"It ssseemsss the king hasss sssent for the Princesss Irayan. It isss ssshe who will rule the kingdom in hisss adsssence, not ye, massster."

Theobold ground his teeth together in frustration at this news. He had not considered Kroydon would send for the brat, Irayan. "How did ye hear about this?" he demanded.

"I have earsss in many placesss, massster," the Creotin hissed. "Lassst night, the king ssspoke of hisss daughter arriving within a fortnight. Ssshe comesss quickly, it ssseemsss."

"Aye, so it would appear," Theobold admitted, standing up and walking back to the alter. "I thank ye for this information. I will send a reward down to ye, later." There was a slithering sound in the darkness that faded, then silence.

"So, Irayan will return to the fold, eh?" he spoke aloud. This might not be so bad, after all, he thought. She had been barely eight years old when her mother died and Kroydon shipped her off to be raised by his royal sister, who was then recently married to the king of Bowatsland. What a barbaric and isolated land that was, he mused. The little princess could not have been given much in the way of training to be a monarch in such a place, especially considering the fact that she was a female. Almost two years older than Valyrae, she would be nearing twenty, now. Yes, she will be ripe for taking under me wing, Theobold thought, smiling to himself. She will certainly be more easily influenced than her brother had been. "Perhaps this will work out for the best, after all," he said, a wicked smile playing across his thin face.

To be continued...