“By luck.”“By love,” Maya said quietly.The word hung in the air. Sablen flushed. Thorne stared at the fire, his ears burning.“I am not criticizing the method,” Cael said, more gently. “I am saying it is risky. Williams is playing with fire.”“We are all playing with fire,” Master Adrian said. “That is the nature of this war.”“Does he have a plan beyond training?” Cael pressed. “He is brilliant. He is powerful. But he is also a stranger. We know very little about him beyond what you tell us.”“What would you like to know?” Corwin asked.“Why he came. Why now. What he gets out of it.”“He gets the chance to train the last clover mage. To teach the thirteenth bond. To fulfill a duty his clan has carried for generations.” Corwin spread his hands. “And he gets revenge, I suspect. Against the Hand.”“Revenge is a poor foundation for loyalty.”“It is a strong one, however.” Adrian leaned forward. “Cael, I understand your caution. It has kept you alive. But consider this. If Williams wish

Thorne lifted his eyes from the fire. His face was drawn, the shadows beneath his eyes deep as bruises. “I am thinking about what you said to me,” he said. “In the duel.”“About your parents.”“Yes.”“I am sorry for that. It was cruel. It was also necessary, and I will not lie and say I regret the necessity.” Williams’s voice softened. “But I regret that it hurt you.”“Do you believe it?” Thorne asked. “What you said. That I am afraid. That I am pretending to be a king.”“I believe you are afraid, yes. So am I. So is every sane person in this room.” Williams leaned forward. “I do not believe you are pretending. A pretender wants the crown. You do not want it. You want your mother back, and your father, and the girl in that fortress, and a world in which none of this had to happen. A man who wants those things is not pretending to be anything. He is simply grieving, and a grieving man who still gets up in the morning is the bravest creature I know.”Thorne’s throat worked. He looked aw

“A sorceress who knows our weaknesses, backed by an army that does not tire, aimed at a boy who cannot yet control his power.” Williams spread his hands. “I would call that the worst.”“You are very comforting,” Cael Dross said dryly.“I am accurate.”“That is not the same.”“No. But it is more useful.”A beat of silence, then a rough laugh from Master Adrian. “I like him, brother. He reminds me of myself.”“That is not a compliment,” Corwin said.“It is when I say it.”The mood lightened again, but only a little. Torvin, who had slipped in quietly some time before and taken a seat near the door, spoke up from the shadows.“There is something else,” he said. “Forgive me. I have been meaning to say it.”“Say it,” Corwin said.“The ferryman. I went to the dock this morning, before the rain. His canoe is gone. His shelter is empty. The fire pit is cold.” Torvin’s lean face was grim. “I searched the shore for three hours. There was no body. No blood. Only a broken oar, snapped in two, lyi

“I am grateful.” Williams drew a long breath. “But I also want to say this. If any of you feel that the pace is too much, if you are close to a breaking point, tell me. Not out of weakness, but out of wisdom. A warrior who breaks in training is worth nothing in battle. I would rather slow down for a day than lose you for a month.”“You would slow down?” Cael Dross said, with open skepticism.“For good reason, yes.”“I have never known a master to say that.”“You have not known many masters.”“I have known a few.”“And did any of them tell you that you were allowed to be tired?”Cael Dross opened his mouth, then closed it. A strange, complicated expression crossed his scarred face. “No,” he said at last. “None of them.”“Then they were fools.” Williams’s voice was gentle. “You are allowed to be tired, Cael Dross. All of you are. Exhaustion is not a failing. It is a signal. The failing is ignoring it.”A long silence followed. Breck, to everyone’s surprise, was the first to speak.“I wa

Williams did not answer at once. He stood in the frozen garden with his hands clasped behind his back, his face lit from above by the slow, wheeling radiance of the thirteen rods, and for a long moment he looked less like a master of the Blackwater Clan than like an old man watching something he had once loved and once feared.“It is called the Orion Sentinel,” he said at last. “And it is not technology, young Valtor, at least not the kind you mean. There are no gears in it, no engines, no craft that a smith could learn and repeat. It is older than any of that.”“Then what is it?” Thorne asked. His voice came out smaller than he intended.“A memory.” Williams lifted one hand toward the turning wheel of light. “The first masters of my clan believed that the clover bonds were not merely powers but languages, thirteen ways the world speaks to itself. They spent four generations learning to write those languages down in a form that could outlive the writer. Each rod you see carries one bo