This one is for Chris Phillips,

for his unique perspective on life.

A brother to me in all ways and a true wizard.

In memory of Robert Phillips,

a great guy and wonderful father.

WORRY AND DREAD CLAWED AT MY STOMACH. I READ THE MESSAGE again. The order was clear and concise. Return to the Citadel immediately and report directly to the Council Hall. The signatures of the entire Sitian Council and all three Master Magicians were scrawled under the missive. A bit heavy-handed, but I couldn’t miss the importance nor doubt the seriousness.

“What does it say?” Janco asked. He plucked the paper from my fingers, scanned the short note and whistled. “This is major.” Scratching the scar where the lower half of his right ear used to be, Janco squinted at me in concern. “You’re not going to obey are you? ’Cause, if you do—”

“I know.” No need to state the obvious.

“The Council will escort you straight to the Keep’s dungeons where you will stay for a very, very long time,” Devlen said in a matter-of-fact tone.

I glared at him.

“Did I say you can talk?” Janco asked him.

“I am trying to help,” he replied, shrugging. His cloak covered his hands, which had been manacled behind his back.

“I don’t want your help,” I said.

Devlen opened his mouth, and Janco jabbed him in his solar plexus. As Devlen gasped to regain his breath, Janco threatened to yank out his tongue if he uttered another word.