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Corene couldn’t resist poking at the others. “Maybe they’re not here to see Filomara,” she suggested. “Maybe they want to catch a glimpse of Steff.”

Steff looked briefly horrified and Sattisi displeased. Bartolo just shook his head. “They know nothing about him,” Bartolo said.

“Really? She didn’t send the news ahead?” Corene asked.

Bartolo pursed his lips, thinking over his answer. “The empress wished to introduce her grandson to everyone at court at the same time, to personally explain the circumstances surrounding his birth.”

“She didn’t want to give anyone time to start scheming against him,” Corene translated. “So she wanted him to be a surprise.”

Sattisi’s frown grew darker, but Bartolo, unexpectedly, nodded. “It’s possible that not everyone at court will be entirely pleased by my cousin’s great good fortune,” he said carefully.

“Anyway, she wants proof, doesn’t she, before she starts introducing me around?” Steff interjected. “She said that the doctors here would be able to trace my blood. Or something.”

Bartolo nodded again. “Yes. She wants to be absolutely sure you are who you claim to be before making great fanfare about your existence.”

It sounded vaguely insulting, as so many of Bartolo’s comments did, but Steff just nodded. Malinqua might have advanced scientific and medical abilities, but Welce had the primes—the heads of the Five Families, the people most in tune with the elemental affiliations. Darien’s wife, Zoe, was the coru prime, a woman with strong ties to both water and blood; she could lay her hand on anyone and instantly identify his or her family bloodline. That was how she’d figured out Rafe’s heritage, and then Steff’s. If Zoe said Steff was Filomara’s grandson, it was true. But Corene supposed she couldn’t blame Filomara for wanting her own kind of proof.

“Honestly, I’d just as soon arrive quietly,” Steff said. “Not have people staring at me the minute I step off the boat.” He glanced down at Corene and grinned as he said, “Nobody knows about you, either, since you came along at the last minute. The servants at the palace won’t be
expecting a Welchin princess. They won’t have your rooms ready for
hours
. Maybe you’ll have to sit in the courtyard with all your baggage.”

Sattisi took the bait. “They might not be expecting Princess Corene, but palace servants are always ready for unexpected guests of high quality,” she answered swiftly.

“Oh, they know about me,” Corene said. “Didn’t you see the small boats come and go while we traveled? Filomara might have wanted to keep Steff a secret, but she told people I was on the way.”

“Maybe some of the crowds are out there to see
you
, then,” Steff suggested.

“No,” Sattisi snapped. “They are all for the empress.”

Corene couldn’t help grinning at the spite, but she did wonder.

Filomara had had plenty of time to send news ahead—and so had Corene’s father. A small, swift cutter could have completed the journey from Welce to Malinqua days ago; the spies that Darien no doubt kept in Palminera surely knew his daughter was on her way. Corene had even wondered if he might send a contingent of royal guards to await her arrival. The minute she disembarked, they would close ranks around her, not listening to her protests, and escort her to their own vessel. She would be whisked back to Chialto before she’d even had time to visit the royal palace.

She had spent hours on the journey trying to decide if she would be furious at that turn of events, or glad. If Darien sent the guards, did that mean he loved her too much to let her go? If he didn’t, did that mean he admired her spirit and wanted her to succeed in an adventure she had picked out on her own? That he trusted her to navigate a tricky foreign court, secure alliances there, and strengthen Welce’s position in the world?

Or did it mean that he didn’t care where she was, what she did? He had a new baby daughter now—already named the next heir to the throne of Welce—he might not have any time to spare for the troublesome, unpopular princess who had no defined place at court. He might have been glad to see her go.

They were at the pier now, and cadres of men both onboard and onshore were dashing around, securing ropes, and shouting. A line of Malinquese soldiers held the common crowds at bay, so the royal party could disembark onto a relatively clear dock. Corene scanned the crowds
closest to the soldiers and farther back along the city streets, clustered against walls and between buildings, waving, calling, chanting Filomara’s name.

She didn’t see anyone wearing the Welchin rosette. No one standing still and focused, staring only at
her
. No one waiting for her, no one looking for her at all.

Good. She would be all on her own in Malinqua, and she would be just fine.

•   •   •

T
hey rode in open carriages from the harbor to the palace, and hordes lined the streets every mile of the way. For the first few blocks, Corene had waved and smiled at the crowds, since that was what a princess was supposed to do, but pretty soon she realized that no one was paying attention to anyone except Filomara, who sat in the lead carriage with Bartolo and Sattisi. She and Steff and Foley might as well be invisible for all the attention they were receiving. So instead, she leaned back against the cushions and looked around with great curiosity.

The buildings nearest the harbor hadn’t been all that impressive, mostly one- and two-story structures that appeared to be warehouses and shipping offices. Past the commercial districts were blocks and blocks of run-down residential neighborhoods filled with multistory buildings that appeared to be crammed with people. Corene guessed these were the cheap areas where the working families took small apartments and dreamed of better days. The buildings became progressively more distinctive, more impressive, and better maintained the farther they traveled from the harbor.

The architecture didn’t get
really
interesting until they passed through a pair of iron gates that had to be twenty feet high. They were set into walls that curved in from the north and south and obviously enclosed the heart of the city.

The wall extending from the northern border was made of heavy white stones, more powdery and pitted than marble, and irregular enough that they were probably boulders that had rolled down from some mountain. The southern wall consisted of enormous blocks of reddish granite, uniform in size and perfectly mortared together.

Corene nudged Steff, because he was the sort of boy who generally noticed
things
, even though he wasn’t paying attention to people. He nodded and said, “Just like the towers.”

“I think the whole city is like that.”

Indeed, it was quickly obvious that the route they followed made a straight dividing line down the interior of the walled enclave. The roads to their right, the north side, were paved with some kind of silver-white amalgam; those on the left, with material that incorporated crushed red rock. Most of the northern buildings were white or off-white in color, whether constructed of stone or painted wood; those in the southernmost streets featured warmer colors: terra-cotta and cinnamon and stained oak.

“I find this a little peculiar, don’t you?” Corene asked.

“It makes me wonder why they set up the city this way,” Steff agreed.

“I wonder if one side is considered good and one side bad. If you spend your whole life wanting to move from a red house to a white one, for instance.”

Foley spoke up. “Everything looks pretty well-kept, though. Like the two sides are equal, just different.”

“I think they carry this
duality
idea a little too far,” Corene said.

Steff laughed. “Well, in Welce everything is about your blessings or your affiliations. It’s sort of the same thing.”

Corene couldn’t help a small sniff of disapproval. She had the feeling Steff didn’t give all that much weight to the blessings, either; the country folk usually didn’t. She glanced at Foley, who had taken the less desirable backward-facing seat when they climbed into the carriage. He was watching the city roll past, studying with acute interest the buildings, the people, the very layout of the streets. He’d probably paid enough attention to their route that he could find his way back to the harbor without a misstep. She didn’t think Foley worried overmuch about blessings, either.

“Well, I just think it’s
odd
,” she said, and flounced back against the seat.

“Just different,” Foley said. “Not the same thing.”

The palace, when they finally arrived, was enormous, easily twice the size of the one in Chialto where Corene had lived for the first eleven years of her life. Like the towers and the city itself, the palace was split in two: the north wing built of smooth white stone glittering with
embedded crystals, the southern one of a polished red marble veined with gold and black. The two halves were perfect mirror images of each other, with doors and windows placed in corresponding locations on each story. Even the shrubs that flowered in front of the two wings were distinctly different, the northern hedge covered in white star-shaped flowers, the southern hedge with delicate red blossoms.

“I mean, it’s excessive,” Corene muttered as the carriages came to a halt in a courtyard that was easily big enough to host a changeday festival.

“I like it,” Steff said.

There was no more time to talk, because the minute they stopped, they were completely engulfed in people—footmen to help them down from the coaches, servants with trays of food and drink. The ride from the harbor had been miserably hot, and Corene was grateful to the young woman who offered her a glass of something sweet and fruity and divinely cold. There was more than enough for everybody; Steff and Foley took one glass each, and Corene had two.

While she sipped at the second glass, she watched Filomara, who was already out of her carriage and deep in conversation with someone. He was a tall, slender man with sharp features and a decisive manner—probably the empress’s chief of staff. The one who made the palace function, the one Filomara would trust to accomplish any task she might send his way.

He was the one who would not be nonplussed to learn he must conjure up quarters suitable to house an unknown man who could very well be heir to the throne.

Corene had just handed her empty glass to a serving girl when Filomara brought the tall man over to meet them. Close up, he looked to be in his early sixties, with a little silver in his thinning black hair. His gray eyes were bright with intelligence, and his face was utterly impassive.

“My steward, Lorian,” Filomara introduced him. She did not bother supplying names for Corene and Steff; clearly she had already shared this information during their whispered colloquy. Her eyes gleamed with faint humor. “Of the far too many men in my life, he’s the only one I’ve ever found to be completely reliable. Go to him with any requests you have or any issue you can’t resolve.”

“Excellent,” Corene said, giving him a friendly nod and a half-smile. Steff watched her and followed her lead—not too familiar, not too patronizing. He was still figuring out how royalty was supposed to behave to nobility; he had no idea how he was supposed to treat the servants.

“Lorian will show you to your rooms, which are near each other, since you know no one else in Palminera,” Filomara went on. The humor grew more pronounced. “And he will find staff to serve each of you, since, regrettably, neither of you has attendants of your own.”

Well,
Corene
did—back in Chialto. But she hadn’t wanted to bring anyone but Foley with her on this adventure, so she’d left her maid behind. Steff had never had his own valet, as far as she knew. He’d shared one with Rafe when they were in Chialto, meeting Filomara for the first time. But he’d been uncomfortable with the notion that someone was always going to be waiting there, “ready to pounce on me every time I step into the room.”

Lorian gave them each respectful bows. “I have just the right candidates in mind. You will let me know if they are unsuitable for any reason.”

“Well, say, I don’t know if—” Steff began, but Corene elbowed him and he shut up.

“Thank you. That’s most kind,” she said. “I admit I’ll welcome a bath and a chance to change clothes.”

“Yes, I always want to wash the sea air from my face,” Filomara agreed. She surveyed Corene and Steff a moment, as if wondering whether they might look different now that they were standing on Malinquese soil. “We are not very fancy here,” she said. “We do not have all the pomp and grandness you have come to expect at your own royal court.”

Corene let her eyes roam over the palace, its white walls, its red ones. “I find that a little hard to credit,” she said. “Your palace seems grand enough to house extraordinary amounts of pomp.”

Filomara smiled. “It is the heart of Palminera—almost a city in its own right,” she said. “Maybe five hundred people live here—my cousin, my nephews, my closest advisors, all in the royal wing.” She gestured first at the glittering white walls, then waved at the red walls of the southern wing. “On the other side, the top city officials and their family members reside on the upper floors, and they have offices and conduct
business on the bottom stories. Of course, there are public spaces and kitchens and storage rooms. If we were under siege, which I devoutly hope we never are, we could keep this small city fed and clothed for— How long is it, Lorian?”

“Three ninedays,” he answered smoothly.

Steff’s practical nature was intrigued, Corene could tell. “You must have a water supply, then—something not easily poisoned or cut off?”

Filomara nodded as if pleased he’d thought of that. “An underground spring deep beneath the foundations,” she said.

“That’s handy,” Foley said.

Corene saw Lorian’s attention shift to Foley as the steward tried to decide exactly how to categorize this particular new arrival. So she helped him out. “Lorian, this is Foley, a member of my father’s royal guard, and here as my protector. Please provide him quarters very near to mine.”

“Of course, Princess,” Lorian said.