“What’s that?” Jason asked.

“It arrived for you tonight after the attempted assassination.”

Dolan handed the envelope across the table. Jason opened it, removing a cream-colored card inscribed with silver lettering.

MY ESTEEMED LORD JASON,

YOUR PRESENCE IS HUMBLY REQUESTED AT THE ETERNAL FEAST AT YOUR SOONEST CONVENIENCE. A GLORIOUS BANQUET WILL BE HELD IN YOUR HONOR UPON THE DAY OF YOUR ARRIVAL. BE ASSURED THAT HARTHENHAM CASTLE PERMANENTLY STANDS UPON NEUTRAL TERRITORY AS FAR AS ALL POLITICAL MATTERS ARE CONCERNED. MANY DWELL HERE HAPPILY WHO, LIKE YOU, OPENLY OPPOSED OUR IMPERIAL LEADERSHIP IN TIMES PAST. ALLOW ME TO PERSONALLY ENCOURAGE YOU TO SEIZE THIS RARE OPPORTUNITY TO REST FROM YOUR STRUGGLES FOR A TIME AS MY HONORED GUEST. MAY MY HOME EVER BE YOUR HAVEN.

YOUR SINCERE ADMIRER,

Duke Conrad of Harthenham

The signature at the bottom carried a bit more flourish than the rest of the words. Jason reread the message.

Licking his lips, Dolan extended a hand. “May I see it?” Jason gave him the card. The regent studied the message, shaking his head. “I have never beheld an actual invitation to the Eternal Feast.”

“I’ve heard of the Eternal Feast.”

The regent shot him a sharp glance. “Who hasn’t? It is merely paradise visiting the mortal world. A fortress against all concerns. A sanctuary of endless delights. Those invited are pardoned of all crimes, and they live out their days in careless luxury.”

“Sounds like being a king.”

“In many ways superior to kingship. A king has duties. Enemies. Fears.” Dolan spoke like a man beholding a vision. “Those who dine at the Eternal Feast know hardship only as a memory.”

“Have you gone there?” Jason asked.

“I would not be here if I had. None return.”

“Foul play?”

“Quite the contrary. None who are invited ever choose to leave. Who would surrender paradise?”

“Have you been invited?”

“Alas, no,” Dolan sighed. “The emperor needs me here.”

“The invitation is from Maldor?”

“Indirectly. The emperor sponsors the feast. Conrad hosts it. You are most fortunate, Jason. You need not fear Copernum or any man ever again.”

Jason held out a hand, and the regent returned the card. “So the feast is a prison.”

Dolan chuckled. “In a sense, perhaps. A voluntary prison where none complain. Would that I could live out my days in similar incarceration.”

Jason nodded. The ploy was obvious. The feast was a permanent bribe allowing Maldor to get rid of enemies. Still, the prospect of being out of danger was attractive. If he was stuck in some other reality, why not ditch his concerns and live a life of luxury? Nicholas had recommended that this should be his real goal. But if he caved and went to the feast, how would he ever get home? And what would happen to Rachel?

Glancing at the syllable over the door, Jason sighed. Maldor was evil. The men who worked for him were evil. The Eternal Feast might simply be another trap. How could anyone know how great it was if nobody ever returned? Besides, the fact that the invitation had been issued meant that Maldor was getting worried. He should be! Jason already had half of the Word that could destroy him.

Jason stared down at the map. He could not abandon the quest. He had another good lead, and Whitelake was not too far off. He could not abandon Rachel. He could not give up on getting home. He could not betray the trust Galloran had placed in him. Ferrin was waiting. Jason placed the card back into the envelope. He would hang on to the invitation. If he was ever cornered, perhaps he could save himself by accepting it.

“This is an amazing offer,” Jason said. “Can I take a day to consider it? I need some time to think it over.”

“Certainly. Jason, there is no shame in accepting this invitation. Should you abdicate, Copernum will be reinstated, and the kingdom will prosper. Be twice warned: Openly crossing Copernum, whether or not you feel certain he was behind the attempted assassination, will likely bring ruination. Let it go. In your position I would relinquish the chancellorship and join the feast. Any sane man would do likewise. You will be remembered as a daring lord and chancellor emeritus as you live out your days in blissful opulence.”

Jason nodded. “I hear you. Is that all for now?”

The regent passed Jason a slip of parchment with seven pairs of symbols. “This is yours.”

“The combination to the lorevault,” Jason said.

“You are free to study here at will. The combination is not the same as it was yesterday. Should you resign, the combination will change again.”

“I may need a coach,” Jason said. “A way to travel.”

“I take your meaning,” the regent said, relief in his tone. “I can have a coach made ready within the hour, along with a tight-lipped driver. Should you elect to depart, no man would blame you.”

Some would, Jason added silently. Just not the sort you work with. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Less than two hours later, with the sun rising, Jason stretched out in the compartment of a fine coach, the outside lacquered a shiny black and decorated with silver filigree, pulled by six powerful horses. He wore traveling clothes. On the cushioned seat beside him were provisions prepared by his cook, and some of the courtly attire he had worn as Lord Jason. His rings and mantle were stashed away, the rings in his cloak, the mantle rolled up with the rest of his gaudy apparel.

Jason moved the curtain to peer out as the coach descended the steep ramp down the plateau, then leaned back and closed his eyes. He could hardly believe he was leaving the stress and intrigues of Trensicourt behind. He hoped Rachel would have the sense to make her way to the Stumbling Stag. He didn’t know how to contact her.

Once the coach leveled out, Jason became more comfortable and tried to doze. The jostling of the coach prevented him at first, but eventually fatigue won the contest.

When the coachman, a diminutive, knobby fellow, shook him awake, they were stopped outside a tavern. Jason rubbed his eyes. The sign over the door showed a deer with forked antlers.

Jason instructed the coachman to wait for him, and climbed out of the compartment onto the packed dirt of the street. Ferrin leaned in the doorway. “Come inside, Lord Jason,” the displacer said with a sweeping bow.

“Don’t say my name so loudly,” Jason muttered in a low voice as he drew near. “We don’t want to stand out.”

“Oh,” Ferrin replied in an equally cautious tone. “Then you might want to rethink the elaborate carriage bearing the royal crest. Would you prefer I address you as chancellor?”