The Silvered

Chapter Twelve

IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT when a sleepy page led Reiter to a room off another nondescript corridor, set the lamp he carried on the small shelf just inside the door, yawned, and said, “This is yours now, sir.”

Left alone, Reiter discovered everything he owned had already been brought over from the garrison and stored neatly—uniforms hung in the large wardrobe, small clothes folded in the drawers underneath, and his shaving kit set out on the washstand under the mirror. No musket. No pistol. No knife. Only the soldiers on guard carried weapons in the palace. He hoped his were still in the garrison armory.

After a day standing silent in a fluctuating cluster of distant relatives, sycophants, and courtiers—Tavert, the emperor’s mobile secretary had been the other person with him the entire day—Reiter was almost certain he’d rather have been court-martialed. Not to the point of execution, but a few years of hard labor had started to look good. If he’d been given Major Halyss’ old job, he was clearly missing something. But then, Major Halyss was Intelligence and he was Infantry, so that didn’t surprise him.

The room was about twice the size of his room back in the garrison’s officer quarters but shabbier, the furniture both worn and mismatched, probably salvaged when the rooms of those with higher rank were renovated. Besides the bed and wardrobe, there was a desk with a filled inkwell, three iron-nibbed pens and a pad of paper, and a fairly comfortable chair. The heavy brocade drapes covered a tiny window, the thick glass beaded with rain. Given the hour and the weather, he couldn’t tell what the window overlooked although he doubted he’d been given a room with a view. Too small to fit through, he supposed he should be thankful that if he couldn’t climb out, no one wandering the roof could climb in. On the wall across from the bed, a scuffed door led to a water closet so narrow his shoulders brushed the walls on either side.

Giving thanks the room was painted, not papered—in one day he’d seen enough appalling wallpaper to last the rest of his life—he wondered if this had been Major Halyss’ room. Probably not. Halyss’ birth no doubt rated him a repeating pattern of bright green fishermen.

The door didn’t lock, but Reiter had spent his entire adult life in the army and had long since lost any need for privacy. More importantly, the bed was comfortable and he was exhausted from keeping his mouth shut. He’d never suspected running an empire could be so inane—although given Lieutenant Lord Geurin, he supposed he should’ve had a clue. His last conscious thought involved the whorehouse he’d planned on visiting had he survived this morning’s debriefing…

“Captain Reiter.”

His eyes snapped opened, and by the time he’d focused on the private standing just inside the door, his hand had closed around empty air where his pistol should have been. “Who…?”

“Linnit, sir. I’ve been assigned to you.” He crossed the room, threw open the drapes, then returned to the door and picked up a pitcher. “I’ll deal with your boots while you shave, sir.” Distant bells sounded six. “Breakfast in the guard mess in half an hour. I’ll be back.”

Reiter missed waking under artillery fire. At least then he knew what the flaming fuck was going on. Hopefully, the emperor wouldn’t take long to tire of him and he could go back to the safer prospect of being shot at. He sighed and got up.

His window looked due east, directly into the rising sun. If he’d been a religious man, he’d have seen that as a blessing. As it was, he blinked away the sunspots, noted a maze of roofs and chimneys, and in the distance, rising above the edge of the building, an arc of gold almost glowing in the sunshine. At first he thought it was the roof of some kind of garden pavilion, then he recognized it as a balloon although it was larger than what they used for reconnaissance in the field and more oval than round. Had General Loreau demanded the Shields have their own balloon corps just because the other two divisions did?

He was shrugging into his tunic when Linnit returned with his boots.

“I’d best lead you to the mess, sir. It’s your first morning and this place is a rabbit warren.”

“Country boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

Until the emperor said differently, he was to be housed and paid like a captain of the guard. The largest difference being he took his orders directly from the emperor and when the 6th Shields—currently the company on Palace duty—rotated out, he wouldn’t.

“Breakfast here, all other meals with the emperor’s staff unless you’re released, then do what you flaming well please.” Major Meritin swallowed his last mouthful of coffee and set the mug aside. “You get lost in the palace, and you will, ask a page, that’s what they’re hanging around for. Don’t bother the servants. And don’t piss the servants off because they’ll make your life shit. You’re going to need at least one full court dress uniform, probably two. Court dress,” he added when Reiter opened his mouth. “If you were an officer of the guard, you’d be fine in the kit you’ve got on.” It was, differences of rank insignia aside, identical to the dress uniform the major had on. “But you’re not. The field gear in your room fit you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll have Linnit deal with it, then. You won’t be given time to see a tailor.” He paused, a piece of gravy-soaked biscuit halfway to his mouth. “You okay with half shares on Linnit or you want to bring over your own ranker? He’ll have to be vetted if you do.”

Reiter thought about Chard, if only to have a familiar face around, but he doubted the private would be able to keep his mouth shut—on any number of sensitive topics. Best the boy be free of this clusterfuck like Armin and Best. “Linnit’s fine.”

“Good. Emperor’s staff gathers in the staff room at eight and goes over his schedule for the day.”

“Do you know what I’ll be doing, sir?”

“Other than whatever His Imperial Majesty tells you to, I haven’t the faintest flaming idea, Captain. The only information they sent me is that the staff gathers at eight, and you can thank Tavert for that. That one’s got her head out of her ass, but I can’t say as much for the rest of the hangers-on.”

Even with limited exposure, Reiter could have said a number of things about the rest of the hangers-on, but he knew better than to open his mouth. The palace was just a better-dressed, better-fed version of a garrison town, and in a closed system, words always found their way to the wrong ears.

Although he left in plenty of time, he was almost late when he finally found the staff room. Linnit was right; the palace was a rabbit warren and the rabbits who’d built it had been insane. No wonder the emperor’s father had added a few hidden straight lines. The page he’d finally managed to grab had slipped behind a tapestry—“It’s just a copy made by the new machines, so don’t worry about touching it or anything. It’s not historical.”—and out through a small door into the empty room next to the staff room.

Reiter slipped into the last vacant seat at the table, recognizing most, if not all of the men and women who’d surrounded the emperor on his first day. Half of them, he wouldn’t trust at his back in a bar fight—they’d still be smiling when they stabbed the knife in. The whole lot of them ignored him. He studied them in return, paying particular attention to those he seemed to have most annoyed.

At eight thirty, Tavert stood, slipped her arms through the shoulder straps of her desk and led the way out of the room. About half the pack peeled off on assignment, the rest jostled for position as they joined the emperor in his morning assembly room. Reiter practiced being invisible. He followed and stood and kept his mouth shut. He started a mental map of the halls behind the halls. At noon, he ate a surprisingly bland meal at the lowest table in the Imperial dining room. In midafternoon, he heard the emperor say, “Captain Reiter, you’re with me.”

Reiter glanced at the sunlight spilling out through a window at the far end of the corridor, adjusted the map in his head, and realized they were, if not entering the north wing where the disgraced Lord Master of Discovery had been sent, heading to the north side of the palace. He followed the emperor behind yet another machine-made tapestry—although this one didn’t seem to be a historic copy; Reiter thought he recognized the Battle for Nirport as he ducked under the stiff fall of fabric.

The short hall behind the tapestry led to a narrow flight of stairs that ended in a small room draped in Imperial purple. The room contained only a high-backed chair and a wolfskin rug.

The emperor paused, turned to face Reiter who stood between the two rear fabric panels, and spread his arms. “You were Seen standing beside me in a purple square. And here we are.” He smiled and lowered his arms. “Fascinating how accurate they can be, isn’t it? Especially when you consider how their prophecy starts out sounding like mad babbling. This room, it hadn’t even been built when we were Seen in it.”

So a purple square had been built after it was Seen. Did that count as assisting a prophecy? Where would they have stood together had the emperor built a yellow square instead?

“You’re thinking about the implications of prophecy, aren’t you?” The emperor looked pleased.

No, not just pleased, pleased with him, and Reiter felt himself respond—his shoulders straightening, his chin rising slightly. It was another unconscious reaction to Imperial approval. This time, he was certain he didn’t much like it.

“Was this Seen because it happened or did it happen because it was Seen?” the emperor continued. “Everyone does ask those questions, Captain, but speaking as someone who has been around Soothsayers for his entire life and who now has the largest collection of anyone in the known world, I advise you to let it go. Someday, possibly someday soon, Imperial scientists will work out a rational explanation for how the Soothsayers function, but until then, leave prophecy to the Interpreters and the Voice. You’ll be happier. Unless…” He leaned forward and Reiter had to stop himself from leaning away, pushed by Imperial intensity. “…you’re familiar with the latest research into electromagnetism?”

“No, sir.”

“Of course not, you’re a soldier.” He sounded as though he understood but, just for an instant, looked so disappointed Reiter vowed to find someone who could explain it to him. “And discussing the cutting edge of scientific discovery is not why we’re here, is it?” Smile back in place, the emperor moved past the chair to the far wall and…

…pressed his forehead against it?

“Captain.”

Reiter moved forward and found himself standing close enough to His Imperial Majesty that he could smell a soft, pleasant scent rising from the other man’s hair.

Stepping away from the wall, the emperor tapped the edge of a small brass ring set into the plaster. “Go ahead, Captain. They can’t see the lens from the other side.”

He had to bend to bring his eye to it, he was that much taller, and, after a moment adjusting his position, found himself looking down into a large windowless room. Ten men in dark gray uniforms stood in pairs along two of the walls. It looked like a military uniform, but it wasn’t one Reiter had ever seen and he couldn’t make out insignia. They carried pistols. Not holstered; the weapons were in their hands, ready for immediate use. Seated around the round table in the center of the room, were five women who looked vaguely familiar.

“My mages.”

He turned to see the emperor beaming at him, his blue eyes wide, pupils enormous. Another glance down into the room and Reiter realized why the women seemed familiar. The last time he’d seen them, they’d been kneeling on the Trouge Road. These were the five mages he’d left with Lieutenant Geurin while he’d chased down the sixth. The blonde had been the woman who spoke Imperial fluently, spoke to him as though she weren’t kneeling in the dirt, captured by the enemy. The tall, very young woman with the light brown hair had been sick and the gorgeous redhead was the Healer-mage who’d gone to her. He had no specific memory of the other two.

A soft clank, metal against metal, pulled his attention back to the emperor in time to see one of the panels of fabric fall back into place. Reiter heard a woman’s voice ask a question—obvious from tone even without understanding the content—and another voice answer.

“Do you speak Aydori, Captain?”

“No, Majesty.” At least half of these women spoke Imperial, but surely the emperor didn’t need Reiter to tell him that.

“Pity. I have transcribers and translators working on everything they say, but it’s mostly been fairly innocuous. They complain, particularly the small, dark-haired one, then the blonde, who is clearly their leader, calms them down. She reminds them of how much worse it could be…”

How much worse had it been? Reiter wondered.

“…and she reminds them that they have more than only themselves to think of. She’s much more intelligent than I anticipated, and I’m certain it’s been due to her influence that they’ve settled into captivity so easily. Although, it is also an understanding of how to use their own biological imperatives against them. The abominations rule by strength of tooth and claw, and I’ve proven to them that my strength is much greater than anything they’ve left behind.”

“But they’re not…”

“Abominations?” The emperor smiled as though Reiter had said something particularly clever. “You haven’t the background to understand their physiognomy, not yet, but you must admit that the abominations define the socialization these women come from. And they carry abominations in their bodies. Well, some of them carry abominations. Some may carry mages.” He frowned thoughtfully. “It’s a pity they don’t whelp litters actually, although, if it were possible, that would certainly change the interpretation of the prophecy. Mages are dying off in the empire, Captain, although not in Aydori. Fascinating place, Aydori: outwardly civilized, inwardly bestial and clearly unable to stand against science and technology. I know what you’re thinking,” he added, his smile broadening. “You’re a military man and you’re thinking science, technology, and several thousand highly trained soldiers armed with silver shot. You’re right, of course. All the science and technology in the world is useless without strong hearts to wield it. The guards in there are part of my personal security force and have been trained for my specific needs. I’m very cognizant about bringing this threat…” He waved toward the spyhole. “…into the heart of the empire. I’ve read the old texts and…You can read, Captain? My apologies, of course you can,” he answered his own question. “Or you’d never have been promoted out of the ranks. Well, as you can read, I’d appreciate it if you could familiarize yourself with some of the mage histories. Another set of eyes, particularly eyes that have faced mages in the field, could be useful. And speaking of eyes, take another look at my mages and tell me if you see any weakening of the artifacts. I’d rather not have a repeat of what happened with your sixth mage happen here. I have every faith that we could contain it, but best to not have it occur at all.”

Reiter saw women eating, smiling, looking sad. He saw Mirian’s pale gray eyes and hoped the Soothsayers were wrong. Or that their babbling had been interpreted incorrectly. Why would she come here when he’d freed her?

Why had she gone to Abyek after she’d escaped? He should have asked.

“This is their first meal of the day,” the emperor continued. “They haven’t seen the outside world since they arrived and I’m experimenting with their sense of day and night to keep them off balance. Not excessively, of course, given their conditions. Still, the midwife attending them assures me that the lower orders are remarkably persistent when it comes to reproduction.”

Remarkably persistent?

“So, Captain Reiter, do you see any evidence they’re able to use mage-craft?”

“No, Majesty.” As he spoke, he saw the blonde woman, the leader, look up, almost directly at him. He stepped back, nearly tripped on the rug, and had to catch himself on the arm of the chair, suddenly wanting to speak with her alone.

The emperor laughed. “Oh, they know this observation booth is up here, but they can’t see the lens and don’t know when it’s occupied. Also, just in case, I’ve acquired protection charms from the Archive for the four represented crafts. All tested, of course.” He reached back behind the fabric and the sound of voices from below stopped. “I was looking forward to sharing my research with Major Halyss—he was the only person at court interested in mages—but never imagine I’m not pleased to have you here in his stead.”

It seemed to Reiter that the emperor would be happy with any pair of ears—Halyss’ interest in mages or his own experience was incidental to the emperor loving the sound of his own voice. And he could only hope none of that showed on his face. “Thank you, Majesty.”

“Fascinating, aren’t they? I can’t spend as much time observing them as I’d like, but I try to be here for meals. Unfortunately, other duties call.” His sigh held equal parts regret and acknowledgment of the inevitable. “As they do now.”

Following the emperor out of the room, Reiter tripped again on the rug. In his own defense, parts of it had buckled up, too large for the space. He glanced down and heard Major Halyss say, “He’s been collecting them for a while now. He could be studying the enemy. He could be having rugs made.”

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Out past the hanging fabric, two steps down the stairs, the emperor turned and looked proudly at the pelt. “They’re larger than actual wolves, you know, so even trimmed up, they cover a more useful area. You attempted to bring me an abomination as well as the mage, didn’t you, Captain Reiter? How did you find him to be?”

“He was mostly unconscious, Majesty…”

The emperor laughed. “Safest way to keep them.”

“…but he seemed to be…a person.”

“It’s a fascinating camouflage, isn’t it? Spend a little more time with them and you’ll see that slough off fairly quickly. Their response to stimulus is distinctly bestial.”

To Reiter’s surprise, the emperor remembered to tell Tavert he was to be given access to the Archive. He’d begun to suspect that words poured out of His Imperial Majesty’s mouth without His Imperial Majesty being aware of them, but it seemed he actually paid attention to what he said. Reiter watched a little more closely as the emperor interacted with the people around him—a smile here, a touch there, the right word said at the right moment. He made people want to please him. Walking through workshops clustered against the south side of the palace, he spoke to men who wore heavy leather gloves and goggles, the dusters over their clothing speckled with small burns. He didn’t seem to mind shouting over the noise of welding and pistons and any number of small roaring machines Reiter couldn’t identify, and those men—and women, Reiter amended, although the protective clothing made it hard to tell—spoke back, not to their emperor but to someone who understood what they were saying.

He was smart.

And so excited about the possibilities technology offered, it was almost impossible not to share that excitement.

He had as little to do with the day-to-day running of the empire as General Loreau had to do with the day-to-day running of the Shields, but Reiter had been a soldier long enough to know that generals put their marks on their divisions, their prejudices and bigotry trickling down to the lowest rankers.

Emperor Leopald considered the beastmen of Aydori abominations, so regardless of what they’d been, that’s what they’d become within the empire.

The Empress Ileena and Everin, Leopald’s seven-year-old son and heir joined the court for dinner. Even from where Reiter sat, well below the salt with the unimportant and unranked, he could see the emperor make his wife blush with pleasure. His son stared at him adoringly. Happy families.

The mages, the women at the round table had families.

Every soldier he’d ever fought had a family.

The women at the round table weren’t soldiers.

“This one’s had pups.”

“It’s a pity they can’t whelp litters actually.”

After the tables were cleared away, Reiter put his back to a wall and stood quietly watching the ebb and flow of the court as though he were watching the advance and retreat of a battlefield—although he was smart enough to know that was far too simple an analogy. The people who followed the emperor during the day were not the people around him now. These men and women were older, powers in their own right. These were the officers who actually saw to it that battles were won.

It wasn’t hard to pretend he had no place in the court; that he was merely an officer of the guard, unseen until needed. Playing guard was a welcome relief after a day spent feeling like he’d been swimming with all his strength and barely keeping his head above water.

Camouflaged by his uniform, he overheard more than one person complain that the silver needed for the Aydori campaign was well on its way to bankrupting the empire. Although they complained the way people complained about the weather or the traffic in Karis or the stink in the summer. They didn’t like it, but they couldn’t do a flaming thing about it. They didn’t blame the emperor—even though it became clear Aydori had been the emperor’s private project—they blamed the Soothsayers. The emperors had always used Imperial Soothsayers and the empire had thrived. It was just how it was.

They were, Reiter realized, a convenient Imperial scapegoat.

No one could leave the room until the emperor did. While Reiter suspected it’d be useful to see how the currents in the room changed without Imperial attention to court, he didn’t get the chance. The emperor beckoned, and they left together. He could almost feel the impact of the daggers glared at his back.

The five captured women were eating another meal. The emperor had him look briefly then surrender the spyhole.

“When I have the leverage of their offspring to protect my people, I think I’ll remove one of the artifacts and try a few simple experiments before I breed them again.” His face was so close to the wall, his voice was slightly muffled. “Have you ever thought of mage-craft and technology working together, Captain?”

“No, Majesty.” He’d never thought of mage-craft at all until the mission to Aydori, and his musings on technology had started and finished with wondering where the hell the artillery had got to and how fast he’d have to move if Colonel Korshan’s rockets headed back toward Imperial lines.

“I know, who would? But it’s a fascinating thought and you’ll never guess who gave me the idea. Pity I’ll have to wait so long to attempt anything.”

“Wouldn’t you be able to begin sooner if you made a treaty with them?”

“Them?”

“The mages, Majesty.”

“Yes, of course,” the emperor laughed. “If they were people.”

“You’re early,” Tavert said the next morning when he entered the staff room to find only her and one of the other workers there. She seemed pleased—as much as she seemed anything that wasn’t professionally neutral.

“I have a good sense of direction.” It had been one of the reasons he’d been sent to Aydori in the first place. Although, just to be certain, Reiter had given himself extra time in case he took a wrong turn in the hidden halls.

“The emperor is in the north wing this morning observing a procedure. He’d like you to go to the Archive. The Lord Warder is to show you the scroll.”

“The scroll?”

“The Lord Warder will know.”

No one in their little group was to accompany the emperor to the north wing. No one complained about it. Besides the mages, what else did the emperor have in the north wing?

“Take him with you. His Imperial Majesty’s been collecting them for a while.”

Stupid question. Even unasked.

Directions to the Archive were reasonably straightforward. Reiter waved off the offered assistance of a page and headed into the oldest part of the palace. The Archive was on a lower level, a level that had been a second floor before the third emperor had earth built up around the building and more stories added.

The closer Reiter came to the Archive, the emptier the halls became. By the time he approached the Archive’s double doors, he was entirely alone. As he reached for the curved steel handle, the door opened, the lamps that hung down the center of the corridor flickered, and Reiter found himself face-to-face with an elderly courtier. Not the Lord Warder of the Archive, but one of the stern-faced men who he’d seen move in and out of the emperor’s orbit yesterday evening. One of the “officers.”

Reiter stepped back out of the way and instinct brought him more-or-less to attention.

“You’re Captain Reiter.”

“Sir.” It probably should be my lord, but without knowing the specifics, Reiter figured sir was as good a general purpose title as any.

“My son wrote to me of you.”

“Your son, sir?”

“You would know him as Major Halyss. He said he met you at the Abyek garrison. That you shared his interests.” Dark eyes searched his face, pale lips within the gray beard pressed into a thin line. After a long moment, he punctuated the examination with an emphatic exhale. “I have been informed you’ve taken my son’s place on the emperor’s staff as someone His Imperial Majesty can speak to about mages.”

“Yes, sir.”

For an instant, Reiter thought he saw concern in the dark eyes. “Be careful.”

As he walked away, Reiter wondered what interests Major Halyss had said they shared. And what, exactly, he was to be careful of.

They’d moved too far from the road to take the time to move back, but Mirian never hesitated in picking their path. While she occasionally pulled out the telescope, she’d stopped using the captain’s compass. Tomas didn’t know if she followed air or earth or something else again. Nor did he care.

He followed her.

“Wait.”

She glanced down at the arm he’d stretched across in front of her, but when she turned to face him, he thought for just a moment that in spite of how close they were standing she didn’t see him. It had been happening more and more often lately, but lots of mages got lost in the craft. Even Harry had used it as an excuse although, in Harry’s case, it had actually been an excuse. He stood silently until her eyes focused on his face and she began to look impatient.

He checked the breeze again, picked up the scent, then pointed north. “Pack.”

Tomas was half out of his shirt before Mirian realized what he’d said. “Alive? Tomas!” She grabbed the waistband of his trousers as he started to pull them down. “Are they alive?”

“Yes. And heading this way.” He glanced down at her hand then back up at her face. “He’s moving pretty fast.”

“He?” The trousers dropped as she released them. Just one, then. That changed things. “Are you going to fight?”

“No!” He frowned, face half furred, and added, his voice slurred by the changing shape of his jaw. “Maybe.”

Then he was on four feet and, given the way his hackles had risen, Mirian suspected maybe was a distinct probably. They’d both been on edge for the last couple of days. Grieving for their dead. Snappish and uncertain about the way they’d dealt with it. The men who’d brutalized and murdered the family deserved to die, they agreed on that. What they couldn’t seem to settle on is how they were supposed to feel about what they’d done. Triumphant. Disgusted. Guilty. Justified. Nothing was clear anymore so Mirian, who could now feel the weight of Karis on the earth, kept them moving, clinging to the idea of rescuing the Mage-pack. At night she clung to Tomas; in the daylight, they didn’t talk about it.

And now, more Pack.

Alive.

She started after Tomas just as a huge dark gray wolf suddenly appeared out of a dip in the land. Between his color and his speed she had to squint to bring him into focus and then squint again, unable to believe his size. She’d thought Jaspyr Hagen had been a small silver pony when she’d seen him running toward her back in Bercarit. On that scale, what she saw now was closer to a full-sized horse. The stranger was the biggest Pack she’d ever seen. He made Tomas look small.

Mirian began to run as Tomas sped up.

She couldn’t hear either of them snarling. That had to be good. She hoped.

The first impact happened in the air, all eight paws off the ground. They landed, spun around each other, charged in again. Tomas hit the ground on his side, rolled, and was snarling by the time he’d reached his feet.

If this wolf was a wanderer, he’d want to establish dominance. If he was defending his family, he’d want to establish dominance. Tomas either thought he was protecting her or he needed to bleed off the emotional impact from killing those men or he was just reacting to the other male. And he was trying to establish dominance.

Mirian didn’t have the patience to put up with it.

“Enough!” She used the wind to whip the word between the two of them, then, as they scrambled apart, put herself there bodily. “We’re no threat to you,” she told the stranger, “and you’re no threat to us, so just stop it! Tomas!” The growling behind her stopped.

The stranger stared at her for a long moment, then he opened his mouth, tongue lolling out, and Mirian suspected he was laughing at her. She folded her arms and glared. To her surprise, he sobered, nodded once, as to an equal, and changed. Mirian watched him rise, and rise, and rise. The top of her head came to his shoulder and she was not, to her mother’s very vocal dismay, small. His shoulders were broad, heavily muscled, and scarred, his arms as big around as her thighs.

Look at his face. Look at his face. Look at his…Lord and Lady!

She snapped her gaze back up to his face. He was old enough the gray fur he kept on two legs passed as hair. Although he looked nothing like him, he reminded Mirian of her first impression of Ryder Hagen that night at the opera—the same barely contained energy, the same potential for danger barely harnessed.

He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“We?”

“Me and Jake. He Saw you here yesterday and sent me out to find you.”

“Saw?”

“Aye. He’s a Soothsayer, sure enough, and mad as they come. Still, he’s mine and I’m his and we manage. I’ll wait for your lad…”

“Tomas Hagen,” Mirian told him. Even without turning, she knew Tomas was still in fur, unwilling to admit the fight was over.

“He’s a Hagen, is he? Well, I expect we’ll talk of that as well, but, for now, he needs to get his clothes.” The callused end of an enormous finger gently touched Mirian’s cheek and dark eyes looked into hers. “I don’t like leaving Jake for long on his own, so we’d best be on our way.”

“We don’t have time. We have to…”

The stranger cut her off. “You have to come with me. There’s things Jake’s Seen me tell you that you need to hear, little mage.”

“How did you know she was a mage?” Tomas demanded, gripping Mirian’s shoulder. Mirian leaned back toward him, a little afraid he was going to try and drag her out of danger and fully aware there’d be no danger unless Tomas started something. “She didn’t do anything and she has no mage marks.”

“She put words on the wind.” The big man glanced over Mirian’s head. “And I have a nose, don’t I? Besides, Jake Saw it.” Then back at Mirian. “My Jake’s quite taken by you, little mage.”

“He’s never met me.”

“He sort of met you yesterday. He’s in tomorrow now, and you still seem to be around.”

“That’s…” Mirian frowned. The Mage-pack had been at the palace for days. They had no time to follow this man home to his crazy Soothsayer. They had to get to Karis and rescue the Mage-pack without having any of idea of what they were up against—beside the entire Imperial army—and no idea of how to get them out of the palace after they somehow managed to find them. But Jake had Seen the big man tell her things she needed to hear. “Can’t you tell me…?”

“No. He Saw us at our table, sitting down when I told you.”

She sighed. “Tomas, maybe you’d better go and get your clothes.”

“We don’t even know his name,” Tomas growled.

“You have my scent, but if you need something to call me, Gryham will do.”

“Just Gryham?”

“Never had need of another.” He folded his arms and his brows rose.

Mirian flushed. “Mirian Maylin. Tomas…”

He got his clothes, but didn’t put them on, taking the bedroll from Mirian and draping them over the top. Mirian could sort of see his point in remaining naked. If Gryham was in skin and Tomas was in trousers, Gryham would have the distinct advantage if it came to a fight, able to change faster. It seemed wisest to ignore that Gryham would have the distinct advantage if Tomas were already in fur and Gryham was dressed for the theater.

Over the last few days, Mirian had gotten very good at looking Tomas in the face. It shouldn’t have been so hard to apply the same discipline to looking at Gryham.

“We’ve got a bit of a walk,” Gryham explained as they headed east. “Jake Sees accurate, but he’s not always so convenient. This was as close to home as you came on your own.”

His accent put a different rhythm on familiar words. “You speak very good Imperial.”

He laughed. “Very good, is it? Well, I live in the empire, don’t I? Have for years.”

“How do you know my name?” Tomas demanded, his shoulder bumping against Mirian’s as they walked.

“I knew Dominic Hagen briefly when I was no older than you are now. He’d be…”

“My uncle.”

Not just Tomas’ uncle but the Pack Leader before Ryder. Mirian’s father had called him the man who’d brought Aydori into the modern world.

“I wandered down into Aydori from Orin looking to see a bit of the world, but when you’re an Alpha my size, people expect you to challenge. I might’ve won, who knows, but I didn’t want Aydori, did I, and your uncle was smart enough to see that.” Gryham ran a hand down his thigh. Mirian watched the blur against the sky that meant a passing bird. “Scar’s nearly faded now. You’ve a bit of his look about you—color of fur, length of leg. That silver streak, that’s where the pin was?”

Tomas rubbed the scar. “How did you know?”

“Jake Saw it. He’s been Seeing you two off and on for some days now. He seems to think that silver color’s important. Means something. Doesn’t know why or what it means though. Just keeps repeating find the silvered. Soothsayers.” But he said it fondly.

Mirian remembered the Soothsayer in Herdon. How he’d grabbed her ankle and yelled, “White light.” Given that Gryham had managed to find them, Jake must have been a little less annoyingly obscure.

Gryham’s low stone cottage was on the other side of a fast-moving stream. There was no well, but a shed and a garden, and it both did and didn’t look familiar. Mirian stood at the edge of the rough bridge and made herself step onto it.

“Something wrong, little mage?”

“It just…” She gripped a handful of her skirt so tightly her hand ached. “There was a family, Pack, and they were killed…”

“Aye. Jake Saw you find them.”

If she had to call his expression anything, she’d say he looked sad. “Why aren’t you angry?”

“I’m angry. But he also Saw you deal with those who did the killing. It’s good they paid.”

“It doesn’t change anything.”

He shrugged. “They won’t do it again.”

“You’re still considered an abomination.”

“You think I haven’t been called names before, little mage? Since I came out of the mountains, I’ve been called many names.”

“But this name can get you killed!”

“Yes. But most that know we’re out here don’t know I’m Pack. Besides, Jake’ll give us a full day’s warning. That’s all he Sees, a full day into tomorrow. It’s why he’s not crazier than he is, I expect. Also, I’m large.”

“I noticed.”

“Most do. Now…” He changed, leaped the stream, and changed again. “…come on.”

Tomas changed and jumped the stream as well. “You could always part the water,” he called from the other side.

“There’s a bridge,” Mirian sighed. And crossed it.

Jake was a short man with dark hair and dark stubble. The dim light inside the cottage made it hard for Mirian to see the details of his face. “You want one rabbit to do for four people,” he shouted as they came into the cabin, “it’s going to have to be stew. We’ll use the last of the parsnips. Sure they look like limp dicks, but you won’t notice after they’re cooked.”

From the smell, he was frying fish. And fiddleheads.

“Rabbit’s for tomorrow night, then. Guess I’m hunting.” Gryham crossed the cabin, wrapped both enormous hands around the smaller man’s face and kissed him on the mouth. It wasn’t a fond kiss, it was more an if we didn’t have company I’d do you right here on the floor kiss. “Come back, love. We’re here.”

“I think I’ll get dressed,” Tomas muttered behind her, dragging his clothes off the bedroll. When Mirian glanced back at him, he shrugged. “There’s only so much the scent of fish can cover.”

“Have them set the table up outside.” His mouth finally free, Jake grinned up at Gryham. “And put some flaming trousers on before I burn supper.”

“We don’t have time for supper.” Although her mouth was watering, Mirian felt she had to make the protest. Supper wouldn’t bring them closer to the Mage-pack. When Jake turned toward her and raised a brow, she sighed. “Fine.”

“Furs, fish, fortunes sometimes.” Jake grinned over the edge of his mug. “For those who don’t need to see too far. We find enough to trade for what we can’t make on our own. Flour, cheese, decent tea.”

Mirian frowned, smoothing the tangled fringe on her shawl. “And no one in the village looks at you differently since the church declared the Pack abominations?”

“Most of the village thinks Gryham’s my keeper, assigned by the emperor himself.”

“Why would they think that?” Tomas asked.

Jake’s grin broadened. “Everyone knows the emperor loves his Soothsayers.”

“You lied to them.” Mirian shook her head as Jake laughed. “But Soothsayers can’t lie.”

“Not in vision,” Gryham grunted. “The rest of the time, there’s nothing stopping them. Except maybe basic decency.”

“It was for your own good.”

“So you keep saying.” Gryham lifted the hand he’d been holding since they sat down and kissed the back of it. “Liar.”

Sometimes it seemed as if the two of them spoke their own private language. Mirian wondered if her parents had ever been like that and doubted it almost immediately. “There’s a course on Soothsayers at the university, but I’ve never heard of visions being prevented by touch.”

“I’ll bet there’s plenty you haven’t heard of, little mage.”

Tomas growled. “Stop calling her that!”

Gryham stared across the table at him. “When she tells me to.”

“I don’t mind.” Mirian shifted sideways on the bench so she and Tomas were touching. Pressed their shoulders together. Dropped her nearer hand to his thigh. Wound her bare foot around his under the table. Felt him relax. When the corners of Gryham’s mouth twitched, she glared them still and turned to Jake. “Do you remember what you see in vision when you’re not in vision?”

“Not until it happens. This university of yours, does it have a name?”

“Officially it’s the Aydori Institute for the Identification and Instruction of Mage-craft but no one ever calls it that. It’s just the university.”

“Like it’s the only one,” he snorted. “Why not call it The Institute?”

“That never quite caught on.”

Gryham beamed at her when Jake laughed. “It’s where they taught you to be a mage?”

“It’s where they teach mages,” Mirian allowed. “They didn’t have a lot of luck teaching me.”

“Good.”

“Good? It’s not good! All I know is basic level mage-craft. First and second and maybe I can fake a few third levels just from overhearing them spoken about, but that’s it!”

“Good.”

“Stop saying that! It’s not good, it’s pathetic!” Under the edge of the table, Tomas closed his hand around hers and squeezed. Mirian took a deep breath. “All right. Fine. Tell me why you think it’s good.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t. I thought we were here because…”

“I can’t.” Jake nodded at Gryham. “But he can. I Saw him do it.”

“Inside first.” Gryham stood up and stretched. “It still gets cold after the sun sets.”

“Fucking rain. This keeps up, the garden will flood.”

Mirian looked up at a clear sky and the first evening stars, down at Jake, then back up at Gryham.

Who shrugged. “I can’t be touching him all the time. And now we know why you don’t leave tomorrow.”

“The Packs came out of the mountains; Orin and Ural beyond that. Lines on maps mostly; it’s still wild land up there. Pack lands. Aydori was the closest to non Pack lands and so non Pack started to move in. They’re like rats. Some of them are like rats,” Gryham grunted as Jake drove an elbow into his side. “Pack Leaders in Aydori had to decide whether to drive them out or learn to rule them. Decided the latter, didn’t they, and Aydori got civilized.”

“What’s wrong with civilization?” Tomas demanded. “Orin is all raw meat and beer.”

“There’s nothing wrong with raw meat and beer, and while I don’t give a half-eaten rat’s ass about civilization’s opinion, things are simpler in the mountains. The mage-craft isn’t so tied up in rules and levels and shit. Less of it comes from here…” He leaned forward and tapped Mirian’s forehead. “…and more of it comes from here.” He tapped her breastbone, as far from her breasts as he could get and still be touching her chest.

Tomas growled.

“Stop it,” Mirian said absently, leaning back against his arm. “When you say more, you don’t just mean more, do you?”

“It’s a good thing I’ve spent the last seventeen years translating for Jake,” Gryham sighed. “I mean, if you’re a Water-mage, how much healing do you learn?”

“Healing isn’t part of being a Water-mage.”

“And that, right there, that’s the problem. Used to be, everyone had to do a bit of everything to survive, but civilization means specialists because suddenly everything’s so bleeding complicated with foundries and gaslights and brass buttons, it takes all a person has to learn how to do just one thing, and if everything’s that complicated, then mage-craft can’t be simple. So mages in Aydori started making rules. And enforcing them. Soon enough, the rules started enforcing themselves. Go far enough up into the old country, and those rules don’t mean shit. There’s no Air-mages and Water-mages and all that one-color mage marks. There’s mages. You’re a mage.”

Mirian rolled her eyes. “I don’t have mage marks. Of any color.”

“And yet…” Jake spread his hands.

“You’ve got power. I don’t need Jake to tell me that. I’ve got a nose and you smell…” This time when Tomas growled, Gryham acknowledged it with a dip of his head, somehow making the small movement look patronizing. “You smell powerful. Too powerful to be confined by the dams and channels these made-up rules have put around what it is to be a mage.”

“I’m a river?”

Gryham smiled. “If you want, you could put it that way. River pulls water from all around—from runoff, from rain, from springs—power works the same way. You need to be a river, not a bucket. I’m thinking you’re already halfway there.”

“I’m not…”

“You’re not an athlete, you never did jack shit to build your strength, but you’ve run from Aydori into the empire. How do you think a pampered society girl…?”

Mirian felt her lip curl. “My father is a banker.”

“How do you think a pampered banker’s daughter got this far? Your mage-craft has been rebuilding your body.”

“That’s not…” Except body equilibrium had thrown off the sleeping drug without her consciously guiding it. Logically, it could be making adjustments to help her run.

“Not to say you couldn’t use a couple of days’ rest, mind. A little natural healing to wipe those circles out from under your eyes, a few decent meals. Anyway,” he continued before she could respond, “way I heard it, the power is everywhere, but the mage has to open herself and say fuck these bullshit rules.”

“Only less bluntly,” Jake muttered.

“Just as fucking bluntly.” Gryham kissed the top of Jake’s head.

Mirian frowned. “I tested high.”

“There you go.”

She shook her head. “But the more powerful you are, the more you need rules.”

“The more powerful you are, the more you need responsibility.” When everyone turned to stare at him, Mirian twisting around so she was almost on his lap, Tomas flushed. “It was something Ryder used to say.”

“And Ryder is?”

“My brother. My Pack Leader. He died. In the Imperial attack.” To Mirian’s surprise, he looked away from Gryham, caught up her hand in his, and added, “Jaspyr died with him.”

She tried to pull free, but Tomas hung on tighter. “Let go.”

“If you’re waiting for h…Ow! Why did you pinch me?”

“She pinched you because you were being an ass,” Gryham told him quietly as Mirian got to her feet.

When Tomas tried to stand as well, she glared him back onto the bench, considered explaining, decided it was no one’s business, and left the cottage. It was too warm and too close and too full of men.

The night was clear—no sign of the rain Jake had Seen coming, and the grass was cold and wet underfoot. Mirian walked over to the chopping block, finding it more by the way it disrupted the air currents than by sight. If her mage-craft had been rebuilding her body, it seemed to have forgotten to fix her vision. There were moments when it seemed no worse than it had ever been and more and more moments when she felt like she was looking through a veil. And not a cute net veil, either.

She sat, pulled her feet up under her skirt, heard her mother say, You’re not a child anymore, Mirian, and wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. No, howl. She wanted to throw back her head and fill the night with sound, to bleed off some of the pressure she could feel building behind her bones. To consciously decide to let go instead of having the release controlled by circumstance.

When the cottage door opened, she expected Tomas, but she knew the space he filled in her world and, even in the dark, she could tell it wasn’t him. It wasn’t only that Gryham was so much larger, it was more that he didn’t fill a space in her world so much as push against it.

He circled the chopping block, rubbed up against her knee almost hard enough to knock her over, and changed. “You can’t blame him for trying to piss a circle around you. Lines need to be clear when two Alphas share space.”

She sighed. Tomas had no reason to be jealous of Gryham, not the way he and Jake were all over each other. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

He was laughing at her. “Stop it.”

“Tomas isn’t the Alpha in your little Pack, little mage. You are.”

“That’s not…”

Gryham stood silently, waiting predator patient while she went back over every interaction she’d had with Tomas since he walked into the firelight pretending to be a dog. In spite of instinctive physical reactions, he’d barely tolerated her until…

Until she’d put him to sleep on the road to Herdon.

She must have made a noise or moved because Gryham was done waiting. “You put his ass back on that bench with a look. Pack’s not complicated; someone’s in charge, that someone’s you.”

“But I’m not Pack!”

“Pack, Mage-pack.” She could feel Gryham shrug. “Not saying you’d still be in charge if there were more than just the two of you. Not saying you wouldn’t be either. Just telling you what it is right now. Who’s Jaspyr? He the reason you and young Tomas haven’t shared skin?”

Startled, Mirian answered without thinking. “You can smell that?”

He snorted. “I can see that. You’re easy with him ’cause you’re not thinking of him that way and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.”

“Jaspyr’s not…” He wasn’t a lot of things. But what was he? “Jaspyr was a moment that passed days ago.”

“Woke you up, though, didn’t he? You’d better let Tomas know this Jaspyr’s not the reason you two aren’t going at it like mink.”

“I don’t know what mink…” And then she parsed the tone, rather than the words, and stiffened. “That’s none of your business.”

“Like as not.” He held out a hand. “Have to admit, the boy’s got serious self-control because you smell bloody amazing.”

Mirian sighed and put her hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “So I’ve heard.”

“So what did you think of my Archive, Captain?”

Reiter watched the emperor watch the women down in the room. “It’s impressive, Majesty.” The large room had been lined with shelves and half a dozen huge scarred tables filled the center space. Junk covered every flat surface—old bits and pieces of tarnished jewelry, carved wood worn smooth from handling, stones with holes through them or runes etched into them. The whole room smelled as if generations of rats had died out of sight and slowly rotted, the smell too pervasive for one rat alone but too faint for it to be a problem solvable by a bringing in a terrier. Or a fan. Had Reiter not seen the tangles in action, he wouldn’t have given the whole lot a second thought.

The Lord Warder of the Archive had assured him that every item was rigorously tested using the most modern scientific criteria, and while they might not know exactly how every piece functioned, they would in time. The old man had either been impressed that the Soothsayers had prophesied Reiter’s presence, or lonely, or slightly crazy, because he’d been helpful above and beyond orders from the emperor.

“Did you see the scroll?”

“I did, Majesty.” There were hundreds of scrolls, but Tavert had been right, the Lord Warder had known exactly what he’d meant when he’d said he was to see the scroll. The original wasn’t paper, but finely tanned skin; the Lord Warder had called it vellum as he’d smoothed out the surface, his fingers encased in a pair of fine kid gloves. A good portion of it had rotted away and what writing remained was faded and in a language that had been long dead when the empire was founded. Reiter had only a vague idea how they’d managed to translate it even after the old man’s explanation. Soothsayers had figured prominently, so it was no surprise the explanation made little sense.

“Did you read the translation?”

“I did, Majesty.”

“And what did you learn?”

“The Pack was created by mage-craft.” He decided to keep the whole if the translators weren’t blowing smoke out of their asses to himself.

“And now you understand why they’re abominations. Unnatural. An ancient construct by a blind mage so powerful he or she could pervert the rules governing life itself. The really fascinating extrapolation is that the origin of the abominations explains why mage-craft is dying out in the empire. As science and technology push the abominations back into the wild, where they’re most comfortable…”

She had gold rings in her ears.

“…the bloodlines die out. Abominations need to be bred back into the bloodlines of the mages in order for mage-craft to remain powerful. I guarantee you, Captain, that if we knew how to test for it, we’d find the abominations in the blood of these women as well as in their bodies.”

The boy, Tomas, had a slight point to his ears. Reiter had known a man in the army with three balls. He knew what he thought was stranger.

“Just think what I could accomplish if one of these five throw a mage of that caliber. Empires rise…”

It took Reiter a moment of puzzled silence to realize the emperor had been quoting the Soothsayer’s prophecy. “Or fall, Majesty.”

For the first time since he’d come into the tiny room, the emperor turned from the spyhole, his blue eyes narrowed. “What did you say, Captain?”

“The prophecy, Majesty. Empires rise or empires fall.” Reiter could feel sweat beginning to bead along his spine. The emperor’s expression made him feel a certain kinship to the pelt they stood on. “If the Soothsayers are concerned…”

And just like that, the bayonet was withdrawn and the emperor shook his head indulgently. “The Soothsayers aren’t so much concerned as they are open to all possibilities.” He pushed his hair back off his face and smiled. “It’s up to us, as reasoning people, to apply those possibilities. Thanks, in part, to you, I control five of the six possibilities and the sixth is on her way.”

Reiter didn’t want the responsibility the emperor seemed willing to grant him.

“Did you know that science keeps us alive fifteen years longer than in our grandfathers’ generation?”

“No, Majesty.”

“It does. I’ve been thinking, since I first read the scroll, what mage-craft strong enough to create a whole new species could do. If I controlled that mage, if that mage had been trained from birth to obey me, if I could trust their mage-craft, then I could live forever. I’d have the time I need to make the empire great. And when the abominations are gone, wiped out in the wild, mage-craft will die out in the wild. I will control the only remaining mages. Worth the losses in Aydori, don’t you think, Captain?”

Fortunately, before Reiter could answer, before Reiter could decide what to answer, the emperor kept talking.

“And now this new possibility of science and mage-craft working together…” He rubbed his hands together, rings whispering over each other, and grinned. “I can’t wait. If you could move back behind the rear draperies, Captain.”

As the emperor settled into the chair, Reiter backed through the two panels of fabric, until he was suddenly teetering on the edge of the stairs. Weighing the chance of a fall against missing what was about to happen, he decided to balance right where he was. Shuffling left on the balls of his feet, heels suspended over nothing, lined him up with the narrow gap between the pieces of fabric. When the emperor reached down to the side of the chair, Reiter noticed a brass-bound lever built into the base.

Long, pale fingers closed around the lever and shoved it forward. The floor vibrated and the front of the room opened, splitting in two and folding back. On the one hand, the emperor formed policy based on the insane ramblings of Soothsayers interpreted through bad poetry. On the other, his engineers were superb. The man was a mass of contradictions.

Reiter was tall enough he could see the faces of the women around the table as they stood and turned to face the emperor. He didn’t know how the emperor saw it—it was all theory to the emperor, and he believed he’d proven his strength, so he probably saw it as respect—but Reiter thought they stood because it was a better position for fighting than sitting down.

“It has occurred to me,” the emperor said, “that I have very little personal experience with mage-craft.” Reiter could hear the smile in his voice. “While I’m considering a certain proposal…” His tone was an unpleasant mix of coy and patronizing. “…I require more data points in order to make an informed decision. If the net were removed and you could give me one small demonstration of your power, what would it be?”

The largest woman said something under her breath.

“Ah, yes, you’re the one who speaks so little Imperial. Louder please, so it can be translated.”

“She said she would make a rose bloom, Your Imperial Majesty.” It was the blonde who’d spoken on the road. Something about her tone reminded Reiter of Major Halyss’ father, and he wondered what the other woman had actually said.

“Fascinating, but not very useful. You.”

The youngest woman started, glanced at the blonde, who nodded. “I part water, Majestied.”

“You’re part water…oh, you can part water.”

She visibly relaxed when the emperor laughed—even kidnapped and imprisoned, that was the effect he had on people. Reiter found it one of the more disturbing things he’d ever seen.

“A lot of water?” he asked. “Lakes? Rivers?”

She shook her head. “Not know amount, Majestied.”

“Oh.” She actually looked disappointed when he sounded disappointed. “No matter. I’m sure it’ll be fascinating discovering how much water you can part. Eventually, of course. You.”

The tiny dark-haired woman stared at the finger pointing at her. “I send you smells.”

“Not very useful, I’m afraid, although I could see sending smells away as being of some benefit. Still that’s what we have fans for. And you,” he pointed at the blonde, the other woman in blue, “you’d do the same. So what would you do?”

Even frowning slightly, the redhead was gorgeous. Reiter hoped Sergeant Black had kept the men under control on the way back to Karis.

“I’m a Healer, Majesty. If you want a demonstration, I’ll heal.”

“Excellent.” He pulled the lever back.

Reiter watched the women watching the emperor until the wall closed and he was grateful for the extra moment the fabric screening him provided when the emperor threw himself up out of the chair and turned.

“I knew, of course, what each of my mages could do. I had Lieutenant Geurin courier me the color of their eyes as soon as he reached civilization, thus the color-coded clothing so each craft could be identified from a distance. I’ve researched each of the six crafts. You’re wondering why I asked then, aren’t you? I was curious,” he continued without giving Reiter a chance to answer. Reiter closed his mouth and moved aside, to give the emperor room to get past him and down the stairs. “Curiosity, according to my priest, is my greatest failing. I wanted to know if they’d lie. I can’t abide liars and, more importantly, I don’t trust liars. This kind of cooperation indicates they can be taught, and I’m so very pleased that they answered the question as asked instead of spouting foolish defiance.” He chuckled, a warm, almost fond sound. “I suspect that I’ll find when I read the translation that the first to speak wasn’t going to make the rosebush bloom, but rather do something rude with it.”

Reiter suspected the same.

“If there’s to be a test, I will, of course, use the Healer-mage. Easiest to control and absolutely safest for bystanders.” He turned and smiled as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Given that I’d be one of the bystanders. I know I told you that I wear protections, but in all the years I’ve been searching, the best I’ve been able to find is a charm to protect against being put to sleep but nothing that protects from healing as a whole.” Reiter fell in behind his left shoulder and they walked toward the main corridor where Tavert would be waiting. “I’ve never found even so much as a scrap of writing that suggests such a thing exists. Do you know why, Captain?”

The pause suggested that this time the emperor wanted an answer. “Because healing can’t be used to harm, Majesty?”

“That’s it exactly. And, credit where credit is due, the Soothsayers spoke of the Aydori mages ten, no just over eleven years ago, so I’ve had plenty of time to prepare. In your report, didn’t you say you suspected your mage was healing herself, forcing the drug out of her system?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“You must observe the experiment, then.” He seemed so energized by the prospect, Reiter had to hurry to keep up, in spite of his longer stride. “For comparison’s sake. Tavert!”

She was waiting with half a dozen others when he emerged. “Majesty.”

“Paper and pen!” He scribbled a note, smeared a little ink on his cuff, blew on the paper to dry it, folded it, and handed it back to her. “North wing.”

Tavert handed it back over her shoulder where it seemed for an instant no one would take it. Finally, a skinny man Reiter thought was a distant Imperial cousin stepped forward and bowed.

“It would be my pleasure to do your bidding, Majesty.”

The emperor ignored him. “Captain, you’ll have just enough time to go back to the Archive and ask the Lord Warder for the fork.”