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woman, it was impossible to tell – drifted across the floor towards the dais.
    “Father,” said Felix, “won’t the rest of them cause trouble for us?”
    “Barbarians that they are, I don’t think even they’re quite as stupid as to ignore just how flat pressing makes a man.” Gerhard rose from his throne and bowed. The white-swathed head dipped briefly. “Your presence honours us, as always.”
    Again, the slight movement of the head to acknowledge the prince’s will, then the figure walked off, stage right, back into the shadows. A door clicked and creaked, then shut with an echo.
    Gerhard couldn’t tell if there had been a real person underneath the concealment, or whether the clothes were merely animated. No concern of his really. He gave them the peace to pursue their studies, and half the palatinate’s taxes. In return, their power shielded the land more certainly than any standing army. Like the tree and the mistletoe, they sheltered within his branches and made his rule sacred.
    Or was it the other way around?
    “Trommler?”
    “Yes, my lord?”
    “We could do with keeping an eye on the Teutons, just to make sure.”
    “Master Büber is in town. I’ll have him fetched to the castle.” Trommler trotted off, leaving the prince and his son alone.
    “So,” said the prince. “What did you think of that, boy?”
    “You’re really going to press him?” Felix looked at his hands.
    “Yes. He deserves nothing less, and it’ll keep his stinking brothers away from Carinthia at no extra effort to us. They can do what they like to Bavaria or Wien. My people are my concern.”
    “And you’re going to watch?”
    “Gods, have you really never been to a pressing before? That’s a gap in your education, one which we can happily fill by the end of the day.” Gerhard saw the boy grow white-lipped. “This is what princes do, Felix. They hold the power of life and death in their hands, and the sooner you realise that, the sooner you’ll be ready to take my place, on this throne.”
    Felix glanced sharply around.
    “Oh, I’ve a few years left in me yet. You won’t be expected to assume these duties until you’re ready. Now get down there” – Gerhard nodded at the space in front of the dais – “and show me your hews.”
    The boy reluctantly hopped down off the platform, and pulled out his longsword. The blade rang as he freed it from its scabbard, and as he moved into his roof guard position the edge of the steel glowed with a subtle blue light.
    Felix held his stance, concentrated on his breathing, and, when he was ready, swung the point of the sword down and away, dancing lightly on his feet to execute a squinting hew, then again into a part hew. He pressed forward strongly, the tip always in motion as he slipped from one attack to the next, ending each move with the appropriate guard before bringing the blade around again.
    When he reached the end of the dais, he retreated as if facing a stronger opponent, switching from guard to guard as the imaginary blows rained down on his slight form.
    He was pink with effort by the time he reached his starting point.
    “Not bad, boy. Not bad at all.” Gerhard pushed his sleeves up. “Let me show you how to do that in battle.”

4
    Still completely covered by her Order’s white robe, Nikoleta Agana left the fortress by the little-used Snake’s Passage, and took the steep steps down to the riverside. Her soft shoes and billowing skirts made it look like she was floating. She could do that: her superiors hadn’t even had to ink her and teach her levitation, as she’d arrived at the novices’ house already able to fly. For her, it was as natural as breathing.
    But she liked to walk. She enjoyed the feeling of stone under her heels, of grit against the soles of her feet, the meaningful stretch and ache of muscles as she moved. Some of her fellow adepts took it as a weakness, but after a bout of spell and counter-spell, it was they who were left dizzy