Ciamon Caelt shook Prince Anryn awake. "Wake up, Your Highness."

　　 Anryn was too weak to resist when Ciamon slid an arm under his back and helped him sit up against the headboard. The sheets stuck to his skin where the blood dried. His head ached and his vision blurred. Ciamon pressed something cold and wet to Anryn`s lips.

　　 "Drink water," Ciamon said. "You`ve lost a lot of blood."

　　 Beatrice hovered behind Ciamon. Her face was a mask of worry, shining with tears in the light from the fire. Anryn became aware that many hours had passed since his arrest. The door to his bedroom was closed. It was night outside the windows. The prince thought he could smell smoke.

　　 "The city is on fire," Beatrice said. "I`ve been trying to wake you. The pyre we saw for the witches& Some unholy black flames set it alight and now everything around it is burning&"

　　 Maertyn`s alive, Anryn thought. His head swam with relief. Thank God& I hope he runs away—far away from here&

　　 Ciamon spoke again. "Beatrice said you were under arrest. I came here to help you. I know that you are a witch, Your Highness. You know what your father will do to you."

　　 "How are you going to help me?" Anryn said. "A knife in the ribs before he can throw me on a pyre himself?"

　　"Anryn, Ciamon is a mage from Nynomath," Beatrice said. She sat beside him and took his hand. "He swore to me he would not kill you. I told him you were under a curse. I didn`t know what else to do! I thought you might be dying&"

　　Griff barely touched me, Anryn wanted to reassure her. He tried to straighten, to look confident.

　　Yet, something about the way that Ciamon looked at him made Anryn feel as though a deeper wound somewhere opened. This mage saw something more to the prince, something the prince`s own father, even his friends couldn`t. Anryn realized that Ciamon looked at Anryn the way that Maertyn had when they first met on the mountain.

　　"Can you See her?" Anryn asked. "Can you See the other me underneath&?"

　　"The Sight isn`t one of my talents," Ciamon said. "But, I can make a Seeing mirror. If you let me. And& if your wife agrees."

　　Anryn glanced at Beatrice. She squeezed his hands.

　　"Whatever it is, I am not going anywhere," she said. She lifted her chin and her eyes sparkled in the light from the fire. "I came here to become the Queen of Ammar, and I cannot do it without you, Anryn. I`m not afraid of your curse."

　　After a moment, Anryn nodded. Just as Maertyn had done, Ciamon used water mixed with herbs in a silver bowl. The mage set it on the bed where it would catch the light from the fire and light from the window. Outside a crescent moon rose above the smoke. The mage said the words, and Anryn leaned over the bowl.

　　They all Saw her. The long black hair, the soft curves in the face. Beatrice gasped and touched Anryn`s hair. His wife watched, transfixed, as Anryn`s black locks moved in the water. Ciamon sucked air between his teeth and said an angry word Anryn didn`t recognize. It was vulgar enough to make Beatrice flinch.

　　"Sorry—my lady, forgive me," Ciamon said. To Anryn, he asked, "Where is the mark? Do you know?"

　　Anryn shook his head. "I haven`t been able to find one."The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

　　Ciamon dipped his finger into the water from the mirror and dabbed it into his eyes. Anryn could tell that it stung him fiercely by the way they reddened and watered. Blinking back tears, Ciamon examined Anryn. The mage turned over the prince`s arms, then looked at the soles of his feet. He even checked behind Anryn`s ears.

　　Finally, Ciamon said, "Would you open your mouth?"

　　What he saw inside made Ciamon hiss. He tilted Anryn`s head back, and looked into his nose. He even peeled back Anryn`s eyelids to look there. The mage whispered the angry word three times.

　　"It`s everywhere," Ciamon said. He let go of Anryn`s face and sat back, stunned. "It`s written all over the inside of you. In your mouth, your nose& I can`t fathom who could do this. How could they do this? It seems impossible without killing you."

　　"It is killing me," Anryn snapped. "Living like this is killing me. I could win a thousand duels& drown Nynomath in blood& Defeat a demon of Hell itself, and it would not be enough. I`m not here. No one can see me."

　　No one except Maertyn. Both parts of the prince together felt the eyes of the world all over them. Anryn covered his face with his hands and wept. The imperfect prison of his body caving in on her. Beatrice wrapped her arms around Anryn. He clung to her as if he were drowning.

　　"Your Highness, I& know it`s still terrible, but—I don`t think that the mage who wrote this curse intended for you to die." Ciamon wiped the last of the Sight water from his eyes and leveled his gaze on Anryn. "There is a part that I can read, it goes down the back of your throat. The same word, three times. It`s our word for love."

　　Anryn swallowed, trying to feel the marks there. All he felt was a lump there, as he fought to push the shameful tears back down. "Can you remove the curse?"

　　Ciamon shook his head. "I can`t read the whole thing. I don`t know what I would be removing."

　　"Well& can you change it?" Beatrice asked. She stared at Ciamon over the top of Anryn`s head. "Add on to it, and change the terms. Like replacing a daughter in a marriage contract."

　　Ciamon seemed to stop breathing. His voice came out hoarse. "What you`re asking& It`s not a fairytale, Beatrice. It`s not a little rhyming poem and some flower petals we`re talking about. It`s this."

　　The mage reached into his jacket and took out a silver, sickle-shaped knife. Anryn looked at the glittering edge. He looked again, with the Sight. The lines all along the blade were white, not red. Their final color had yet to be determined.

　　"Curses flow from the Almighty down through the holy crescent," Ciamon explained. "If God agrees with whoever wrote this curse, Your Highness& Then I can carve another term onto it. If God`s not with us on this one, you could die. Or just have an ugly scar. There`s no way to know beforehand, even with the Sight."

　　So this is what happened to Maertyn, Anryn thought. The mages wrote the curse onto him and didn`t know when they started how it would end. They never imagined a drunk peasant could ever be a threat to them. God wasn`t on their side, and Nynomath got what it deserved.

　　Anryn knew he should have asked, How? Instead, shivering, he asked: "Why? Why would you help me?"

　　Ciamon took a long time to answer. "Because you didn`t cheat. You saved yourself with the Sight at the wedding. But you didn`t use it during the duel. You`re& honorable. Irreplaceable. And I think you might be the King of Ammar that Nynomath needs."

　　Beatrice was squeezing Anryn so hard that the prince almost couldn`t breathe. She whispered into his ear. "What do you want to do, my King?"

　　Anryn looked at Beatrice. When he had promised before God to make her Queen in Ammar, the other Anryn had promised it, too. Seizing this chance was the only way that either prince could keep their promise to Beatrice.

　　The prince turned back to Ciamon. "What do you need?"

　　Ciamon looked around the room. His eyes moved over every object, forming a plan. He moved the Seeing mirror to the floor, careful not to spill a drop of the enchanted water. Then he went to the fireplace, and stuck the blade of his knife into the flames.

　　"Beatrice, guard the door. Once I start, I can`t stop carving until the mark is complete," Ciamon instructed. He looked at Anryn as he took the smoking sickle out of the fire. "Your Highness& Find something to bite down on. This is going to hurt like dying."