Prologue

As a tournament loser, Sigismund the Fighter was not seated at the high table with the king. Prince Konrad was in his usual spot, but to mark his champion status,the chair was decorated with ivy and velvet. It did not make Konrad look any less like a dull brute.

“You should congratulate the champion and wish him continued good Fate.” His mother’s tone was mild, but she was using her knife with too much force to seem calm.

Sigismund crossed his arms. “I will wish the prince the Fate he deserves for the way he kicked dirt in my eyes.”

“You will do no such thing.” His mother glanced at the empty chair at the high table. The one reserved for Ilona the Right Hand.

A dignitary from a distant kingdom known for its magic, Ilona had arrived like a quake. In a moment, unsettling all that had been before. But unlike a quake, Ilona’s destruction never seemed to end. Konrad, who had changed the most with the adviser’s arrival in the king’s council, should have looked more relaxed in her absence, but he kept looking at the door and whispering with the king. It was making Sigismund’s hair rise.

He wanted to leave. The only reason he had to be there was so the champion could look out over everyone they had defeated over the course of the tournament. Of course that was not the official reason. Officially, it was a banquet to mark the end of the season. The dining hall was rarely used, though it was made large enough for all the respected families in Kings Rest, which despite the name implying it was a hideaway, was a fortress city and the only home of the royal family.

It had once been known as the Winter Fortress but that name harkened back to the emperors of old; a time when there had been many palaces and fortresses and there were enemies at the gates. When the empire broke apart, Sylvania was born.A small and peaceful kingdom, largely forgotten by the world, they lacked a seaport to bring easy trade or large swaths of fertile farmland to make their people fat and healthy. The people wanted for much, had little, and mainly bartered for the goods they needed. And yet, every day in Kings Rest they carried on wearing furs and jewels and competing in tournaments and pretending that everything was fine. Adding to the feeling that it was a kingdom rotting from within was the recent bloom of the Empire Corpse Flower, a vile, giant flower that only emerged every couple of years and smelled like its name implied.

Seeds of the flower had been given to each of the fragments of the old empire.Sigismund had no idea if the other kingdoms still had their flowers but in Sylvania it was a point of pride to say you had smelled the Empire Corpse Flower, even if no one but the king was ever allowed to see it.

“Perhaps you should get some air.”His mother glanced at the door, and then pulled her long, pale braid over her shoulder. “And try to think of a more suitable wish for your prince.”

His father grunted in approval.

“Perhaps I shall,” Sigismund said.

He pushed back from the table and turned towards the door just as it burst open. Ilona entered, flanked by two bodyguards. She often attended events with as many guards as the king; inside the fortress they had little purpose beyond marking Ilona’s status.

In unison, they turned to the high table and bowed low. Ilona’s robes, that flowed long behind her, covered her hands and puddled around her feet. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a braid that grazed the floor. They stayed in that nearly prostrate position, waiting for the king to acknowledge them.

After a moment, and after the room had quieted, the king called out, “You are here at last.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Ilona put a fist over her heart and then stood. The bodyguards waited a beat longer and then also straightened. “We have come directly from the road.”

Though the guards and Ilona were wearing traveling robes, they were clean and pressed and looked like they had just been donned. The air seemed to shiver with the lie. Ilona took the lead as they moved forward. They passed near Sigismund.

One of the bodyguards was walking strangely, overcompensating for an injury. Ilona reached up to adjust her braid, revealing her fingers. They were tinged pink,as if she had been dying cloth or making wine, but then the red darkened,shifting to the color of old blood.

Sigismund glanced at his mother, but she did not seem to notice anything strange. He did not speak or question it; he had realized in his first encounter with the sorceress that he saw things around her that others did not.

Ilona looked back at Sigismund, and he realized that he was still standing. He dipped his head and then returned to his chair. Whatever she had been doing and whatever reason she had for lying to the king, it was no concern of his.

Ilonadid not take her place next to the king but knelt in front of the table. “Your Majesty, forgive me, I must deliver terrible news. Our dragons have died.”

To Light a Spark