William arrived the next morning, riding hard and looking deeply unhappy about it.
He dismounted with the expression of someone who'd swallowed something bitter and was being forced to keep it down.
"Lady Valerie," he said, bowing. Then, with considerably less warmth: "Lord Morvan."
"Thank you for coming," Valerie said.
"I'm not here for him. I'm here because your letter made it clear that this situation affects more than just his pride." He turned to me, his green eyes cold. "So let's be very clear: I'm going to help you not die against Thomas Valdris. But that doesn't mean I like you, forgive you, or consider us anything approaching friendly. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good. Now show me what you can do."
---
William's training methods made Valerie's seem gentle.
He attacked without warning, without mercy, exploiting every weakness with brutal efficiency. Within minutes, I was on the ground, his practice sword at my throat.
"Pathetic," he said. "Again."
We went again. Same result.
"Again."
And again.
"Again."
After the fifth time ending up in the dirt, I stayed down, gasping for air.
"This isn't working," I said.
"No, it's not. Because you're fighting like someone trying not to lose instead of someone trying to win." William offered me a hand up, which surprised me enough that I hesitated before taking it. "Thomas Valdris has won twelve duels. You know why?"
"Because he's powerful?"
"Because he's predictable. He uses the same patterns, the same tactics. Fire mages like him rely on overwhelming force—they build big spells, create spectacle, intimidate opponents into making mistakes." William reset his stance. "But that predictability is a weakness. If you can read his patterns, you can counter them."
"How?"
"By being unpredictable yourself. Don't fight fair. Don't fight with honor. Fight to survive." He attacked again, and this time I tried something different—instead of blocking, I dodged and went for his legs.
He still won, but it took him longer.
"Better," he acknowledged. "You're thinking. Now do it faster."
We continued through the morning. William was relentless, pushing me past exhaustion into some state beyond it where my body moved on pure instinct.
"You have no mana," he said during a brief water break. "That's actually an advantage against fire mages. They'll sense your level but assume you have weak magic they can counter. When you don't cast anything, they'll be confused. Use that confusion."
"How did you know I don't have mana?"
"I'm not an idiot. I've been watching you fight. You never channel energy, never prepare spells, nothing. Most people wouldn't notice, but I've fought enough mana-less warriors to recognize the signs." He studied me. "Why don't you have mana? Even the weakest nobles have some."
"I don't know," I lied. "It just... disappeared."
He looked like he didn't believe me, but he didn't push. "Doesn't matter. Work with what you have. Your sword work has improved—crude, but improving. And you're faster than you look."
From Valerie, who'd been observing: "He's been training daily for weeks."
"It shows. Not enough, but it shows." William turned back to me. "One more thing you need to know about Thomas Valdris. He's arrogant. Winning twelve duels has made him overconfident. He'll underestimate you, especially when he realizes you're not using magic."
"So I let him underestimate me?"
"You encourage it. Look intimidated. Hesitate. Make him think it'll be easy." William's expression was grim. "Then, when he overextends—and he will overextend—you make him pay for it."
---
We trained through the afternoon, pausing only briefly for food. William drilled specific scenarios into me: how to handle fire walls, how to advance through flame attacks, how to target a mage's concentration points.
"Fire mages need line of sight for directed attacks," he explained. "Break that line of sight, even for a second, and you create an opening. Use the arena environment—pillars, if there are any. The referee platform. Anything to disrupt his targeting."
Valerie added her own expertise: "Thomas fights for spectacle. He'll want to look impressive. Use that. Let him waste mana on flashy attacks that barely graze you. Make the crowd think he's winning while you're actually wearing him down."
"That's a dangerous game," Marcus observed.
"It's the only game Chase can play," William said bluntly. "He can't win on power. He can't win on experience. His only chance is to outlast Valdris, make him burn through mana, then capitalize when he's weakening."
By evening, I had something resembling a strategy. Not a good one. Not even a particularly smart one. But a strategy nonetheless.
William and I sat by the fire while Valerie discussed logistics with Marcus and Elena.
"You've improved," William said reluctantly. "Still not good enough, probably. But better than you were."
"High praise."
"Don't expect more." He was quiet for a moment. "I'm doing this for Lady Valerie, and for the kingdom. Not for you."
"I know."
"Do you? Because every time I look at you, I remember years of humiliation. Of being treated like dirt under your boots. And no amount of training or improvement erases that."
"I know," I said again. "And I'm not asking you to forget. Or forgive."
"Good. Because I won't." He stared into the fire. "But I will help you survive. Because you dying benefits no one except our enemies."
"Why do you care so much? About stability, the kingdom, all of it?"
He looked at me like I'd asked why water was wet. "Because someone has to. Because if people like me don't stand up for what's right, then people like you—the old you—win. And I'll be damned before I let that happen."
It was the most honest thing he'd ever said to me.
"For what it's worth," I said quietly, "I'm sorry. For everything I did. For the person I was. I know that doesn't fix anything, but—"
"You're right. It doesn't." He stood up. "But maybe, if you survive this duel, if you keep being the person you're trying to be, maybe one day it'll mean something."
He walked away before I could respond.
Valerie appeared a moment later, taking his place by the fire.
"That went better than expected," she said.
"He still hates me."
"But he's helping anyway. That's progress." She leaned against me. "How do you feel?"
"Like I'm about to walk into a fight I have no business being in."
"That's accurate." She kissed my cheek. "But you're going to do it anyway, because you're stubborn and brave and occasionally stupid."
"Only occasionally?"
"I'm being generous." She took my hand. "Tomorrow we reach the capital. Are you ready?"
"No. But I will be."
"That's all anyone can ask."
---
The next day, we broke camp early. William rode with us now, though he maintained a careful distance. Our expanded party made its way down the final stretch of road toward Aethon.
As we crested a hill at midday, the capital came into view.
It was exactly as the novel had described it—massive walls surrounding a sprawling city, towers rising above the skyline, the royal palace dominating the center like a crown jewel. Banners flew from every rampart. Even from this distance, I could see the crowds moving through the streets like rivers of humanity.
"Aethon," Valerie said softly. "Home to a million souls and a million schemes."
"Comforting."
"It's not meant to be comforting. It's meant to be reality." She squeezed my hand. "Whatever happens in there, whatever games they play, whatever challenges they throw at us—we face it together."
"Together," I agreed.
As our carriage rolled toward the capital gates, I thought about everything waiting for us there. Thomas Valdris and his inevitable challenge. The political maneuvering. The king's assessment. The threats both obvious and hidden.
And somewhere in that massive city, William Stone's destiny was unfolding. The hero's journey continuing, with me no longer a stepping stone but something else entirely.
An ally? An obstacle? Something in between?
I didn't know.
But I knew one thing for certain: the next chapter of this story was about to begin.
And unlike the novel, I had no idea how it would end.
The gates of Aethon opened before us, and we rode into whatever fate awaited.
Together.