“Joachim,” I said to the chaplain, who was also still looking off across the green fields of Yurt, “let’s go sit in the king’s garden for a moment.”

He gave a start, as though he had forgotten my presence, but answered calmly. “All right, Daimbert.”

We were the only people in the castle who used each other’s names, being Father and Wizard to everyone else. We didn’t always understand each other, and I had long since despaired of giving him a proper sense of humor, but we had managed to become friends, at least most of the time, though traditionally priests and wizards do not get along at all. For that matter, wizards don’t usually get along with other wizards.

We sat on the bench by the king’s yellow roses. The king had been up at dawn, pruning everything one last time before he left, so the only blooms on the bushes were the buds that were just opening.

“Do you know what’s bothering Dominic?” I asked. “I’d expected he’d be delighted to have a chance to act as king of Yurt.”

“I think that’s his problem precisely,” said the chaplain. “He loves the little prince-everyone must love him-but Dominic had been heir apparent to the kingdom his entire life, and now he isn’t. Being named temporary regent must emphasize for him that the future he’d always thought he was preparing for will never come to pass.”

If Dominic was undergoing some sort of emotional crisis, I just hoped he didn’t bother me with it. “Well, at least it’s not us,” I said cheerfully. “What shall we do first while the king is gone? How about if I try to discover a spell to raise up armed men from dragons’ teeth?”

Joachim stretched his long legs out in front of him and glanced at me from deep-set eyes. “I’m afraid we have no dragons’ teeth,” he said, perfectly serious. “But I have a task of my own. I received a message from the bishop yesterday, asking me to investigate the situation at a hermitage at the far eastern end of the kingdom.”