They dipped through the entrance and veered toward a narrow staircase, which was bright with the cold, impassive light of a series of glow bulbs recessed into the walls above the polished, oak railing. At its height, it opened onto a small, well-lit chamber whose ceiling was obscured by a system of copper bells, pulleys and cloth streamers. Each streamer was inked with a name.

  A series of benches y against tiled walls, and two doors rested parallel to each other at opposite ends of the room. One led into the byrinth of pace halls where the nobility too inconsequential to be invited to this audience were undoubtedly gathered, waiting to catch the very slightest glimpse of the emperor and his party when they arrived. The other led into the Grand Hall, which was reserved for the receptions of only the most important dignitaries throughout the Empire. The st time it had been in use was two years previous, when the Immortal Lord of Ash Isnd, far to the north, had come to call upon their queen.

  Lance located his name on a streamer, and Ben’s situated next to it.

  He thought of the terror that had awoken him in the night. The spirit—so unlike Lothor, so pyful—had known him. Had remembered him from a time before the pace, and that dream. If it was a memory, he may not be the lone survivor in his family. There may be a sister somewhere out there waiting for him.

  He was not sure what to think about it. A sister he would never meet did not change the nature of his life. He was here, had no idea where to find her, and could not leave the pace besides. What good did remembering her do, if the memory of her had no tangible impact? If he could but explore the meaning of a traumatic event which felt so impersonal, even as it settled in his mind’s eye, a challenge to the narrative he had long known as truth?

  They found seats between two servants on a long bench. He knew their faces, but he had never spoken to either of them. They sat with just enough space between them to accommodate two others, and refused to look at each other.

  Ben leaned into his ear, spoke low so that neither of them would hear. “They dated. It didn’t end well.”

  Lance made casual observation of both of them in his periphery. He did not want them knowing he was looking them over, spinning a tale that might fit with their circumstances, their demeanor.

  The girl’s bell rang. She got up and exited through the entrance into the Grand Hall, toting a small pte with a burnished, bronze lid. A number of others left with her; their bells having sounded.

  The boy sighed. “Women. You’d think they would let go eventually.”

  Lance tried to ignore him, but he kept talking. He was attractive enough, with straight, umber hair, and dark circles under his eyes that gave him the appearance of someone aloof and mysterious.

  “You know, we didn’t even date that long. It was three months. She was so possessive, and well I…it doesn’t matter.” He said. “The point is she’s crazy. She put a live rat in my bed, you know…”

  Lance let the boy’s grousing wash over him. He was aware of the rat situation. Rumors spread rapidly among the servants, especially those younger, but he did not know what possessed her to go so far. There must be a reason. After all, it was not in the nature of people to seek petty revenge of that magnitude over something trivial.

  He suspected the boy had cheated on her. He was not alone in that belief.

  Ben squeezed his hand, and the boy pressed on until their bells rang, twin chimes, for the first time.

  Their bells rang for the second time, as the boy pressed on. Ben interrupted.

  “I’m sorry, but that’s us.”

  The boy nodded. “Thanks for the company.”

  He sprang to his feet, the wooden box in hand. Lance followed him through the servant’s entrance to the Grand Hall.

  It didn’t just dwarf the Small Hall, it eclipsed it. A series of skylights ran the length of the ceiling, shedding light on a wine-red carpet that ran the length of the room. Pilrs held up copses to either side of the central pass. Everything was done in granite and gold—floors, pilrs, walls…even the ceiling. A pair of double doors with an intricate knot worked to look like five creatures chasing after each other was the only exception, and that made of smooth, poured stone. The creatures were the Five Saints from story and myth—a peacock; a wyvern; a great, whiskered serpent; a falcon; and a fox with nine tails.

  Together, they represented the endless passage of time, and all of the change that came with it. The first mortals believed they were real, but Imperial wisdom said otherwise.

  The throne rested beyond the reach of the st beams shed from those skylights, alluding to its owner’s title, her association with shadows. At no audience was the queen ever in direct light. Tradition in Shadovane mandated that she never touch the light in the presence of those who came before her.

  The throne itself was a forbidding thing. Its back and sides were petrified wood gleaming in an array of vibrant colors. Amethysts dripped from its twisted branches, and threads of fine silk connected the thickest bows high above the queen’s head—a spider’s web and a porcein spider nestled into it. Its abdomen was the rgest amethyst of them all.

  No one but the queen herself could have sat that throne without being consumed by it. The throne was magnificent, but it cked the subtlety of her beauty. She was the diamond in the dross that was her domain. Her skin was pale as porcein, her dark-as-night eyes framed by thick, dark fans. Her nose was a subtle prominence over full lips stained so dark they were almost bck, and her buxom, curvy frame was more than even Lady Therien—known for her beauty if for nothing else—could cim.

  The high nobility gathered to either side of the carpet running from the great, heavy doors to her seat, dressed in their finest, taking refreshment from a number of servants, pretending not to see her. She drowned their grandeur, cast it away behind the veil of her perfection.

  Following Ben’s example, Lance made his approach on sure feet. His guts roiled inside of him, but he kept the worst of his nerves off his face and hoped none of it showed that she could see. They crossed from the pilrs behind her throne, and knelt at her hands. He kept his eyes forward as he removed the lid and held it behind his back, offering the tray to her armrest in silence.

  She peered at it, plucked a green grape from the vine and slipped it past her lips.

  Am I doing this right? Mistress Dina had said not to talk, but as he watched the queen, he thought he should say something. Anything was better than complete silence.

  Two guards stood at Queen Meredith’s fnks. They were both members of the Council of Liam. Near Lance, boxing him in, was Lord Aren—his hair almost completely silver, his cheeks pooling under his chin, with sharp, silver eyes that seemed to see everything at once. The other was Lord Elise, whose own eyes projected a kind of slow madness, a disquieting rage. He was younger than any of the other seats on the Council of Liam, having risen high in a very short time.

  Lance thought back to a conversation in the armory, how Lord Han had been reluctant to send any servant to him, and realized that he could believe the Councilman capable killing someone over almost nothing.

  Lord Elise was a time bomb. He wore an easy smile that contrasted with the darkness lurking behind his eyes, bringing that madness out even further.

  Both men wore the pte armor that all of the Bloodless did—made to look as if smoke had been forged into the metal, with bck and violet sashes wrapped around the waist and spaulders crafted to resemble the heads of ravens.

  Lance made a point not to look directly at either of them.

  “Lord Elise?” the queen said. “You will have to have someone take these children’s trays back to the kitchens.”

  “Theodora!” he shouted.

  A girl froze with her pte held out to a nobleman dressed in bck silks. She scurried to the throne.

  “Take their trays back to the kitchens.” If she was afraid, she didn’t show it. She took Lance’s burden from him, moved over to take up Ben’s as well, and rushed off toward the shadows and safety.

  “Thank you.” The queen said. She turned toward Lance. He averted his gaze. “Fear not, young one. All of these other servants will be dismissed shortly. The emperor will want the hall cleared. He is greater than any king or lord, and the forms must be respected, for propriety’s sake.

  “Still, I cannot be seen to have no one at hand. Should the need arise, you will take up whatever duty he desires, though I think he will not need you.”

  A shiver ran up Lance’s spine. He savored her words, hoping beyond hope he had not misunderstood her. I’m to serve…him?

  He met Ben’s gaze, saw the subtle grin spread across his lips, there and gone in a fsh. There was the edge of envy there, as well, a softer kind, for he must want to be seen in this hall like him. Seen by this impossible creature.

  Even if his services were not needed, that meant staying through the entire audience. He considered that this honor should have gone to someone older, wiser, with more experience under his belt. It would have made far more sense to select someone who had, at least, gone through their test and set onto their life’s path. But he wasn’t going to compin, nor was he going to point any of this out to his queen. He intended to bask in this moment, and remember it for all of his life.