Professor Lawson was summoned to an early morning meeting of the King`s council, a scant six hours after the conclusion of the bedding ceremony. Weary and sick, he dragged himself through the palace to the throne room.

　　I have come too far to let a hangover get the better of me, he told himself. His resolve did not waver even under the weight of a hangover—he would see Prince Anryniel safely onto the Blood Throne, and endure the twilight of the Lightning King`s reign with all the diplomacy that he could muster alongside the nausea and fatigue.

　　He had only himself to blame for his discomfort. Professor Lawson knew that he had let his ambition overbalance him. He`d even gone so far as to lie by omission to Prince Anryn—he hadn`t even tried to find Maertyn Blackfire the day of the wedding. He`d prayed that the Winze would stay away, his bad luck nowhere near the prince and princess as they said their vows. Now, the professor felt God punished him for his deception with this early morning council meeting—something he would ordinarily be thrilled to take part in, but now was too tired and shamefaced to enjoy. He prayed that there would be coffee.

　　Instead, he found the full array of all the great lords facing him as he entered. Professor Lawson had come directly when the messenger arrived. He was sure that he was not late. Yet they were awaiting him. Even Gruffydd the Younger.

　　A bad sign, the professor realized. He knelt before King Anathas.

　　 The King wasted no words: "How many witches did my son bring into the city?"

　　 Professor Lawson answered truthfully, "I counted no fewer than four hundred when we left Java, Your Highness."

　　 "It`s more than twice that," Lord Eyiffoen said. "We have nearly a thousand in the jails. Three hundred in Blackgate, another hundred at Four Corners, two hundred at Stonewell&"

　　 "You are confused," Lord Gruffydd cut in. "You`ve mixed them up with the drunks, the debtors, and the twits selling garlands. Your Highness, none of these men have been put to the question, and we cannot know&"

　　 "We know that they themselves say they are witches," Lord Kenon said. "They claimed as much—they bragged about it, as if it were a society. I`m surprised you don`t take it more seriously, my Lord Gruffydd. You are more than old enough to remember how the farmers organized to foment rebellion just before the border shut."

　　"That was different. These poor souls aren`t armed," said Lord Teqwyn. "These men are lost, and friendless, and they should not be locked up. They are dangerous, yes. But confinement does not improve their desperate situation."

　　"Quite right. Rather, let us send these pathetic wretches away. There is an entire nation just to the East who is more than happy to take them," Gruffydd said.

　　 Professor Lawson understood, following the exchange, that he had been brought to the council as an expert witness in a longstanding debate. On one side, Gruffydd and Teqwyn argued for exile for the witches, and engagement with Nynomath. On the other hand, Kenon and Eyiffoen leaned toward enforcement of the King`s witch laws with no changes to the plan of attack.

　　 Of course this would be about money for Gruffydd, Professor Lawson thought. Horses, money, his second and third marriages& The Gruffydd family was always on the lookout for an investment. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

　　 The professor glanced at Gruffydd the Younger. His student would not meet his eyes. Gruffydd the Elder leaned over and said something to his son. Too quietly for Professor Lawson to overhear.

　　Professor Lawson considered what he knew about his student`s character. He thought of Griff`s classwork, lazy and shortsighted. He thought of how he treated Prince Anryn. Fickle and overbearing. What had he told the King about Java? The professor doubted that Griff mentioned it was his idea to rescue the witches in the first place. The prisoner`s dilemma lurked in the back of his mind, the empty squares waiting for what world he would have to live in if Griff were a betrayer in the dilemma.

　　 King Anathas spoke to the professor again: "Lawson. Of those who accompanied my son& Could you swear, before God and all these men here, whether they were witches or ordinary heretics?"

　　 Now the professor thought of his own character. His own ambition. To lie to the King was akin to driving a spike through his own head to mount on the prison wall. Yet—to tell the truth now would surely harm Anryn. He gazed into the Lightning King`s eyes and recalled the cold, hard look in his eye when he struck his own son across the face.

　　He could not bring himself to consign Anryniel to the fate of the red X.

　　"Ordinary," he lied.

　　 "Your Majesty—forgive me, but I must speak," said Gruffydd the Younger. "The Prince of Ammar has been the victim of a plot to manipulate him into breaking Your Highness`s laws."

　　 Oh, what fresh pretension is this, Professor Lawson thought. He watched the younger Gruffydd puff up his chest, as he did in lecture when he was sure that he had the answer. Spreading himself to take up more of the room.

　　 "I believe that witches manipulate Prince Anryniel by enchantment and coercion," Griff continued. "I believe that he takes the counsel of a degenerate drunk named Martin Blackwater&"

　　 Professor Lawson bit back the correction he`d been about to offer. They traveled together for two weeks and the boy had never even bothered to learn Maertyn`s name?

　　 "...and that this man has also corrupted Haley Lawson with foul witchcraft to the point and purpose of turning the prince against Your Majesty. At Java, the professor was grievously injured by mages that&"

　　Who,` you ignorant twit, thought the professor to himself, furious.

　　"...had come to abduct the witches. By some sorcery, Blackwater healed him, and now they conspire to mislead Anryn," Gruffydd the Younger finished.

　　 Professor Lawson`s nostrils flared. The professor truly could not work out if the boy were stupid, repeating only the last thing he heard, and imperfectly at that. Or if he were smart enough to be the very worst kind of hypocrite, the one who stated his own motives as those of his enemies.

　　 "What is your proof, young man?" he asked, his voice hoarse with the strain of disapproval. He might`ve pinched Gruffydd`s ear, had this been a case of speaking out of turn in the classroom.

　　 But it was the throne room they were in now, and Gruffydd stood beside his father, among the great lords of Ammar. The balance of power here was not in Professor Lawson`s favor.

　　 "I saw magic in Java—and I know you saw it, too," Griff said, his face flushing a deep red. "Look at the burns on his legs. All healed by witchcraft.

　　Before the professor could respond to the allegation, the King gave some sign. Armed guards approached. Professor Lawson had only a moment to decide on an action before they reached for him and shook the truth from the folds of his robes.

　　For the first time in Haley Lawson`s life, he decided there was nothing to be gained from diplomacy.

　　"Spiteful little brat," he snarled at the son of Gruffydd. The King`s guard seized him and yanked up the hem of his robes and the woolen hose beneath down far enough to reveal the gnarled pink skin staining his legs. "This is entirely because I flunked you on the midterm! You may imprison every last faculty member at Amwarren University, but I defy you to hold a map upright, let alone know where to find an ocean on it!"