Wil Cadogan stood by the parapets of the great palace, the celebration around him falling mute as he stared out over the scar ridden landscape beyond. What had once been a rolling field of dotted trees and grass that shimmered like waves was now a ruined badlands of rot and death. Cracks broke across the blackened ground like chasms, sinking deep into the abyss and releasing a soft, iridescent light, pulsing out of the dirt in blue and green and purple and gold. Skeletal trees dotted across the ground, but they weren’t trees, not really. The Split had claimed victims in its finality, catching those straggling soldiers and calcifying their bodies, twisting them and stretching them until they didn’t look like people at all. Anyone who stumbled into that land – and survived the seeping poisons that wouldn’t cross into the living world – wouldn’t see anything except the dead trees, and maybe the odd case of pareidolia. Wil wished he didn’t know otherwise.

  The spires of the Calwaeln Palace seemed more ominous against the new backdrop, the tall, twisting spires appearing black with the sun sinking a deep red in the distance. The arched stone walls were solid and rough, beaten by countless wars and violent weather, none of them as violent as what had transpired today. The force of it still made Wil shiver, though the day had almost passed. He hadn’t seen it happen, not from the front lines, but he’d felt it. Everyone in the armoury had. He wouldn’t have been surprised if people in Al?ani felt it. To him it was a tear in the sky, a point where the air itself had split, and a hollowness followed. There was a new emptiness to the world, one that still clung to his skin, that he couldn’t shake enough to enjoy the celebration.

  Whether that was the case or not, after the Split this morning, his future was locked in an horrific uncertainty.

  Footsteps echoed out behind him, the familiar clicking heels stepping out of the ballroom and out onto the balcony. Wil sucked in a deep breath, making sure his face was relaxed and passive.

  ‘Mother is asking for you.’ Heddwyn’s voice had deepened in the past month, but the young prince’s voice still squeaked on some words. He was a boy who had outgrown every item of clothing made for him, but still didn’t fit into the tunic and cloak made for tonight. Wil was sure that tomorrow the boy would wake up and find he couldn’t get it to reach down his torso.

  ‘Is there a reason she sent you?’ Wil asked. ‘Not one of the servants?’

  ‘I volunteered,’ Heddwyn said. ‘I’m bored.’

  Wil sighed. ‘I thought you were going to try and talk to the other kids?’ he asked. ‘The other kingdoms brought their heirs tonight. Everyone is here.’

  ‘I’m not a kid,’ Heddwyn huffed. ‘And those other kids are weird.’

  Here we go. Wil stared out at the still sinking sun as the prince approached the parapets. It was hot down here in Shihoa, hotter than was ever possible up north. It clung to his skin like a sticky weight. ‘They’re from different places. They live differently. Maybe you could learn something?’

  ‘We’re all the same kingdom now,’ Heddwyn said. ‘Isn’t that the point? And they’re not just weird because they hate us. Two of them keep saying they’re twins but they look nothing alike.’

  Wil could feel his impatience rising, but tonight wasn’t the time where he would – again – explain to the little bastard how the commonwealth worked, or how siblings were connected. ‘Go and try and be nice,’ he said instead. ‘They’re going to be just like you when they’re older. You may as well start early.’

  ‘Civilised?’ Heddwyn asked.

  ‘In charge,’ Wil corrected. ‘Your father has been telling you all these things, surely he’s told you what it means to have good relationships with other nations.’

  Heddwyn pulled a face. He was still plump in the cheeks, and his mess of sandy hair and freckled face made him seem like a toddler about to throw a tantrum.

  ‘Go,’ Wil ordered. ‘I will see to your mother in a minute.’

  Heddwyn slumped and dragged his feet back into the ballroom, his same little footsteps receding into the white noise of the party. The sun was now no more than a sliver against the horizon. Wil sighed, straightened himself, then turned and followed the Prince back into the crowd.

  The ballroom had open arches into the evening air, but the domed roof and polished floors did little to suggest it was an outdoor terrace. Still, the sounds of conversation echoed out, overshadowed only by a small group of bards in the corner plucking a perky tune. Pillars held intricate archways carved from marble and iron, and at the end of the room, a large wooden table, sanded down and polished just as shiny sat overseeing the space. Above it the five banners hung, the largest being the emblazoned sword of Shihoa on it’s blue and silver backdrop, shouldered by the four smaller flags of each commonwealth also marked with a flaming sword but jammed into an individual symbol and embroidered onto a different colour. Wil noted the green for Eldwylle, with its sword stabbing into three upturned trees. Beneath it, standing by the table, was Queen Rhoswen.

  Her majesty was deep in conversation with the High Emperor of Shihoa, though both of them were dressed in so much finery and held such a regal air that it was hard to tell one had complete dominion over the other. Rhoswen held the same sandy hair as her son, long and braided with twine, her silk dress shimmering in the candlelight, while The High Emperor Willibrord wore a long fur cloak spotted with what Wil guessed was the pelt of a great leopard. As he approached, the old ruler turned steely eyes on him, his weathered face creasing in annoyance. Wil quickly took a knee.

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  ‘Forgive the intrusion, high majesty,’ he said quickly. ‘My presence was requested.’

  Rhoswen excused herself and motioned Wil away from the table, her rounded features creasing at the edges as she regarded him. It was hard to think they were the same age, with the Queen holding such grace in her figure and wisdom behind striking green eyes. Wil wasn’t so much graceful as he was stumbling, not wise but always seeming tired behind his hollowed grey eyes, and while his hair shared the same sandy texture as the royals, it was paler, mousier, and never managed to sit completely flat.

  ‘I should not see my son wandering this place alone,’ Rhoswen said. ‘It is not yet nightfall; why are you not with him?’

  ‘I thought it best that he try and socialise with the other heirs, highness,’ Wil said. ‘It seems he’s struggling with that task.’

  Rhoswen scrunched her face again, then glanced across the room before knotting her hands together. An early sign of stress. Wil followed her gaze and saw the Eldwylle King and Heddwyn’s father, Faustus, standing off to one side and in deep conversation. Wil was surprised the ancient bag of bones had energy to stand, much less hold a conversation at the same time. Even if his legs had strength in them, they looked ready to cave under the weight of his bloated belly, made more pregnant by how wiry and wrinkled his neck and head were.

  ‘What is the real reason you have excused yourself?’ Rhoswen asked. ‘Your only purpose here is to care for my son, and you have fallen absent.’

  ‘Apologies, highness,’ Wil said. ‘I only… felt overwhelmed by the state of things. I thought it best to step away until I was calm enough to rejoin the event.’

  Rhoswen raised an eyebrow. ‘Overwhelmed?’ she echoed. ‘Is this not cause for celebration? We have won a war we could not afford to lose, and achieved the impossible by doing so. Surely your melancholy does not come from a wish for the war to continue?’

  ‘No, of course not, highness,’ Wil said. He swallowed, bracing for the verbal attack that was sure to come, then lowered his voice. ‘It’s the Split, highness. It’s just that…’

  ‘Has the situation changed?’ Rhoswen asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Wil admitted. He wasn’t sure if he could explain the sudden emptiness, the unreal quality everything had fallen into since the Split. Severing magic from the world was sure to bring consequences, but surely it was not so completely woven into the existence of everything that he noticed it now. If that was so, why didn’t anyone else. ‘I won’t lie, I worry about the consequences.’

  Rhoswen frowned. ‘Magic has not been banished completely. It still exists in the Mysica, in the Southern Witches and in the waters around those cursed islands. All we have done is drawn a line between it and us. There’s little need for dramatic pessimism.’

  Of course magic hadn’t disappeared completely. It still seeped out of the ground in a slow-acting poison that had cut the kingdom in half. ‘I am less concerned about how we will survive without magic,’ Vawae knew, they’d outcast it so long ago, Wil was sure people wouldn’t even notice. ‘But are we not worried about retaliation?’

  ‘Retaliation from whom?’ Rhoswen demanded. She narrowed her eyes. ‘For the first time in history, the commonwealth has united under one banner. We all played a part in this severance, Mr Cadogan. Unless you have some fanciful notion that the Wild Folk will seek revenge. I do not see how it’s possible now that they have no access to this world.’

  That wasn’t true in the slightest, but Wil knew better than to argue.

  ‘I expect honesty from you when I ask a question,’ Rhoswen said.

  ‘I do worry about the effects of the Split,’ Wil admitted. ‘What it might do to the land, to the people.’

  ‘We will deal with the issues as they arise,’ Rhoswen said. ‘It is not your place to worry about these things.’

  ‘I only say it because my family owns farmland is all,’ Wil said. ‘I mean no disrespect.’

  Rhoswen straightened, her eyes narrowing as she regarded Wil. She was silent for a long moment. ‘Considering your history, you are bold to think your lineage is something I should be concerned about. It surprises me that you care about them.’

  Wil flinched. ‘I know, highness.’

  ‘They swore death upon you when you pledged allegiance to this court,’ Rhoswen said. ‘After they sent you away to begin with. Do you have reason to believe their opinion of you has changed?’

  ‘No, highness, I just—’

  ‘You knew what your position would entail,’ Rhoswen snapped. ‘You were the one who agreed take care of my Heddwyn. For all it meant for you. Was that not why you remain on staff as his retainer?’

  I didn’t agree to shit, Wil fought to keep his hands loose at his side. ‘I meant no offence, highness.’

  ‘If that is true, then we will not discuss this further.’ Rhoswen’s voice was tight. ‘If you really must excuse yourself to better handle these emotions, then do so. Do not take too long.’

  Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched over to where her son and husband were waiting. Wil stood at the edge of the room, the hollow feeling in his chest growing deeper, more painful. Heddwyn glanced his way, then returned to his conversation, and Wil turned as hatred bubbled over. Hatred for the decision that put him here. Hatred for the people who destroyed his life and didn’t care.

  Heddwyn had picked him out. Wil was only meant to be a servant, someone who readied the meals and cleaned the rooms. It wasn’t his fault the boy hadn’t kept a single retainer longer than three months. Refusing would have cost him his life, and Wil tried to protest. Vawae as a witness, he had pointed all the cons out. He had only been sixteen years old, had no skills around children, was only a simple kitchen boy. Eventually, he knew he had to roll over and accept it, or they would learn what had put him in the palace in the first place.