Doravan found that as long as he avoided Amalla, he could fool everyone else. Whenever he got a convinced smile from the king or his uncle, his gut twisted.

  I’m not a conman, he reminded himself. This is just until the threat of the Hoarder is gone.

  But then what?

  He decided to think about that when all of this was over.

  Leading up to the Conqueror’s Feast, he reported all of the coins he distributed to his uncle. He did keep some in his chambers, just in case the king came looking. After a full day of quietly distributing small sacks of gold to a village some hour away from the castle, Doravan sat behind a thatch hut. He listened to the large family inside whispering and squeaking; he tried to hand the coins to those who reminded him of the way he grew up, never sure where the next meal would come from or how long he would be without shoes after he outgrew a pair.

  He smiled as he listened.

  “Does the king know you’re doing this?”

  Doravan frowned and closed his eyes. “What are you doing here, Shen’al?”

  Shen’al leaped down from the roof of the house. “Babysitting you. You’re breaking at least three laws right now.”

  “You would have Eremis let these people starve while his coffers glitter?” Doravan snorted. “I was wrong. You’re just as greedy as he is. You know, you should really go bother someone else. Don’t you have a permanent companion to find? Some human who will earn some kind of magic from you?”

  “Later. You have to tell the king. You know what happens if he finds out?” Shen’al ducked to the ground, gesturing for Doravan to mount him.

  Doravan shouldered his empty sack. “I hate flying.” He started walking down the road, back towards the castle.

  “You’re slow,” Shen’al whined, trotting up to his side. “You are risking everything by doing this. If you ever want to be appointed in your uncle’s place, you have to do what he tells you. It’s kind of hard to keep the ledgers with no head attached to your neck.”

  “Who says I want to take my uncle’s place?”

  “Wait a minute.” Shen’al blocked Doravan’s path. Doravan tried to step around him, but Shen’al wrapped his tail around Doravan’s torso. Doravan winced, realizing he had made a mistake. “Is that a lie, too? You … don’t want to become the treasurer of Mengor?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Doravan knew Shen’al probably wouldn’t let him backtrack, but he had to try. Even Shen’al wasn’t ready to hear the truth. Doravan sighed. “Nothing is working, and I feel that I won't inherit Uncle's title at this rate. I won't have earned it.”

  His ploy worked. Shen’al’s expression softened, and he stepped out of Doravan’s way. “You did mess up,” the dragon said. “But you can always make it right again.”

  “By dying, yes.”

  Shen’al sighed. “No wonder you aren’t coming clean. You’re thinking of the worst case scenario.”

  “And what scenario are you thinking of?”

  “Eremis likes you, remember?” Shen’al scooped Doravan off the ground and began galloping down the dirt path. Doravan yelled in protest and tried to wriggle free; the way the ground zoomed beneath his feet made his heart stop.

  “And your uncle’s bark is worse than his bite!” Shen’al yelled over his pounding claws and the rushing wind. “He cares about you too much to throw you away over a lie!”

  Doravan shrank into Shen’al’s claw, struggling not to vomit. “Obviously you have no idea how much honesty matters to my uncle,” he muttered.

  Shen’al cut the travel time to less than twenty minutes. Doravan hadn’t been planning to be back until after the sun went down, and he dreaded seeing Amalla.

  “Speak of the devil,” he whispered as she came out of the castle gate to greet them.

  “Doravan.” Amalla ran up to him. His legs wobbled when Shen’al set him back on solid ground, and his stomach churned. He frowned at the dragon, who just grinned.

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  “Doravan,” the princess repeated. “We don’t need a new plan. The Conqueror’s Feast will not be held here.”

  Doravan dropped his sack, his heart rate escalating. The king might expect all of his gold back if they didn’t need to deceive Uncle Vimos anymore. “What are you talking about? Is it canceled?”

  Amalla shook her head. “I was trying to talk Eremis into letting you give away the gold. I told him it would be suspicious for him to say that he had distributed his wealth. Any other monarch would look outside and see that things are still desperate for some families right now.” She sighed. “He has decided to hold the Conqueror’s Feast in five days–and not here. He wants to do it in the capital of Shyyda.”

  Doravan frowned. Shyyda had been Mengor’s most formidable and dangerous neighbor for decades. “That sounds … risky.”

  “He wants to bring them gifts so that the Hoarder will attack them, not us.”

  Shen’al nudged Doravan. “See? This is the kind of scenario I was thinking of. Mengor will be safe, you won't lose the respect of your uncle or the trust of the king, and you even get to keep your head.”

  Doravan grinned. “Of course. Ideal. Thank you for notifying me, Princess.” His stomach twisted. As perfect as this sounded, something felt off. Was Eremis onto him? Were they going to be attacked in Shyyda?

  “You, your dragon, and Vimos are responsible for preparing and guarding the gifts,” Amalla said. “We leave at first light.”

  “He's not my dragon,” Doravan protested, but Amalla was already walking away.

  Shen’al shuffled and kicked the ground. “What do you mean, I’m not your dragon? We’ve been friends for eight years.”

  “We’ve been friends for five years, and you’ve never offered me any magical abilities. You haven’t declared me as a companion, so I’m trying not to get attached.” Doravan hefted his sack over his shoulder and walked into the castle.

  “Well, we’ve known each other for eight years. And who says I won’t select you as my human companion?” Shen’al followed Doravan inside. “Maybe I just need some time to think.”

  Doravan stood in the threshold of his room and turned around. “That’s a long time to think, Shen’al. Maybe I’m just not the human for you.” He shut his door before Shen’al could protest.

  He sighed and set his sack down. Now he would need to pack it for the journey in the morning.

  Shen’al had been following him awfully closely lately. Doravan hoped for the first few years after Vimos took him in that Shen’al would choose him, that they would be official companions and Doravan would be known throughout the continent as a Dragon Mage. He had no talent with magic, and no history with it–but then, no one did. Not anymore.

  Not unless a dragon chose them and gifted them with magical abilities.

  Doravan lifted a necklace chain from inside of his shirt. There were two plain silver keys on the chain. He lifted the larger key and unlocked the top drawer of his desk. The drawer was deep, but only one old maroon book sat at the bottom. He picked up the book and unlatched it with his smaller key.

  He sat on his bed and flipped through the pages. It started with just chicken scratch from over a decade ago, and his eyes passed over familiar passages: “Father gave this to me. It’s the only gift he’s ever given me. He’s back on the bottle now, but I still love this book.” “My parents have been gone for three days. I’m almost out of food, and I’m scared.” “Father never told me we were related to royalty. My uncle Veemose–or Vimoss or something–works at the palace.”

  As Doravan flipped deeper into the book, it turned from journal entries to elegant plans. He stopped at the first plan page.

  “How I will become a Dragon Mage.”

  Doravan ripped out the page, crumpled it up, and threw it over his desk. The plan continued for multiple pages, and he ripped those out too.

  For how much Shen’al pestered him about lying, the dragon himself was a liar. He had been following Doravan for five years. And now, when the princess assumed they were companions and Doravan told her they weren’t, Shen’al had gotten offended.

  “Dragons,” he muttered. It pained him to throw that plan away, but dragons were disappearing and he had bigger things to think about. If Shen’al wasn’t going to pick him up, no other dragon would come along quickly enough.

  The entire middle third of Doravan’s book was filled with elaborate notes on economics and infrastructure, politics and family planning. He knew it was foolhardy to do so, but he had titled the plan “Mengor Coup.”

  Doravan flipped through the book, admiring his elaborate and detailed plan. Once he overthrew Eremis, he would change everything. No one would be poor or starving anymore. The Hoarder would no longer be a threat. No drunkard like his father would ever be able to become a parent. No children would be beaten, and no one would be scared of outside enemies. There would be no war.

  He picked up a bone pen and added a note to the end of his plan.

  “The plan needs to be shortened. Eremis is ruining Mengor too quickly, and soon the Hoarder will destroy it.”

  He tapped his lip with the pen. He had already made the plan efficient; cutting it would be risky.

  “Eliminate getting the king’s trust. We already have that. Get Amalla’s trust instead. She is the heir to the throne.”

  She knew Doravan had lied to the king, and he could never lie to her. How would he get her trust?

  Doravan locked his book and put it back in the drawer, which he also locked. He pulled on the handle to make sure the drawer would not open. He laid on his bed. He would find a way.