Anryn felt a stab of hope when they finally came into sight of Amwarren University. He squinted and found the high stone spire that housed Professor Lawson`s office. Of all his father`s councilors, Haley Lawson was the one he trusted most. Unlike other men on the King`s council, the professor earned his place through wit and diligence—and he always told Anryn that the prince could do the same. The professor would help him suss out who could be behind the attempt on his life. Anryn hoped the professor would tell him that Maertyn had been wrong about his father`s role in it.

　　"You grind your teeth when you are thinking," Maertyn complained. He stopped in the road, and Anryn nearly collided with him.

　　"I do not," Anryn said. He stepped around Maertyn and plodded on.

　　The prince was unused to such blunt criticism. In four years living outside of his father`s shadow, no one had dared complain about Anryn to his face. Even Gruffydd the Younger would not dare. Though Anryn supposed Griff would be more likely to say it behind his back. He did love to gossip.

　　Suddenly anxious, Anryn turned back. Maertyn hadn`t moved from where he`d stopped.

　　"I`ll try to think more quietly," Anryn said. "Can we get on?"

　　"If you are going to be thinking so hard, are you at least thinking of where to get a real drink?" Maertyn asked. He caught up to Anryn in just two strides of his long legs.

　　It irked the prince that Maertyn didn`t seem at all tired after almost a week picking their way down the mountain. Not even the battle with the brigands had winded him. Determined to match the other man`s stamina, Anryn did not stop walking until they were safely inside the gates of Amwarren`s town. Only then did he stop and think of where to go.

　　They could go straight to campus, where the prince could have a bath and a change of clothes. Professor Lawson would have some fine wines in his office for Maertyn, but beyond that, Anryn did not know where to find whiskey. The prince wanted to discharge his chivalric debt as quickly as possible.

　　Griff would have known where to find whiskey. He may have even had a private stash hidden away in his rooms in the dorm, Anryn thought. The son of the richest lord in the country would certainly have the coin to bribe the residential administrators to look the other way about it.

　　Anryn hesitated to go to his friend for help. Though they`d been friends all their lives, Griff was also Anryn`s rival. From swords and horses, to the rare nods of approval from the King, the prince struggled to stay ahead of Griff. Attending Amwarren made everything worse. Griff grew taller and hairier, while Anryn gained only a few inches in height. Anryn excelled at school, while Griff floundered. As the gulf between them grew, so too did Griff`s habit of gossiping about the prince.

　　Did he send the assassins? Anryn couldn`t believe it. It was a far leap from gossip to murder.

　　Even so, gossip was dangerous in its own way. If Anryn went to Griff now, then within an hour, everyone would know that the prince had come back to Amwarren. Word would almost certainly reach the King in a matter of days. Then everyone would know where to find the prince—including whomever sent the assassins.

　　And of course Griff would leave out the part where he ditched Anryn at the witch trial, he thought.

　　By rights, it should have been Griff who presided, not Anryn. Dorland was within his father`s territory, on lands gifted to the family by Anyrn`s grandfather. The witch laws said that no accused witch`s sentence could be carried out until it was pronounced by the lord who held the land. The summons came to them on the snowy hills around Dorland where lords held their sledding parties during the season. Anryn wanted both of them to return to town together, but Griff refused. He told Anryn that a real king wouldn`t put their vacation on hold to murder a peasant, and left Anryn to tend to the horrible chore himself.

　　"If you keep thinking, you are going to break a tooth," Maertyn said. He leaned down to look Anryn in the eye, snapping the prince out of his dark thoughts.

　　Anryn resolved to find Maertyn`s whiskey without Griff`s help. The prince needed more time to think on who his friends were before he could tell them apart from his enemies.

　　"It`s almost suppertime," Anryn said. "Let`s go to a public house—there will be wine, at least. Maybe some spirits."

　　The prince started to think through all of the tasks he had to accomplish now that he was out of the woods, literal and figurative: First, a meeting with Professor Lawson to review the situation; that would help to make sense of the assassins. A bath, of course, and new clothes. After that, meet with Griff. Anryn couldn`t avoid him forever.

　　Then, Anryn supposed, back home to Mahaut. He was impossibly late for his wedding to Lady Beatrice of Sanchia, the powerful heiress who would fund his father`s crusade into Nynomath. Sometime before that, perhaps, Anryn needed to find some larger prize for Maertyn, a better thank you than a mere bottle of whiskey.

　　Public houses lined every street in Amwarren. By day, they served the students and professors coffee and all manner of pastries and biscuits prepared in the city`s thousand-years-old stone ovens. At night, some kept their doors open to serve a light dinner of the day`s fish and little desserts of iced chocolates and dried fruit. Unlicensed public houses sprouted like mushrooms between the timber houses Ammar built atop the original stone dwellings, their offerings decidedly less refined. In the ones furthest away from the University, underaged students could purchase liquor and incense to burn secretly in their dorm rooms.

　　Anryn chose one of these, believing that the other patrons would be too preoccupied with their own illicit activities to gawk at the Prince of Ammar and his tall, filthy peasant attendant. This pub was a narrow wooden room with booths made out of the parts of old bookshelves hammered together. The wall behind the bartender had the lone shelf, full of stone jars and glass bottles that glistened in the low lamplight. A few flower garlands hung from the rafters here, too, alongside Winze dolls and dangling windchimes made of wood tubes and painted glass shards.

　　Anryn and Maertyn squeezed into one of the booths, sitting across from one another. Maertyn`s long legs stretched all the way across the underside of the table. Anryn tried to press himself against the wall to make room, but Maertyn shoved both bony knees on either side of the prince`s thighs, straddling him.

　　"Move over," the prince complained.

　　"There is nowhere else to put them," Maertyn said. He squeezed his knees into Anryn`s thighs. The prince rapped the flat of his blade against Maertyn`s kneecaps, which put a stop to it.

　　"We should go back to my apartments at the University," Anryn said. He picked the scarred tabletop, finding bits of ancient paper wedged into the cracks of the wood. "It`s more private. I can send for some whiskey to be brought to us there."

　　"Do you think that is a good idea?" Maertyn asked. "People are trying to kill you?"

　　"Amwarren is loyal to the crown; no one would try anything here," Anryn said. "I`ve been here for four years and nobody has so much as challenged me to a duel even in the fencer`s club. They would not dare try to attack me here."

　　Saying it aloud almost made it feel true, Anryn thought. He lifted his chin, trying to look more confident than he felt. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

　　"You are good with the sword," Maertyn admitted.

　　Anryn flushed at the compliment. "Do you know much about fencing?"

　　"No," said Maertyn. "But you are alive, and the other two are dead. I think you should have kept the fingers from the man who robbed us. You could have given them to his mother when she gave you back your coin."

　　"That was his mother?" Anryn asked. "How do you know&? You know—never mind."

　　Too dangerous to think of it, Anryn told himself. If he outright tells me that he`s a witch, I am obliged to see the witch law enforced.

　　They ordered. Anryn did not know what he liked to drink because he was not supposed to like to drink. He asked for wine because it was what Professor Lawson drank. Maertyn asked about his precious whiskey. Miraculously, they sold the very brand that he asked for, though not the vintage he had in mind.

　　Anryn ordered a bottle of it anyway with a cup for Maertyn to drink from. When they both had their cups, Anryn lifted his wine glass in a toast. "Sir, I thank you. For the hospitality of your home, and for your assistance on the mountain."

　　Maertyn tapped the rim of his glass against Anryn`s, smiling. It transformed his whole face from sullen and brooding to friendly, likable. The effect was spoiled by Maertyn`s uncouth manners. He drained the glass in one sip, then picked up the bottle and smelled it. He tipped it toward the prince.

　　Anryn recoiled, disgusted at the thought of passing a bottle between them like two drunks in an alleyway.

　　Maertyn shrugged and put the head of it to his lips, the cup on the table quite forgotten. Anryn sipped at his wine, and watched. Sadness stole over him. From the way Maertyn gulped at the bottle, it was a wonder he wasn`t already dead in a ditch somewhere or locked away in a madhouse.

　　Or burned at the stake as a witch. Anryn shuddered inwardly. He tried to pick up the conversation again: "How long were you up there, all alone?"

　　 "A long time," Maertyn answered. He wiped his mouth and would not meet the prince`s gaze. Anryn thought that he struggled with some secret guilt. Or its close cousin, shame.

　　"It must have been hard," Anryn said, trying to draw him out. He couldn`t quite say why he wanted to keep Maertyn talking. Anryn felt the need to connect with him somehow, beyond the outrageous circumstances of their meeting.

　　"You know, if you ask a question, it should be my turn to ask a question," Maertyn said. "What happened in Dorland?"

　　Anryn flinched. If it`d been a fencing match, Maertyn would have scored a point. The prince sipped a little more wine. The sourness of it loosened his thoughts, letting little fragments of them fall from his mind to his mouth.

　　"It was a witch`s pyre," the prince said. "I was presiding over a trial. I thought witches were all gone by now. My grandfather banished thousands of them. My father killed the rest—so goes his law."

　　Maertyn`s brows knit together. He reached behind him to scratch his back.

　　Point scored, Anryn thought. Now they were even. Pressing the advantage, the prince rambled on, though he wasn`t sure what game they were playing.

　　"You know, witches would be mages if they`d been born on the right side of the mountain," Anryn said. "On their own, they`re no bother—they like to light candles and dance naked under the moon instead of praying in church. But organized, they could enslave us as Nynomath has her people. That`s why we go to war. It`s to defend ourselves."

　　"That does not make sense," Maertyn said. The corners of his mouth sank into a scowl.

　　"It`s a power theory," Anryn said. He started to mimic Professor Lawson, flapping his hands, and pushing through the lecture as though there were a mutual revelation on the other side of a sentence. If he could only say it the right way. "The world is anarchic until it isn`t. If we don`t attack, we will be swallowed whole. That`s why I have to get married."

　　"Why do you say it like that? I know what getting married is," Maertyn said. He drank more of his whiskey. "I was married once."

　　Anryn was relieved that Maertyn wasn`t scowling anymore. He seized the chance to change the subject: "What was it like?"

　　"Short."

　　Anryn was surprised to find he`d finished his wine. Maertyn ordered them another round, with a different whiskey. A dark amber liquid that smelled like whatever the servants used to polish the parquet floors in Anryn`s apartments.

　　"This is how you drink whiskey," Maertyn said. "Do not breathe in when you sip it, then breathe out through your mouth after you swallow. Try it—you will like it."

　　Anryn doubted it, but humored Maertyn. The prince did his best to follow the instructions, though they sounded uncomfortably like a witchcraft ritual. The sip felt like a boot to the face, with little stinging bits along the back of Anryn`s tongue. When he breathed out, he forgot to use his mouth, and a smoky, bitter aftertaste rolled over his tongue.

　　"I don`t like the smoke," the prince said, pushing his cup away. He looked at his hand and imagined fire engulfing it, the smell of charred flesh in his nose, skin as black as a Winze doll.

　　"Then you should stop burning witches, Your Highness." Maertyn drank his down in one long sip, then reached across the table to take Anryn`s cup and drained it, too. His cheeks flushed pink and his eyes shone.

　　Anryn wondered if drinking more would make him look as angelic as it did Maertyn. Perhaps if he looked more angelic, he might also appear more kingly. More like Griff.

　　"What are you thinking of?" Maertyn asked. "It is very loud."

　　"I am thinking about being king," Anryn admitted, flexing his jaw to stop himself from grinding his teeth. "What are you thinking about?"

　　"Fire," Maertyn said. He smiled, but it no longer looked angelic. He scratched his back, and the glow in his eyes took on an unhealthy cast—too bright, too intense. "The first time I called black fire, I burned the roof off of a church. It was after my wife died. I think I was one of the people your grandfather sent away&"

　　Anryn stared hard at him through the haze of alcohol, trying to understand what the man was saying. If Maertyn Blackfire had been alive when Anryn`s grandfather drove witches out of Ammar, that would make him at least as old as the Lightning King. Yet here he was, looking no more than five years older than Anryn at most.

　　"You`re drunk," the prince said.

　　"So are you," Maertyn said.

　　Anryn looked down at his hands and was horrified to see a completely new cup between his palms. It was empty.

　　When did that happen, the prince wondered. Not even when goaded by Griff into drinking a second cup of ale at dinner had the Prince of Ammar ever been drunk. Had he even remembered to order food?

　　Anryn put his empty cup on the table, pushed it away again, disgusted with himself. The dark thoughts came back, and the prince folded his hands together and pressed his forehead into them. "O God& Distance me from wrongdoing& Deliver me from misery and woe&"

　　"Oh, are you praying, now?" Maertyn said. "My father did that whenever he drank too much. Be happy when you are drunk, not sad."

　　"Do you think they`ll still let me get married in a church&?" Anryn asked, rubbing his face to try and redistribute the blood gathered in his cheeks. "If I`m a murderer and a sad drunk, and I don`t know how to drink whiskey&?"

　　"You know, I would be more worried about being a girl than being a murderer," Maertyn said. "They will not let you marry a woman if you are a girl."

　　"Why do you keep saying that?" Anryn demanded.

　　Truly, he felt that the Maertyn Blackfire was sent by God to torment him. Maertyn had only known him twenty minutes before voicing the two subjects Anryn was most desperate to avoid: girls and mages. Even Griff never dared to broach more than one at a time.

　　"I can see things," Maertyn said. Something about the way that he said it made the word "see" sound bigger than the other words. "Sometimes. With you, it is very hard. There is something in the way when I try. I think you might&"

　　 "Not another word, peasant," Anryn snapped.

　　The prince surged to his feet, and his thighs collided with the table. Somehow, Anryn felt more drunk standing than he had felt sitting. Belligerent, he grabbed the belt at his waist and the band of the trousers beneath it. He yanked both down.

　　"You see` this? I am no girl," Anryn yelled.

　　"Oh, so we are that kind of drunk?" Maertyn also stood. There was a movement of his long fingers, a flash of pale skin and dark, curling hair. Then, hands were on them both. The prince flailed, thinking he was fighting assassins.

　　It was only the town watchmen, informing them that they were both under arrest for public drunkenness and indecent exposure.