Spring came late but it came. The snow melted, the roads cleared, and trade resumed. The city breathed again. The poor didn't stop being poor—that would take more than one winter—but they stopped dying in the streets, which everyone agreed was an improvement.
Orion turned nine. His father gave him a real sword, smaller than an adult's but sharp and balanced. Master Varen gave him a book on military tactics. Elara gave him a map of the palace with all the secret passages marked in red ink, including several he was pretty sure even their father didn't know about.
"You've been busy," he said, studying the map.
"Eleven years of exploration." She grinned. "I had to do something while you were learning to read."
The sword lessons started immediately. A grizzled old veteran named Captain Dorn took charge, a man with one eye and a limp and a complete lack of patience for anything resembling weakness. He made Orion drill for hours—stances, strikes, footwork—until his arms burned and his legs shook.
"Again," Dorn would say, every time Orion thought he was done. "The enemy won't stop because you're tired."
"Who's the enemy?" Orion asked once, genuinely curious.
Dorn fixed him with his one good eye. "Anyone who wants what you have. Anyone who thinks your death serves their purpose. Anyone who gets paid to put a blade in your heart." He tapped Orion's chest with the flat of his practice sword. "That's the enemy. You don't get to choose them. You only get to choose how you meet them."
The lessons continued through spring and into summer. Orion got faster, stronger, more precise. He learned to read an opponent's weight shift, to anticipate strikes before they came, to move without thinking. Dorn never praised him, but sometimes he wouldn't criticize, which was apparently the same thing.
Elara watched sometimes, sitting on the wall of the practice yard with her legs dangling. She'd moved past the stage of wanting a knife to wanting to learn how to use it properly, and Dorn had grudgingly agreed to teach her as well. She was good—faster than Orion, lighter on her feet, more creative in her attacks.
"You think too much," Dorn told Orion one afternoon after Elara had disarmed him three times in a row. "She just does. You think. Thinking's for the council chamber. In a fight, you feel."
Easier said than done. Orion's mind was always working, always analyzing, always looking for patterns. It was useful in lessons, in watching courtiers, in trying to understand the conspiracy that might or might not exist. But in the practice yard, it was a liability.
He worked on it. Tried to empty his mind, to let his body take over. It helped, a little. He stopped getting disarmed quite so often. But he was never going to be Elara. They both knew it.
The summer brought visitors. Lords from the northern provinces, merchants from the eastern cities, a delegation from the kingdom across the mountains that no one had heard from in decades. The palace buzzed with activity, every room full of strangers with unfamiliar faces and unreadable intentions.
Orion watched them all. He'd gotten good at watching. He noted who talked to whom, who avoided whom, who seemed nervous around the guards. He filled pages of his journal with observations, cross-references, theories. Most of it was probably nothing. But his father had said to be patient, to play the long game. So he watched and waited and wrote.
One of the visitors stood out. A woman from the eastern delegation, young, dark-haired, with eyes that seemed to miss nothing. She watched the court the same way Orion did—from the edges, quiet, attentive. Their eyes met once across a crowded reception hall, and she smiled. Just a small smile, friendly and harmless. But something about it made Orion's skin prickle.
He mentioned her to Elara that night.
"The easterner? Lady Mira said her name is Sera. She's some kind of scholar, here to study the palace archives." Elara shrugged. "Seems harmless."
"She watches too much."
"So do you."
"I know. That's why I noticed."
Elara considered this. "You think she's one of them? The ones Father warned us about?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Probably not. But something about her..." He shook his head. "I can't explain it."
"Trust your gut. That's what Dorn says." She bumped his shoulder with hers. "I'll watch her too. Two pairs of eyes are better than one."
They watched. For the next two weeks, they took turns keeping Sera in sight, noting where she went, who she talked to, how long she spent in the archives. She did nothing suspicious. She asked questions about the history of the palace, about the old kings, about the founding of the dynasty. Innocent questions, the kind any scholar would ask.
But she also asked about the Fall of Wings. Orion overheard her one afternoon, chatting with a junior archivist outside the library.
"Fascinating event," she was saying. "I've read about it in old texts, but I've never found a detailed account. Do your records say anything about what followed?"
The archivist, young and eager to impress, launched into a recitation of everything Master Varen had told Orion. The Silent Summer. King Theron's death. The distant cousin who became king. Sera listened with an expression of polite interest, nodding at appropriate moments.
"Thank you," she said when he finished. "That's very helpful. The archives in my country aren't nearly as complete."
She walked away. Orion, hidden behind a column, watched her go. A scholar interested in historical events. Nothing suspicious about that.
But the prickle at the back of his neck wouldn't go away.
---
The night before the eastern delegation left, someone tried to kill Orion's father.
Orion heard about it the next morning, when he woke to find his mother sitting by his bed, her face pale and drawn. She told him quietly, calmly, the way she told him everything difficult. An assassin had gotten into the king's chambers. The guards had stopped him, but not before he'd wounded Kaelen's arm. The assassin was dead. Kaelen was fine.
"He wants to see you," Seraphina said. "He's in his rooms. The physician is with him, but he's awake and asking for you."
Kaelen's chambers were full of people when Orion arrived. Guards at every door. The physician packing his supplies. A servant cleaning something dark off the floor that Orion tried not to look at. His father sat in a chair by the window, his arm bandaged, his face tired but alert. He waved everyone out when he saw Orion.
"Come here." He patted the chair beside him. "Sit."
Orion sat. He looked at the bandage, at the faint stain of red seeping through. "Does it hurt?"
"Like fire. But I've had worse." Kaelen leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. "The assassin was one of the eastern servants. Came in with the delegation, stayed behind when they left. Smart. Patient. Exactly the kind of enemy I told you about."
"He's dead?"
"Killed by the guards before he could talk. Which means we don't know who sent him. Which means they'll try again." He opened his eyes and looked at Orion. "I need you to do something for me."
"Anything."
"I need you to start coming to council meetings. Not every one, but some. I need you to start learning how this works—the politics, the alliances, the games people play. Because if something happens to me, you'll need to know these things. And I'd rather teach you myself than leave you to figure it out alone."
Orion nodded. "I can do that."
"I know you can." Kaelen reached out and gripped his shoulder. "You're ready. You've been ready for a while, I think. I just didn't want to admit it. I wanted to keep you a child a little longer."
"I don't feel like a child."
"No. You don't." He smiled, a real smile, rare and precious. "You never really did. Even as a baby, you had old eyes. Your mother noticed it first. She said you looked at the world like you'd seen it before."
Orion's heart stuttered. He'd been so careful, so careful to hide. But his mother had seen anyway. Mothers always saw.
"Maybe I have," he said carefully. "Seen it before, I mean."
Kaelen didn't laugh or dismiss it. He just nodded slowly. "The old texts say some souls are reborn. That the wisest among us have lived many lives, learned many lessons. I've never known if I believed it." He paused. "But looking at you, I think I might."
They sat in silence for a while, father and son, watching the sun rise over the palace. Then Kaelen sighed and pushed himself up.
"Enough philosophy. The council meets in an hour. Go get dressed. Wear something that makes you look older than you are."
The council meetings were everything Orion expected and nothing like it. The nobles argued. The generals demanded more soldiers. The treasury minister said there was no money. The trade minister said there would be even less if they didn't resolve the dispute with the eastern cities. Everyone talked over everyone else. Nothing got decided.
Orion sat in a corner, watching, learning. He noted who spoke most, who spoke least, who the others deferred to. He noted the alliances—Lord Cassian and General Aris seemed to agree on everything, which meant they'd probably made some private arrangement. Lady Mira spoke for the northern provinces, her voice calm and reasonable, cutting through the noise when things got heated.
After three hours, Kaelen called a halt. "We'll reconvene tomorrow. Same time. Same lack of progress, I'm sure." He stood, and everyone scrambled to their feet. "Orion, stay."
The room emptied. Kaelen dropped back into his chair, looking exhausted.
"What did you see?"
Orion considered his answer carefully. "Lord Cassian and General Aris are working together. Lady Mira is the only one who actually wants to solve problems. The treasury minister is afraid of something—he kept looking at his papers instead of at the people speaking."
Kaelen nodded. "Good. What else?"
"Lord Cassian's alliance with Aris gives him military support. That makes him dangerous. Lady Mira doesn't have allies, which makes her weak, but she's smart enough to know it, so she positions herself as the reasonable one everyone can trust. That gives her influence without power."
"Excellent. And the treasury minister?"
"I don't know yet. But I'll find out."
Kaelen almost smiled. "Yes. You will." He stood, wincing slightly as his arm moved. "One more thing. The eastern delegation that just left—they're not our enemies. Not officially. But someone in their government paid that assassin. Find out who. Find out why. That's your assignment."
"My assignment?"
"You're nine years old. You can't fight in wars or command armies. But you can watch. You can listen. You can learn. That's how you'll help me. That's how you'll help the kingdom." He walked to the door, then paused. "Start with the archives. The easterners spent a lot of time there. Find out what they were really looking for."
He left. Orion sat alone in the council chamber, already planning his next move.
--
The archives were a maze. Rooms within rooms, shelves stacked to the ceiling, scrolls and books and documents going back a thousand years. Orion had been there before, but always with Master Varen, always for specific lessons. Now he was on his own, with a purpose and no idea where to start.
He started with the archivist who'd talked to Sera. Young, eager, named Tobin. Found him in the main reading room, cataloging a pile of scrolls.
"The eastern scholar," Orion said, trying to sound casual. "You talked to her a few times, right?"
Tobin looked up, surprised to see the prince alone. "Yes, Your Highness. She was very interested in our records. Spent hours here every day."
"What did she look at mostly?"
"Old histories. Genealogies. The founding of the dynasty, that sort of thing." Tobin frowned. "She asked about the Fall of Wings once. But mostly she wanted to trace the family lines. Who married whom, who had children, who died without heirs."
Genealogies. Family lines. Orion's mind started working. "Did she focus on any particular period?"
"The early years, mostly. The first few centuries after the founding. But she also spent a lot of time on the year 873." He paused. "The Silent Summer. When King Theron died."
Orion thanked him and left, his mind racing. The year 873. When the royal family had died out and a distant cousin no one knew about had taken the throne. Why would a scholar from the east be interested in that?
He found Elara in the practice yard, working on forms with a wooden sword. She paused when she saw his face.
"What?"
"Remember the eastern woman? Sera?"
Elara nodded, lowering her sword.
"She spent most of her time in the archives looking at genealogies. Specifically, the year 873. When the line almost ended."
Elara's eyes widened. "You think she was looking for something? Someone?"
"I don't know. But the assassin who tried to kill Father was from the east. And now this woman was here, asking questions about what happens when a royal family dies out." He shook his head. "It could be nothing."
"It could be. But it probably isn't." Elara set her sword aside. "What do we do?"
"Father told me to find out what they were really looking for. So I need to figure out what they found." He thought for a moment. "Can you get me into Tobin's office? When he's not there?"
Elara grinned. "I can get us anywhere. Didn't I give you the map?"
Tobin's office was small and cluttered, tucked in a corner of the archives. Elara picked the lock in about ten seconds—a skill Orion hadn't known she had—and they slipped inside. Papers covered every surface. Scrolls spilled from shelves. A half-eaten meal sat on the desk, attracting flies.
"Charming," Elara muttered. "What are we looking for?"
"Anything about the eastern woman. Notes she left, requests she made, books she borrowed." Orion started sorting through the piles. "She must have left something behind."
They searched for an hour. Found nothing. Orion was about to give up when Elara called him over.
"Look at this." She held up a small notebook, hidden under a loose floorboard. "Our friend Tobin had secrets."
The notebook was full of notes in a cramped hand. Tobin's records of everything Sera had asked for, everything she'd looked at, every question she'd asked. Page after page of detail. Orion flipped through quickly, looking for patterns.
There. Near the back. A list of names, with dates next to them. All from the year 873. All members of the royal family who'd died. At the bottom, a single name with no date next to it.
Aldric Andromeda.
Orion's grandfather. The man who'd been killed by his trusted servant thirty years ago.
"He was looking for someone," Orion whispered. "Someone who survived. Someone connected to the family."
Elara read over his shoulder. "Aldric. That's—"
"Grandfather. Yes." Orion closed the notebook. "The man who killed him had a wife and children. They disappeared. Father never found them."
"You think they went east?"
"I think someone went east. Someone with a claim to the throne. Someone patient enough to wait thirty years." He looked at Elara. "Someone who just tried to kill our father."
They stood in silence, the weight of it pressing down. Then Elara grabbed his arm.
"We have to tell Father. Now."
Kaelen listened without interruption. When Orion finished, he sat very still for a long moment. Then he stood and walked to the window, staring out at the city below.
"A cousin," he said quietly. "Somewhere out there, a cousin I never knew existed. With a claim to the throne and thirty years of hatred to fuel them."
"We don't know that for sure," Orion said. "It's just a theory."
"It's a good theory. It explains the birds. It explains the assassin. It explains why they waited so long." He turned back to face them. "They wanted to be sure. They wanted to know everything