Ever since Anryn was twelve-years-old, when the King told him that he would one day marry Beatrice of Sanchia, the prince had dreamed of the wedding. Fitful, anxious dreams that plagued him whenever he was ill or overtired.

　　As Anryn grew older, the dreams of his wedding turned into nightmares of his inadequacy. He couldn`t find his sword, his jacket didn`t fit, or he went to the wrong room in the palace and missed the ceremony. Anryn would wake in a cold sweat, half-imagining his father`s face, scowling.

　　After the night of the mirror, these dreams took on a new and more horrifying shape. Anryn was at the wedding, but veiled and trembling at the altar. Everyone looked at him, but no one saw him. The door to the church was just in front of him, but Anryn didn`t want to open it because he knew the assassins waited behind it. The Lightning King shouted for his son, furious and angry that the prince hadn`t come to his own wedding.

　　Anryn tried to pull the veil off, but when he did, black hair slipped out. He could feel the heave of his chest, those round curves naked beneath the king`s glare. His father frowned, and called for Anryn to be burned at the stake as a witch. Moonlight flickered on the edge of an assassin`s knife, slashing through the dark.

　　I got what I deserved, Anryn thought in the dream as the knife came down and the smoke from the pyre billowed up. Guilt stabbed him through the veil of the nightmare. Why did he put Maertyn to the question? Anryn wasn`t sure what gain there was in goading him to make a Seeing mirror. Meddling with witchcraft.

　　"You are grinding your teeth," Maertyn said.

　　Anryn jerked awake, nervous and irritable. En route to Java, the prince couldn`t doze for more than the time that it took for a dream to steal over him, or for one of his traveling companions to disturb him. Was it any wonder he hadn`t been able to sleep more than an hour at a time?

　　"Stop kicking me," Anryn told him.

　　They rode in a six-person coach, and yet it still wasn`t enough room. Maertyn`s long legs bumped against Anryn`s shins as they jostled down the road. Professor Lawson sat beside Maertyn, filling the gap seat between them with a mess of papers that spilled onto the floor of the coach as it jounced along.

　　To Anryn`s right sat Griff, who claimed a window all to himself to lean against. The motion of the coach rocked him into blissful, untroubled sleep. Anryn kept his sword belt between them, as much for reassurance as it was to remind Griff that the prince still hadn`t completely forgiven him for Dorland.

　　"You need a drink," Maertyn said. He pulled out a black leather flask. He took a sip before giving it to Anryn.

　　"Peasant," Anryn muttered. The prince glared at Maertyn while he wiped the mouth of the flask with a silk handkerchief.

　　"I thought I was supposed to be tasting for poison," Maertyn said.

　　"You`re supposed to be looking for the next assassin," Anryn reminded him, careful not to say the sorcerous word, Seeing. The prince sipped the cold, sour liquid inside the flask. He wrinkled his nose. "This isn`t the Four Wolves I gave you."

　　"No, I am saving that for your wedding," Maertyn said. He seemed pleased at the thought of accompanying Anryn. Even more so when he learned they were taking a detour to visit Java, a town entirely devoted to hot baths.

　　Java was one of the oldest holy places in Ammar. A natural hot spring tucked into the bend of a river, just four days` travel from Mahaut. Legends said that God brought his sons to Java to cleanse them in the river water. Finding it muddy and full of leeches sent by demons to steal the Blood of the Divine, God struck the river with bolts of lighting. It raised the riverbed into steppes, each forming a pool into which the water ran, clear as the sky and warm as summer.

　　For hundreds of years, people traveled to Java to bathe in the thermal waters. They would drink the malodorous stuff to cure every complaint from gout to infertility. Java closed its doors for several weeks after midwinter to dredge the pools and tend the landscapes around the hotels. Naturally, they would make an exception for noble guests traveling incognito. Professor Lawson had sent his teaching assistant ahead of them on horseback to make the arrangements.

　　Word of the prince`s departure from Amwarren spread fast. All along the roads leading away from the university, people gathered to see the prince along, crying out blessings and asking for favors. Some of them even set off for Mahaut themselves, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wedding, the first royal wedding in over half a century.

　　Not all the cries were happy. Most men knew that war with Nynomath was ever closer now that Sanchia would send the Golden Fleet. Anryn saw men throw themselves into the road, holding pamphlets aloft and shouting angry words. These men did not want to lose their lives or their lands to fight in some faraway place.

　　King Anathas was famous for his ability to ignore protestors, riding straight through the thickest of crowds astride horses sixteen hands high, too fast to stop. Other lords like Eyiffoen sent priests to preach to the crowds, trying to persuade them that if they were poor or unhappy, it was God`s will. Gruffydd simply threw coins into the dirt and watched the protesters scramble for them. Only women could pass down the roads unmolested, riding in closed carriages with high narrow windows cut for air.

　　Covered carriages worked just as well for princes avoiding assassins. Under the cover of darkness, when traffic on the roads thinned as travelers bedded down for the night, they turned off the road to Mahaut. Just as Professor Lawson planned—an assassin waiting for them at Mahaut would be unaware they`d changed course; an assassin trailing them from Amwarren would be forced to follow them into Java.

　　By daybreak, they were well away from the main roads, and Anryn began to relax a little, confident that the professor`s plan would flush out whoever was behind the plot against him. He even engaged in a debate with Griff and Professor Lawson on Sanchia`s coffee trade, the subject of their midterm paper. Griff grumbled and sulked whenever Anryn corrected him on the details, and it dawned on Anryn that Griff hadn`t asked him to proofread the essay as he usually would. Maertyn slouched against his window and drank.

　　They smelled Java before they could see it. Over the rolling green hills and low, squat trees the faint scent of rotten eggs drifted. The beauty of the scene was matched only by the stench. Anryn fumbled for a clean handkerchief among the bloodstained ones he`d crammed into his pocket.

　　Their coach drew up beside the largest of Java`s houses, a stone mansion three stories tall with stained glass windows. The governor of Java, a small, mousy man with a round chin and sharp eyes, greeted them.

　　"Ah, welcome, welcome. We are pleased to host you at my home, the Grand Marin, our finest house here in Java," the governor cooed. He bowed to Anryn and Griff and greeted them by the names Professor Lawson had chosen for their incognito: "I have Count Falkenstein in the Green Room and Count Mercy in the Queen`s suite on the top floor. Professor Lawson, you are on the second in the Amber Room, which is reserved for visiting priests. I trust you will find all that you require."

　　The governor stopped short when Maertyn stepped down from the coach. With the thermal waters warming the air of Java to a balmy springtime heat, Maertyn had shrugged off his long wool coat. Anryn realized with a pang that he was still wearing the ill-fitting shirts and too-short pants Griff had found for him at Amwarren. Looking neither like a lord, nor quite like a servant.

　　"The professor`s, ah, companion?" the governor fumbled. "Yes—we will have a room prepared for you on the ground floor, just near the bar&" If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

　　"There is a bar?" Maertyn asked.

　　"Yes, thank you. Have the coach brought round the back to unload it," Anryn commanded. He was anxious to get inside and change into clean clothes. He glanced back at the road they`d traveled—and found not so much as a sheep for as far as his eyes could see. No sign of an assassin.

　　The governor`s house was perfumed against the rotten egg stench of the spas with dozens of flower vases and brass bowls brimming with fresh-cut gardenias. Tall beeswax candles scented with vanilla fitted into every candelabra, sconce, and chandelier. Attendants were just lighting these for the evening as they arrived.

　　Anryn glanced around as they were led to their rooms. Like most lords, the governor had his own staff—guards, chambermaids, cooks. The prince stared hard at these new faces. He hoped to recognize something, some similarity to the assassins at Dorland that would give them away. Nothing stood out.

　　The sight of his room cheered him up somewhat. Curved wooden furniture, handwoven linens, and delicately painted ceramic candle holders tucked into little alcoves. Water flowed through pipes in the walls and floors, warming the stones underfoot. Little brass bowls full of water and floating gardenias perfumed the air. By the bed, there was a leatherbound book of the Lord`s First Words for worship, and a little Winze doll made of polished ebony with green glass beads for the eyes. No mirrors. No fireplace.

　　After checking behind the door and under the bed, the prince gave into his urge to strip off his boots and stockings to walk barefoot across the floor. He let his hands run over the warmed stone of the walls, and whispered a prayer to God for calm and peace. Here in Java, the Almighty was sure to hear it.

　　A noise outside the window startled him. Anryn seized his sword and went to the stained glass pane. Through the haze of red and green glass, he thought he saw torchlight moving through the streets of Java. Anryn heard faint noises, muffled by the sound of running water. It sounded like voices, and dull metal clangs.

　　He put his shoes back on and went to Griff`s room. It was nearly the same size as Anryn`s. The rich lord`s son stood among the opened leather trunks of his luggage and picked through the silks and linens. His sword lay on the bed, forgotten.

　　"Do you hear that?" Anryn asked. "Outside—there`s something going on in the street."

　　Griff waved a hand at Anryn. "It`s nothing. Probably more protestors. I have some coins here if you want to go throw them in the street."

　　"What good would that do?" the prince asked.

　　"My father does it all the time," Griff said. "The crowds scramble for the silver. You can walk right by them on your way to church, not even get your shoes dusty." He held up a green linen jacket for Anryn`s approval. "Too gaudy for a Count?"

　　For a moment, Prince Anryn felt like a child again in his father`s house. When he and Griff were like brothers, and much closer in height. They used to share clothing in those days. Anryn wondered what he would look like in Griff`s jacket. Unbidden, he thought of the Seeing mirror. How the curve of the breasts had vanished under the dressing gown.

　　If I were that woman, I could fill out his jacket in more than a few places, Anryn thought. What would Griff think of him, then?

　　Flustered, Anryn ran a hand through his hair. His heart hammered and his nose prickled as if it might start to bleed again.

　　"Wear the silk one," Anryn said at last. He knew the heat from the steam from the pools would wrinkle it. Griff would hate that.

　　The two of them stepped out onto the warm stone steps. Anryn stopped on the second floor where Professor Lawson and Maertyn were lodged. He had just raised his hand to knock when a pounding came from the ground floor below. His hand went for his sword.

　　Over the sound of the soothing water, Anryn heard an angry voice below through the door. "Open up, you thieving bastard!"

　　On the ground floor, the clerk who had helped them into the house scurried out from behind the desk. There was a clatter as a door swung shut somewhere. Anryn wrenched open the door to the guest room and darted inside. Maertyn stood there by a low table in the room with a servant setting down cups of various sizes before him.

　　He glanced up as Anryn rushed inside. "They do not have whiskey, but they do have something called gin. Do you want to try it?"

　　The prince wanted to scream. Would no one but Professor Lawson take the attempt on his life seriously? Still, Anryn felt a little safer with Maertyn there in the room. He even took the cup Maertyn handed him, though he only sipped at it out of nerves.

　　Steadied from the gin, Anryn went back to the door and listened. He cracked the door open and listened as the noise from outside echoed through the house. The prince was sure that he heard chanting in time to the metal clangs.

　　Not assassins, Anryn thought. Witchcraft.

　　"Griff," said the prince. "If the governor says a lord`s authority is needed, you had better be the one to deal with it."

　　 Griff frowned at him. "I don`t know what you mean."

　　"You know damn well what I mean," Anryn flared. "If a witch here in Java needs a lord at their trial, it`s your turn to be that lord. We`ll see if you can talk a man off a stake."

　　"I could do it," Griff said. A red flush crept up his neck. "You think I can`t? My father owns half this kingdom—who is going to say no to me if I ask to spare a man`s life? I bet it won`t even be expensive& Nobody says no to money."

　　Anryn ground his teeth. The prince hoped that Maertyn would do something, say something. Give some signal that Griff intended to harm Anryn. But when he glanced at the man, Maertyn only refilled his cup and drank more gin.

　　"I`ll prove it to you, Ryn," Griff said. He pushed past Anryn and jogged down the steps.

　　When he was out of earshot, Maertyn said, "He does not want to kill you. He only wants to embarass you."

　　Anryn glanced at Maertyn. The man stared at him as he had when the brigand`s mother gave back his coin. Waiting to see what the Prince of Ammar would do. The prince steeled himself and went out onto the steps.

　　Professor Lawson emerged from his own room at just that moment, dressed for dinner. He saw Anryn holding his sword, and glanced down the steps after Griff.

　　"Your Highness& have you two quarreled?" Professor Lawson asked. "I must remind you that the Code of Conduct expressly forbids dueling&"

　　Griff reached the door. He gestured for the governor`s men to open it. From his vantage point on the steps, Anryn could see a throng of people gathered outside the manor house. They held torches aloft, and banged together copper pots and stone cups.

　　"Thief! Thief! Give us water for Saint Soren!" they chanted.

　　"Good people, I greet you," Griff shouted. His voice carried easily, and the crowd`s chants died down to hear him. "I am a guest here of the governor! Tell me—has he invited you to dinner tonight as well?"

　　At his amiable tone, the chants died down. Someone shouted back to Griff, "We feast for the Saint! We came to claim the water that was promised!"

　　Anryn crept down the steps. He squinted at the crowd, and saw that a few men wore flower crowns. They looked nicer than the shabby one given to him by the mother of the brigands. These weren`t peasants. They were clean and well-fed, dressed in silks and linen almost as fine as Anryn`s, though more simply made.

　　"Ah—he promised you could take some water from the pools? Is that all?" Griff glanced behind him, at Anryn. "Well, I believe we can work that out for you. I`ve a fat purse of silver. It should be more than enough to cover the costs of spa water. One jar for each of you, in the name of God and Saint Soren. What do you say?"

　　When Anryn didn`t answer right away, Griff turned back to the crowd. "Forgive Lord Mercy—he`s shy&"

　　This was too much for the prince. Anryn walked down the steps to stand beside Griff in the doorway, trying to look more confident than he felt in front of the strangers. Griff stripped off his coat and handed it to Anryn. He stepped out into the mob and took the hands of the nearest man.

　　The metal clangs started up again, and now the people clapped along, beating out a dancing rhythm. Griff whirled easily through the familiar steps of Ammarish jig—the traditional dance at feasts and festivals. The words of a drinking song bubbled up from the crowd and soon they were all stamping, singing, and dancing. They laughed with Griff and tilted their heads toward him when he spoke, friendly and eager.

　　Anryn stood on the steps, holding Griff`s coat like a servant. The prince fumed. It all came so easily to Griff! When Anryn tried to speak to strangers, they sometimes tried to kill him or rob him. They did not smile at him and invite him to dance.

　　The prince glanced behind him again, and saw the governor peeking out from behind the door. Griff saw him, too. The lord`s son danced back up to the doorway, and took a pouch from his belt. He held it aloft and shook it, jingling the coins inside. The crowd cheered as he handed it to the governor.

　　 "See? Nobody says no to money," Griff said to Anryn as they went back inside for dinner. "Let`s see your pet peasant manage that."