“Second Law of Thermodynamics: Heat can never pass from a colder to a warmer body without some other change occurring. It is impossible to convert heat from a single source into work without other effects. In any irreversible process, the entropy of the universe always increases.” Alaric carefully copied the law onto a sheet of paper, writing in the script of this world. At a glance, the characters resembled a writhing nest of earthworms. He still couldn't fathom how the locals managed to learn so many varied and complicated symbols. If asked which of the numerous physical laws was most likely to induce despair, Alaric would choose the second law of thermodynamics. It was a bleak pronouncement that all heat flows from high to low, that order inevitably decays into disorder, that entropy always increases. Eventually, everything must end in the cold silence of heat death, a universe rendered inert and meaningless. But this world had broken free from the tyranny of entropy. It could conjure magic from nothing, a feat far more impressive than some theoretical perpetual motion machine. Forces of evil? Alaric scoffed. The people of this world had no idea of the true nature of this power, a force so enormous it could reshape the universe itself. Of course, for now, he would have to start by reshaping this small border town. Humming a tune, Alaric tore the paper from his desk and tossed it into the fireplace. He watched it curl into ash, feeling the distinct pleasure of a prisoner breaking out of his cage. The Assistant Minister, Balthazar, shot the fourth prince a sidelong glance, baffled by his inexplicable actions. Fortunately for Alaric, the original Prince Alaric had been a creature of bizarre whims, so Balthazar ultimately dismissed it. The prince was enjoying himself, and that was that. “The execution has been carried out. The ‘witch’ was hanged at noon,” Balthazar reported. “Good. Did anyone see?” Alaric asked without looking up from his writing. “No matter. All the condemned wear hoods.” To keep the Holy Church and the meddlesome Ashen Covenant from his door, Alaric had ordered the dungeon warden to find a female prisoner of a similar build to stand in for Anna on the gallows. The Knight Commander, the Assistant Minister, and everyone else who had been in the dungeon with him had been paid twenty gold royals for their silence—a staggering sum for any of them. Balthazar had even suggested killing all the witnesses, arguing they could never keep their silence forever, but Alaric had rejected the idea. He knew he couldn’t keep the secret contained, but that didn’t matter. In fact, he wanted the word to spread, just not yet. A falling-out with the Church was inevitable; those idiots preached an intolerance that squandered a magnificent resource. On the other hand, what would happen when other witches heard whispers of a border town where they could live freely, even receive preferential treatment? No matter the era, talent was the most important resource of all. “Then everything is in order,” Alaric said. “Next, the tariffs, taxes, and expenditures for the year. You gave me a summary, but I want to see the full ledgers. Furthermore, I need a list of all the workshops in the town—the forges, textile mills, potteries, and so on. Include their production numbers and sizes.” “I’ll need three days to prepare the records, Your Highness, but…” Balthazar nodded, then hesitated, his expression troubled. “What is it?” Alaric asked. He knew this was coming. This was the test. Everything he had done yesterday had been met with the assistant minister’s doubt. A scoundrel was a scoundrel, but a bad character didn’t mean a man was brainless. In Balthazar’s eyes, harboring a witch was tantamount to declaring war on the world. “Your Highness, I don’t understand,” Balthazar said, wrestling with the words. “In the past, your… troubles were always harmless. But now… to take such a risk, just to save one witch? The laws to hunt them were proclaimed by the Church, and even His Majesty Thorne the Third supports them.” Alaric considered for a moment, then asked, “Do you believe this border town is a good place?” “Ah, well…” Balthazar clearly didn’t see the relevance of the question. After a long pause, he answered truthfully. “No.” “It’s awful. Compared to my siblings in Aurelia, the City of Golden Harvests, or the Port of Clearwater, what do you think my chances are of winning the throne?” The assistant minister opened his mouth, but no answer came. “Almost zero,” Alaric continued, watching impassively as Balthazar walked step by step into his trap. “So I can only choose another path. A path that might even impress my father.” He knew better than to argue that witches weren’t evil. That would have little effect on a man like Balthazar, who had been the Assistant Minister of Finance for twenty years. For a politician, personal gain always outweighed abstract morality. An emotional appeal was also out of the question; the previous prince’s reputation was hardly that of a righteous man. So Alaric chose to play on the eternal conflict between religious and secular authority. The expanding power of the Holy Church was a constant thorn in the side of Thorne III. The Church claimed the world operated according to the will of God, and that the pope was God’s mortal voice. If the people discovered that voice was not only wrong, but a font of lies, the Church’s dominion would be shaken to its foundations. The plea “the witch isn’t evil, so I want to save her” would never sway the assistant minister. But reframing it as “she is not an evil witch, and I can use this to attack the Church”—that was a conclusion Balthazar could easily accept. “No matter how my brothers and sisters develop their territories, it all ends up enriching the Church. They have already trampled on the divine right of kings. If the pope is the only true ruler, then what are we? Are we the masters of this land, or are they?” Alaric paused for effect. “Even my father would have to place his hope in me. A leader who isn’t suppressed by the Holy Church, one who holds the true rights of a king… faced with that, his choice would be very clear.” Transforming “the enemy of the world” into “the enemy of the Church” made the proposition far more palatable, especially for a man like Balthazar, who stood firmly on the side of the royal family. “And if my father becomes aware of their extraordinary abilities, realizes they are the key to prying open the Church’s grip, then those execution orders will become nothing more than a paper joke. There’s no guarantee of success, but it isn’t impossible, either. Do you think I’m a risk worth taking?” Alaric leaned forward, staring at the assistant minister. “Don’t falter now, Balthazar. You’ve been an assistant minister for twenty years, haven’t you? If I become Thorne the Fourth, we can remove the word ‘assistant’. Or perhaps aim even higher. The Hand of the King has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” Watching Balthazar’s retreating back, Alaric let out a quiet sigh of relief. It was obvious the man didn’t fully believe his grand promises. That was normal; Alaric himself didn’t believe this hastily assembled, hubris-fueled plan could be realized so easily. But that wasn’t the point. The key was that Balthazar believed he believed it. It was exactly the sort of simple, ambitious plan a sheltered prince would devise, especially one known to despise the Church. And with that, the path to attracting more witches was paved. As for his real plans? Even if he told Balthazar, the old man would never be able to understand them. Alaric summoned a maid. “Fetch Miss Anna. Tell her I wish to see her.” The next part of his business, Alaric thought with a smile, would be the most enjoyable yet.

Chapter 5: Breaking the Second Law