They reached Stonewall just before noon. True to its name, the city stood encircled by a wall with four gates, one oriented in each major direction. As a central market of the kingdom, it was always bustling, shepherds grazing their flocks outside the wall, traders on every street calling greetings through open windows.
Despite Leon’s grumbles at being forced to dress nicely and ride a “smelly horse,” he cracked a smile at a few of the sights. Once he focused on the bakery, though, his expression turned feral.
“Practice those manners,” Baron reminded him sternly, “even if they refuse to hand over an ingredient list.”
Which was exactly what they did. Leon and the head bakerexchanged heated words over the priceless nature of baking secrets, and Baron bought a dozen scones and half as many biscuits to smooth over the encounter.
“A real cook would teach me,” Leon complained as they exited. “I could do an apprenticeship like feather-head.”
Baron was inclined to agree, but he only shrugged—and secretly hoped the boy hadn’t been turned away because he stood with a Caster. Baron hadn’t missed the baker stealing glances at his brand, just as everyone did.
Seeing to his errand at last, Baron visited Edith alone. Leon chose to wait outside, dissecting a scone as if its layers could be read like pages in a book.
The Stone Caster took several minutes to answer her door, and her scowl softened into a smile upon recognizing Baron.
“You too?” she asked, beckoning him inside with a nod.
Baron blinked. “Me what?”
As he stepped inside, he saw her home had been completely emptied of furnishings. All that remained were a few personal trunks and a table of odds and ends.
“You’re . . . moving?”
“Abandoning a sinking ship is what I would call it,” Edith said, shaking her head. “Didn’t you get a letter from Morton?”
Clearly seeing his bafflement, she brought him a letter written in a tall, slanted script. An invitation from Clarissa Morton for any willing Caster to join the woman at her estate in Northglen.
Baron’s blood ran cold.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Edith snapped. “Weston Knowles might be going to Northglen, but I’m not. I’m leaving this whole sinking country. Been considering it for years, honestly; this is just the final push. I’ve been branded and berated, and once Morton gets on with whateverthisis—some hopeless rebellion against a king—even the freedoms I have left will be taken. So I’m taking my leave.”
She tossed a few items into the uppermost trunk and closed it with a decisiveclick.
“I hadn’t imagined ...” Baron trailed off as he stared at the letter in his hand.
When he looked up, Edith’s expression had softened once again. “What did you need from me, Baron?”
“My father’s orchard. He thought it was cultivated by Stone Casters years ago, and I hoped you might renew the Cast.”
Before he finished, she was already shaking her head. “Marcus visited me about this in the spring, a few days before he passed. I told him it’s possible intheory, but it’s far beyond my Casting capacity. Common folk hire me for house repairs and to craft statuary—though honestly, I’ve stopped taking orders larger than busts because anything else leaves me laid up in bed for days with my head pounding like death itself. So to imagine putting my hands onacresof land and ordering it to obey? I can already hear the soil laughing.”
Baron knew well the feeling of inadequacy in magic. He forced back the memory of his father’s death and said, “Perhaps working together with other Stone Casters, then.”
Edith raised an eyebrow. “Marcus suggested that as well. Did he get the idea from you? I’ve never heard of a combined Casting. We’re all solitary creatures, I thought.”
“The idea came from Patriamere.” That was an oversimplification, but Baron didn’t feel the need to explain his inheritance. His mother had come from a bloodline of magic users in the neighboring country, and though there hadn’t been a Caster in her direct line for several generations, her family had nevertheless passed down a set of priceless books containing information about magic.
The books were gone now. Just like his mother.
His stepmother was still alive, still out there somewhere.Baron had tried to find her after his father’s death and accomplished nothing.
“You have family in Patriamere,” Edith said with a nod. “That’s where I’m headed. My advice? Do the same. Leave now, while you can.”
Baron gave his thanks for her consideration, then helped her carry the trunks to a waiting carriage.
But he didn’t leave. He couldn’t. Not with his father’s last wish repeating constantly in his mind. Baron had a duty in Loegria.
Once he and Leon returned to the manor, Martin met them at the door, delivering a folded parchment with a wax seal. This one was twice the thickness of a regular party invitation and as smooth as a sheet of ice. Even before registering the falcon stamped in wax, Baron knew it had come from the palace.
