to several fishers who sat on the bank waiting for a bite. “What is what like?”

  “The prophecy.”

  “The priestess of the temple will read your stars, giving you a glimpse into the future,” Zu replied.

  “I know that,” Grask said with impatience. “But what is it like?”

  Zu hesitated, so Yechvan cut in. “It’s like you’re dreaming. The priestess is a wonderful human woman by the name of Yun. She is a divine oracle. She will take you into the temple and feed you and slake your thirst. And then, when it is late and you are tired, she will bid you stare at the enchanting sky and she will read the stars for you.”

  “It isn’t hard? It won’t hurt?”

  “Are you afraid of pain?” Zu said with a laugh.

  “I’m not afraid.” The boy squared his shoulders.

  “Having a beautiful, wise woman sit with you while you admire the vast night sky is one of life’s greatest joys,” Zu said.

  “She is beautiful? Like your friend?”

  “And wise, Little Grask,” Zu scolded, laughing again.