That night they found the traitor.
A young sailor attempted to throw a signal lantern overboard.
The Captain caught him.
Under questioning, the man admitted the Regent had threatened his family.
He had been ordered to light the lantern each night so raiders could follow.
The Prince expected execution.
The Captain drew his sword.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked toward the boy.
The Captain said, “He betrayed the ship.”
“I know.”
“Men died.”
“I know.”
The sailor trembled.
The Prince looked at him.
“Where is your family?”
The man swallowed.
“Capital.”
“Who has them?”
“I don’t know.”
The Prince turned toward the Captain.
“If we kill everyone the Regent frightens into obeying him, we’ll do half his work.”
The Old Archer watched silently.
The Captain’s jaw tightened.
“What punishment?”
“Chain him below until we return.”
“And after?”
“We ask my mother.”
The Captain studied the boy.
Then sheathed his sword.
“Very well.”
Later the Old Archer found the Prince alone near the prow.
“You were afraid.”
The boy looked at him.
“When?”
“Giving that order.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The Prince frowned.
The old man smiled.
“Remember what your father taught you.”
The fifth morning revealed land.
Black cliffs rose from the sea like broken teeth.
The Captain pointed.
“The Black Star.”
No harbor appeared.
Only volcanic walls.
The Prince examined the bow.
Three waves.
Sun.
Broken crown.
Arrow.
They circled the island until dawn struck the eastern side.
Sun.
The Prince looked toward where the first sunlight touched rock.
“There.”
A narrow opening appeared beneath the cliff.
Three waves broke before it.
The galley entered carefully.
Inside was a hidden lagoon.
Ruins stood along the shore.
Columns.
Collapsed walls.
A stone crown carved above a gate, split down the middle by an old earthquake.
Broken crown.
The Prince’s heart raced.
They landed.
Thirty soldiers spread through the ruins.
No one.
Only birds.
Wind.
And old bones.
The Prince approached the cracked gate.
At its center was a narrow circular hole.
The size of an arrow shaft.
He looked at the final symbol.
Arrow.
The Old Archer whispered, “Your father.”
The Prince removed an arrow.
Inserted it.
Nothing.
He frowned.
The Old Archer looked at the King’s bow.
“Not the arrow.”
The Prince understood.
He examined the bow carefully.
One golden thread around the grip could be loosened.
Beneath it lay a thin bronze pin shaped like an arrow.