a warrior himself, albeit one with unnaturally white hair growing in. “On what charge? I do have certain rights, Mikaidon. If not as a prince,” he brushed his unpierced cheek, “then certainly as a nobleman.” His heart fell. So Kaede was furious. Should he be surprised?
“Your brother gave up all the Tofusins’ rights. You can walk, or I can drag you.”
What did my brother do? Solon had been at various schools learning magic for his brother’s entire reign and Dorian’s prophecies had sent Solon to Cenaria at the time of Sijuron Tofusin’s death. They hadn’t been close; Sij was a decade older than he was, but Solon’s memories of him were pleasant. Apparently, Oshobi’s weren’t.
Solon said, “That’s a tough one, Oshibi.”
Oshobi flicked the butt of his trident at Solon’s head. Solon caught the haft squarely in his hand and looked at the Mikaidon contemptuously.
“I’ll walk,” Solon said. His heart was turning to lead. During Sijuron’s reign, Solon had been crisscrossing Midcyru with Dorian and Feir, searching for Curoch, so he hadn’t been surprised that he hadn’t heard much from home. And then, when he’d concealed his own identity and headed to Cenaria to serve one of Dorian’s prophecies, he hadn’t told anyone back home where he was going. But now, the silence seemed ominous. And in the years since, he hadn’t been able to dispel his ignorance. From the necessity of keeping his identity secret, Solon had avoided all Sethi he saw, and those who saw him spotted the lack of clan rings and avoided him as an exile. But even the usual news one might hear from foreigners had mostly been lacking, as though the Sethi people hadn’t wanted to share anything with outsiders.
But as they made their way to the castle, Solon soaked in the scents and sights of his old home and some of his tension eased. This land was balm to him. He’d forgotten how much he’d missed the red hills of Agrigolay. As the Mikaidon’s stout, four-wheeled chariot rolled up the cobblestone road to the imperial palace, Solon’s eyes were drawn to the west. As in most cities, the approach to the palace was jammed with buildings, homes, and shops as densely as possible. But in Seth, only the eastern side of the Imperial Way
had buildings. The west side was centuries-old vineyards, rolling over the hills in perfect rows as far as the eye could see. The grapes hung heavy on the vine, and there were men checking their ripeness. The harvest would be any day.
Most kingdoms required their lords to offer a certain number of men for war every summer. In Seth, the levies were needed in fall, for the grapes. Already, Solon saw, enormous broad baskets had been stacked at the ends of the rows. There was no need for walls to protect the vineyards. The wines of Seth were its pride and its life’s blood. No Sethi citizen would harm the vines, nor suffer a stranger to do so, and the theft of cuttings from these vines had precipitated war between Seth and Ladesh. The loss of half a dozen ships had been counted a small price when they successfully sank the Ladeshian merchantman that was carrying the cuttings back to Ladesh to begin rival vineyards, along with its escort. Ladesh had its silk monopoly, but anyone who wanted great wine bought it from Seth.
To Solon, like most Sethi, the vineyards were rich not only with beauty but also with meaning. The cycle of planting and grafting and pruning and nurturing and waiting—all resonated with meaning for every citizen.
They came over the last rise and Solon saw WhitecliffCastle for the first time in twelve years. It was white marble, a testament to the vast wealth the empire had enjoyed at its height: no white marble was quarried on the islands, and shipping it across an ocean was so expensive that every time Solon saw the castle he was awed and almost ashamed of his ancestors’ wastefulness. Outbuildings, smithies, barracks, servants’ housing, barns, kennels, granaries, and storehouses ringed the hill cheek by jowl within the granite walls, but the crown of the hill was all castle. Steps broad enough for horses led up the first tier into the outer hall. The outer hall had a roof but no walls, leaving it oddly open to the elements. Enormous grooved marble pillars held a majestic roof of marble, onyx, and stained glass.
At the base of the steps, Oshobi drew his team to a halt. “Are