Kieran Nightshade stood at the servants' gate of the castle his family once ruled. Graceful towers rose above him, their windows glowing blue against the night. His grandfather had died in one of those towers, poisoned by the usurper who now sat the shadow throne. Kieran had come back to take it. But the guards at the gate did not know his face, and he carried no crown, no army, no proof. He pressed the black ring on his finger. The obsidian caught the tower light and threw it back, dark and glassy. This ring had belonged to every ruler of his bloodline. It was the one thing the usurper's men had failed to find the night they burned his mother's rooms. Inside a low stone hall, a dozen loyalists gathered by lantern light. Kieran had spent three months finding them. He held up the ring. "You know this seal," he said. "You served the ones who wore it." An old woman leaned close. She had a captain's scar across her jaw. "I've seen ten men wear stolen rings," she said. "A ring is metal. Anyone can steal metal. Show me blood, or leave." The others muttered. Some turned to go. Kieran felt the room slipping from him. Without these people he had nothing but a name no one believed. So he reached into his cloak and drew out the second heirloom: a carved gray stone marked with a binding sigil. He set it on the table. "This stone burns a liar," he said. "Your own kings used it. Watch." He pressed his palm flat against the etched lines. "I am Kieran Nightshade, true heir of this court, and this ring is mine by blood." The sigil woke. Green light crawled through the carved grooves. Kieran's hand grew hot, then hotter, and he clenched his teeth to keep from pulling away. If the stone found a lie, it would sear his palm black. He held it. The light steadied. It did not burn him. It ran up his arm and wrapped the obsidian ring, and for one moment the two glowed as one. Then the stone went dark and cold. The old captain stared. She lowered herself to one knee. Slowly, the others followed, until the whole hall knelt on the cold floor. "Forgive us, my lord," she said. "The stone does not lie." Kieran breathed out. He had them now. But the captain lifted her head, and her face was not glad. "You should know what you've done," she said. "That stone hums when it wakes. The usurper keeps witches who listen for it. By morning he will know an heir with the true blood walks the court again. He will send men to end you before you can gather more." Kieran looked at the kneeling loyalists. He had proved his claim. He had also told his enemy exactly where to strike.