Felespar's response was one of amusement. "Windemere's signature is not on the decree that invokes thy Regency, as is his right. Still, it does not matter. The rest of the Council voted in thy favor. He could not convince that fool Goeth, Sindar, and Malifora to act against thee. Not this time."

Blackthorn's fist hit a merlon hard enough that the corner crumbled, showering pebbles upon his boots. "This decree is not about me," he fumed. "'Tis about keeping Britannia from disintegrating into panic."

"For the time being," said Hassad. "The decree does not answer who will assume the monarchy should we discover that Lord British has—"

"Lord British lives," Blackthorn said, too harshly for his own taste, so he calmed himself. "I am certain of it. Only the greatest of evils could harm His Majesty."

"Yes," whispered Hassad, turning his face to the sky. The comets cast a pale sheen over his sightless eyes. "That is what frightens me."

Felespar wrapped himself tighter in his cloak as a breeze scattered snow. "It has grown colder," he muttered, wiping away the flakes that had already accumulated in his beard, "and I am tired. If we are finished here, Hassad, I suggest that we take our leave."

"Very well." The Councilor from Skara Brae reached up and laid his free hand on Blackthorn's shoulder. "I wish to express my condolences. I know that the knight, Shaana, was thy friend."

Blackthorn gripped the Councilor's hand with affection. He did not face the councilors as he spoke, choosing to stare off into the night. "'Twas Captain Geoffrey who wished to accompany His Majesty on his journey. I ordered the Captain to remain behind since I thought that if the journey did end in disaster, Britannia could not afford to lose both British and Geoffrey. Instead, I sent Shaana." He bowed his head. "Now all three are gone." The wind nipped icily at his cheek where he was startled to discover a tear lined his jaw—fortunately, on the side that did not face the councilors. He swallowed and spoke with sudden resolve. "When he returns, the knight, Geoffrey, shall be suspended from his duties, if not completely stripped of his rank and all privileges as Captain of the Royal Guard. Let everyone know that I will not tolerate insubordination, not during a time when we must be united."

Hassad nodded sadly as he slipped his hand from Blackthorn's shoulder. Felespar said nothing. Moments later, Blackthorn, once again, stood alone. He wiped away the sliver of ice that had been his tear. Then he removed the key from his belt. He gripped it resolutely in his hand.

From this section of the parapet, a bridge spanned over the courtyard and chambers of Castle Britannia. Over this arch he walked, cape billowing in the wind, boots crushing ice and snow, to a door set in the highest tower of the castle. The door rose above him, as did the sinewy form of the Great Earth Serpent, set in steel upon the door's oaken boards. No handle, no latch, no hinges, only the symbol of the Codex where a lock might be. On this, Blackthorn placed the tip of the key. It slid inward, turned. The door clicked, swung open. He was not the first to be here tonight. Another set of footprints not yet covered by the snowfall led up to the door. He ignored them, and stepped inside the personal chamber of Lord British.

For the first time that evening, warmth washed over him, shed by the blaze that crackled softly within the chamber's hearth. He took a step onto the ornate carpet spread lengthwise from the door, and stopped. The weight of the world felt oddly lighter here, and he took a moment to revel in it. Behind him, the door shut on its own accord, unwilling to allow the winter in. The whisper of the wind ceased, replaced by the voice of the fire, and the steady tick of a grandfather clock.