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accept—contradictions and summaries and conundrums included—what the theurgia instructed her to accept, and in that way survive.
    The problem, as Lynan told himself afterward, was the sun. Or rather, his position in relation to it. When he was sent sprawling by the guard’s side-stepping maneuver and sweeping foot, he found himself staring straight up into the glaring orb.
    So he never saw the point coming.
    Lynan felt a sudden jarring impact just below his throat’s hollow that sent his head crashing again into the dirt. Kumul called out “Kill!” so loudly that everyone in Kendra, let alone the palace, must have heard.
    Cursing under his breath, Lynan stood up a little groggily, massaging the point where the head of the guard’s wooden spear had marked him. He knew there would be a bruise there as wide as a bread plate before nightfall, and that it would trouble him for days.
    The guard helped steady Lynan, and he mumbled some thanks.
    Kumul appeared in front of him. “You’re lucky Jemma didn’t aim higher, Your Highness, or the palace surgeon would now be on his way to straighten out your larynx.”
    “I was lucky to catch him like that, Constable,” Jemma said generously.
    “Nonsense. You were too quick for him.” Kumul glared at Lynan. “Or
he
was too slow for you. Either way, the prince loses the bout.” Kumul’s tone became theatrically deferential. “Does his Highness have anything to say in his defense?”
    “Well, the sun—” Lynan began.
    “Other than the fact he fell for one of the oldest feints in the book.”
    Lynan blushed. “No, nothing.”
    Kumul nodded. “Well, at least you’ve learned
something
from this fiasco. Let’s see another round…” Kumul bent closer to Lynan’s ear “… and for God’s sake, boy, this time watch your feet.”
    Lynan nodded, raising his wooden sword as Kumul withdrew. The guard raised his spear and they resumed their training.
    In the shadow of the arena’s entrance stood two figures, paid due deference by those nearby but unseen by the dueling pair not forty steps from them.
    The Lord Galen Amptra, son of Duke Holo Amptra, had watched Lynan’s humbling with keen interest. “Your half-brother quite happily prepares to make a fool of himself a second time,” he observed to his cousin, Prince Berayma.
    “Even you would have to admit that takes courage,” Berayma said.
    “Arrogance, rather. The arrogance of his commoner father.” Galen sighed deeply. “He shames us all. Your mother’s blood runs diluted in his veins.”
    Berayma eyed Galen warily, but said nothing.
    Galen licked his lips, continuing cautiously. “Everyone accepts that new monarchs must make their mark on the world, it’s a sign of their authority. No one will be sorry to see you rid Kendra of Lynan. I hear the merchants of Lurisia have been pleading for the queen to appoint a representative from the royal family to attend permanently their Great Council Hall in Arkort.”
    Berayma’s voice betrayed his rising anger. “Don’t speak so lightly of my ascension to the throne. That cannot be achieved before my mother’s death—”
    “For God’s sake, Berayma, she’s at death’s door now! You have to consider the future.”
    “This is not the time or place. You should know better.”
    Galen bit back a reply. He understood his cousin’s ire, yet felt frustrated that Berayma would not acknowledge reality as he and other members of the Twenty Houses had learned to do. His devotion to the queen, if not as strong as Berayma’s, was genuine, but he recognized that the time for planning for the succession was overdue. Berayma, however, would countenance no talk about his ascension, and there were some who found this attitude not only unwise but also an unsettling portent for his reign.
    Nevertheless, Berayma was his cousin, and he cared for him a great deal. He sighed in resignation and gently placed a hand on Berayma’s shoulder. “As you say. Not here, and not