“I don’t understand how this prison could exist in Melengar without my knowing about it,” Alric said shaking his head. “And how does Arista know about it? And why does she want me to go there?”

“I thought you determined she was sending you there to kill or imprison you,” Hadrian reminded him.

“That certainly makes more sense to me than a thousand year old wizard,” Royce said.

“Maybe,” Alric muttered, “but…” The prince, his eyes searching the ground before him for answers, tapped a finger on his lips. “Consider this, if she really wanted me dead, why choose such an obscure place? She could have sent you to this monastery and had a whole army waiting, and no one would hear a scream. It’s unnecessarily complicated to drag me to a hidden place no one has heard of. Why would she mention this Esrahaddon or Gutaria at all?”

“Now you think she’s telling the truth?” Royce asked. “Do you think there really is a thousand-year-old man waiting to talk to you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but…well, consider the possibilities if he does exist. Imagine what I could learn from a man like that, an advisor to the last Emperor.”

Hadrian chuckled at the comment. “You’re actually starting to sound like a king now.”

“It might merely be the warmth of the fire or the smell of boiling potatoes, but I am starting to think it might be a good idea to see where this leads. And look, the storm is breaking. The rain will be stopping soon I think. What if Arista isn’t trying to kill me? What if there really is something there I need to discover, something that has to do with the murder of our father?”

“Your father was killed?” Myron asked. “I’m so sorry.”

Alric took no notice of the monk. “Regardless, I don’t like this ancient prison existing in my kingdom without my knowledge. I wonder if my father knew about it, or his father. Perhaps none of the Essendons were aware of it. A thousand years would predate the founding of Melengar by several centuries. The prison was built when this land still lay contested during the Great Civil War. If it is possible for a man to live for a thousand years, if this Esrahaddon was an advisor to the last Emperor, I think I should like to speak to him. Any noble in Apeladorn would give his left eye for a chance to speak to a true imperial advisor. Like the monk said, so much knowledge was lost when the Empire fell, so much forgotten over time. What might he know? What advantages would a man like that be to a young king?”

“Even if he’s just a ghost?” Royce asked. “It’s unlikely there is a thousand-year-old man in a prison north of this lake.”

“If the ghost can speak, what’s the difference?”

“The difference is I liked this idea a lot better when you didn’t want to go,” Royce said. “I thought Esrahaddon was some old baron your father exiled who had put a contract out on you, or maybe the mother of an illegitimate half-brother who was imprisoned to keep her quiet. But this? This is ridiculous!”

“Let’s not forget you promised my sister,” Alric smiled. “Now let’s eat. I’m sure those potatoes are done by now. I could eat them all.”

Once more Alric drew a reproachful look from Royce.

“Don’t worry about the potatoes,” Myron told him. “There are more in the garden I am sure. These ones I found while digging in the—” he stopped himself.

“I’m not worried, Monk, because you are coming with us,” Alric told him.

“Wha…What?”

“You obviously are a very knowledgeable fellow. I’m sure you will come in handy, in any number of situations that may lay before us. So you will serve at the pleasure of your king.”

Myron stared back. He blinked two times in rapid succession, and his face went suddenly pale. “I’m sorry, but I…I can’t do that,” he replied meekly.

“Maybe it would be best if you came with us,” Hadrian told him. “You can’t stay here. Winter is coming and you’ll die.”

“But you don’t understand,” Myron protested with an increasing anxiety in his voice and shaking his head adamantly. “I…I can’t leave.”

“I know. I know,” Alric raised his hand to quell the protest. “You have all these books to write. That’s a fine and noble task. I am all for it. More people need to read. My father was a big supporter of the University at Sheridan. He even sent Arista there. Can you imagine that? A girl at university? In any case, I agree with his views on education. Look around you, man! You have no parchment and likely little ink. If you do write these tomes, where will you store them? In here? There is no protection from the elements; they will be destroyed and blown to the wind. After we visit this prison, I will take you back to Medford and set you up to work on your project. I’ll see to it you have a proper scriptorium, perhaps with a few assistants to aid you in whatever it is you need.”

“That is very kind, but I can’t. I’m sorry. You don’t really understand—”

“I understand perfectly. You’re obviously Marquis Lanaklin’s third son, the one he sent away to avoid the unpleasant dividing of his lands. You’re rather unique—a learned monk, with an eidetic mind, and a noble as well. If your father doesn’t want you, I certainly could use you.”

“No,” Myron protested, “it’s not that.”

“What is it then?” Hadrian asked. “You’re sitting here, cold and wet in a stone and dirt hole, wrapped in only a blanket looking forward to a grand feast consisting of a couple of boiled potatoes, and your king is offering to set you up like a landed baron and you’re protesting?”

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I…well, I…I’ve never left the abbey before.”

“What do you mean?” Hadrian asked.

“I’ve never left. I came here when I was four years old. I’ve never left—ever.”

“Surely, you’ve traveled to Roe, the fishing village?” Royce asked. Myron shook his head. “Never to Medford? What about the surrounding area, you’ve at least gone to the lake, to fish or just for a walk?”

Myron shook his head again. “I’ve never been off the grounds. Not even to the bottom of the hill. I am not quite sure I can leave. Just the thought makes me nauseous.” Myron checked the dryness of his robe. Hadrian could see his hand was shaking even though he had stopped shivering some time ago.

“So that’s why you were so fascinated by the horses,” Hadrian said mostly to himself. “But have you seen horses before?”

“I have seen them from the windows of the abbey when on rare occasions we would receive visitors who had them. I’ve never actually touched one. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to sit on one. In all the books, they talk about horses, jousts, battles, and races. Horses are very popular. One king—King Bethamy—he actually had his horse buried with him. There are many things I have read about that I’ve never seen. Women for one. They are also very popular in books and poems.”

Hadrian’s eyes widened. “You’ve never seen a woman before?”

Myron shook his head. “Well some books did have drawings which depicted ladies—”

Hadrian hooked a thumb at Alric. “And I imagined the prince here lived a sheltered life.”

“But you’ve at least seen your sister,” Royce said. “She’s been here.”

Myron did not say anything. He looked away and set about removing the pot from the fire and placing the potatoes on plates.

“You mean she came here to meet with Gaunt and never even tried to see you?” Hadrian asked.

Myron shrugged. “My father came to see me once about a year ago. The abbot had to tell me who he was.”

“So you weren’t a part of the meetings here at all?” Royce observed. “You weren’t hosting them? Making arrangements for them?”

“No!” Myron screamed at them, and he kicked one of the empty pots across the room. “I—don’t—know—anything—about—Gaunt—and—my—sister!” He backed up against the cellar wall as tears welled up in his eyes, and he panted for breath. No one said a word as they watched him standing there, clutching his blanket, and staring at the ground.