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“Now that that’s all settled, let us see you to your rooms,” Filomara said. “As I started to say, we are not an ostentatious court. Dinner will be a small affair, with only family and a few guests in attendance. I do not have parties or entertainments planned. I hope you are not disappointed.”

“So far nothing in Malinqua has disappointed me,” Corene said. “I’m sure dinner won’t, either.”

“Good,” the empress said. “Then I will see you again in a few hours.”

•   •   •

I
t would have taken a few hours to navigate the whole of the palace, Corene thought, but fortunately Lorian took them by a straightforward route to their suites on the fourth floor of the northern, royal wing of the palace. Along the way, he pointed out rooms and hallways that might be of some interest to them—the ballroom, the library, a smaller dining parlor—but Corene figured she’d try to absorb all of that at a later date. For now, she allowed herself to be impressed by the pleasing proportions of the interior hallways—all high ceilings and thick carpets, giving an unexpected feeling of softness and warmth to a place so forbiddingly large.

Similarly, her quarters, halfway down a long hallway, could not have been more charming. The suite included a sitting room, a bedroom, a bathing room, and a maid’s chamber; each one was filled with furniture of simple design but the highest-quality materials. Her windows overlooked the expansive courtyard.

“Excellent,” Corene said. “And Foley’s quarters?”

Lorian opened a door right across the hall from Corene’s to show them an interior two-room suite with no window, but there was nothing shabby about it, either. Probably bigger than the spaces Foley had called his own when he accompanied Josetta to her various residences.

“Excellent,” she said again.

Then the steward led them to Steff’s rooms, adjacent to Corene’s, and she looked around curiously. If the servants had had to scramble to put his suite in order, there was no sign of hasty cleaning. It was just as bright and well-kept as Corene’s, though decorated in more masculine colors. Lorian glanced at Steff as if awaiting approval. Steff could only think to copy Corene. “Excellent! Really!” he managed. Corene had to smother a laugh.

“Your luggage is being carried upstairs and will arrive momentarily,” Lorian informed them. “Emilita will wait on the princess and Andolo will serve—” He hesitated a moment, and then just nodded in Steff’s direction. “You.”

They thanked him solemnly and he finally departed. The three of them stood motionless in the hallway until he disappeared.

Then Steff collapsed against the wall. “Corene! Did you see the
size
of this place? It’s monstrous! It was all I could do not to stare like a half-wit!”

She grinned at him. “And to think, you might be lucky enough to inherit the whole thing.”

“Forget inheriting! I only hope I don’t get so lost I end up starving in a dark hallway, terrifying some poor servant girl when she finds me dead.”

“The size is dramatic but the layout seems simple,” Foley said. “I think there are only two turns off of any main corridor—at any intersection, go twice in the same direction, and you will either end up near the grand stairwell or a dead end. And then just reverse.”

“Well, that helps,” Steff said. “But I’m still terrified.”

Corene surveyed him with a half-smile. “What did you expect? You’ve seen the palace in Chialto. This is bigger, but it’s the same idea. A lot of space, a lot of people, and someone watching your every move, even when you think you’re alone.”

Steff glanced nervously over his shoulder, which made Corene and Foley laugh. “I didn’t think about it much,” he admitted. “I just knew I wanted to see Malinqua. Learn more about my mother.” He shrugged. “Get away from the farm and do something interesting with my life.”

“Well, this is about as far from the farm as you’ll ever get,” she answered. They could hear footsteps coming down the hallway, and quiet voices speaking Malinquese. The servants assigned to them, Corene guessed.

She lowered her voice. “Don’t forget what I said. Someone is always watching. Someone is always listening. This valet coming to wait on you? A spy for the empress.”

“That seems harsh.”

“She pays him. He’ll tell her anything he learns about you.”

Steff heaved a sigh just as the servants stepped into view. Two men, pushing carts full of luggage, and one slim young girl. They were all dressed in dark clothing unrelieved by the slightest decoration. “Lucky I don’t have anything to conceal,” Steff said.

Corene laughed at him silently. “There is always something to conceal.” That was a lesson she’d learned from her mother, practically while she was still in the cradle. Always something to conceal, always something to learn, always something to turn to your advantage if you could just figure out how.

Foley gave them both a short bow. “I’ll let you settle into your rooms now. Call or knock if you need anything.”

Corene nodded, but paused in the act of turning away. “Let me know if
you
need anything,” she said. “If the servants are rude to you or don’t do what you ask.”

Foley showed a faint amusement. “I think I can fend for myself.”

She couldn’t help smiling in return. “But if you can’t, I am always ready to save you.”

Emilita proved to be quiet, competent, monosyllabic, and too deferential to respond to Corene’s attempts to draw her out. She also couldn’t
speak any language but Malinquese, which severely limited Corene’s conversational gambits. She wouldn’t be able to grill the girl about the rest of the occupants of the palace. A pity.

Until a few years ago, Corene had never given servants a second thought. They were just there, all the time, like air or sunshine, and they did whatever you told them to with admirable efficiency. Her mother treated staff with the same careless cruelty she treated anyone who didn’t offer her an immediate and obvious advantage—which had been fine while they lived at the royal residence, where there were servants galore. Once Alys remarried and moved in with her new husband, maids and butlers frequently quit on her without warning. It hadn’t been the greatest source of stress in that household, but it had been a constant one.

It wasn’t until Corene started spending time with her father and Zoe that she realized even the lowest kitchen maid, even the rawest footman, was an individual person with thoughts and feelings and dreams just as distinct and real as Corene’s own. It had been quite a shock. But nobody was invisible to Zoe; no one was worthless. If possible, Corene’s sister Josetta felt even more strongly on the subject, since Josetta spent half her days in the slums of Chialto, ministering to the poor.

Corene knew she wasn’t as bighearted as either one of them, but this was a lesson she’d embraced with zeal. She’d started acknowledging housekeepers, merchants, restaurant owners, beggars on the street—meeting everyone’s eyes like an equal. She hadn’t changed her behavior expecting any kind of payoff, but the rewards had been huge. Cooks saved the best portions for her, footmen warned her when there were unexpected guests in the parlor. Every single person in her mother’s employment was devoted to Corene, and hadn’t
that
proved handy when Alys’s husband—well. When he took an inappropriate interest in Corene and her bedroom habits. The maids had taken turns sleeping in Corene’s room with her to make sure Dominic couldn’t surprise her in the night. And they’d been only too happy to pack up her things when Darien learned the truth of the situation and permanently removed her from her mother’s house.

Now Corene had permanently removed herself from Darien’s house as well. Time to charm a whole new set of servants—or not, if Emilita’s
diffidence was anything to go by. Maybe Corene would have better luck once she’d managed to learn the language.

She had washed up in the deliciously hot water of the bathing room, and now she was wrapped in a robe of Emilita’s providing, surveying the contents of her luggage. The maid had hung everything in the huge closet that took up one whole wall of the bedroom. Corene hadn’t been traveling with a very big wardrobe when she made the spontaneous decision to leave with Filomara, so her clothes filled only a fraction of the available space. But at least she had some of her finest tunics and trousers with her, since she’d been planning to attend several formal events as the elite of Welce said goodbye to the visiting empress.

“What should I wear to dinner tonight?” she asked Emilita in halting Malinquese. “My best? Or something more—” She didn’t know how to say
simple
in this stupid language. “Something else.”

“Princess?” Emilia replied, her delicate face looking worried. It was the word she had used most often during their restricted conversation. It seemed to be the most respectful way she could think of to convey,
I have no idea what you’re trying to say.

“Never mind,” Corene said with a sigh. “With any luck someone will take me shopping someday soon.”

“Princess?”

Corene had never been so grateful to hear a knock on the door. Steff, probably, with sartorial challenges of his own, but at least he’d understand her rantings when she vented her frustration.

But Steff wasn’t the one standing on the other side when Emilita opened the door. It was a young woman, maybe a year or two older than Corene, peering in around Emilita’s small form.

“You are the princess from the quaint little country of Welce, are you not?” she said in beautifully enunciated Coziquela. “This is where Lorian said he would put you, and I have been waiting days and days and
days
for you to arrive. Can I come in? Are you too weary? I am going simply mad with boredom, you know.”

On those words, and over Emilita’s faint protests, the woman stepped inside. She was quite literally the most beautiful person Corene had ever seen. She was small and delicately formed, with a heart-shaped
face exquisite as a doll’s and blue eyes so dark they shaded into purple. Her clothing was deceptively simple—a sleeveless indigo sheath gathered into hundreds of pleats that fell without any kind of tailoring from her shoulders to the floor. Her hair was a silky black, full of wispy curls, and her red mouth was curved in a hopeful smile.

“You must be the princess from Cozique,” Corene said.

The woman laughed and sashayed deeper into the room. “I am! Is it my accent that gives me away, or my clothing, or the fact that I am so very badly behaved?”

“All of those things, all together. I’m Corene.” She came forward and offered a slight bow—one member of royalty to another—and the Coziquela princess responded in kind.

“And I am Melissande. You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Please tell me you are not as dull as the very quiet, very dour Princess Alette of Dhonsho.”

Corene laughed out loud. “And if I am? And easily offended on top of it?”

Melissande heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Then I shall have to hope Filomara sails to many other countries and brings back more candidates for her nephews to consider. But I was watching from my window when you arrived, and I made note of your red hair. I have never in my life met a redhead who was boring. I have very high hopes of you.”

That made Corene laugh even harder, though Emilita looked uncertain and anxious. “Princess?” she said. “Shall we now dress you for dinner?”

Melissande turned her graceful little body and gave Emilita a warm smile. “Oh, she does not need to dress for another hour at least, I am very sure,” she said in Malinquese. “I must talk to her and discover everything about darling little Welce! Would you be so kind as to give us privacy—just for a while?”

Emilita looked inquiringly at Corene, who nodded. “Yes, please. I will see you again in an hour.”

Emilita bowed and slipped out the door, shutting it quietly behind her. Corene opened her mouth to speak, but Melissande held up a hand for silence, and appeared to be concentrating intently. “Some of them listen at the door,” she breathed.

Corene was amused. “Of course they do.”

“And some of them speak Coziquela, even though they pretend they do not.”

“Of course,” Corene said again. “Too bad you don’t speak Welchin.”

“But I do!” Melissande exclaimed, instantly switching to that language. “Not very well, I am afraid, but you are right—it is undoubtedly much safer.”

She spoke it perfectly. Corene grinned. “Safer?” she echoed. “What will we be saying that no one should overhear?”

Melissande crossed the room to fling herself into one of the plain, well-made chairs, and smiled up at Corene. “We shall be gossiping about the empress and the nephews she is trying to marry off, of course! Do not tell me you are not about to expire with curiosity.”

Corene pulled the sash of her robe tighter and dropped onto a settee across from Melissande. “Oh, but I am,” she assured her guest. “
What
have I gotten myself into?”

Melissande trilled with laughter. “I suppose you know how the situation stands? Filomara’s daughters both died, leaving no children of their own behind, so Filomara must choose her heir from among her nephews. There are three of them.”

“Why doesn’t Filomara name one of her brothers her heir? I had the impression she was the oldest of several siblings.”

“Indeed yes, which is why the crown came to her all these years ago.” Melissande’s blue eyes glittered with amusement. “She had four younger brothers, though two of them are dead and the other two never come to court. No one will say exactly why that is, and I am so very curious! At any rate, many years ago, apparently, Filomara declared that she would not saddle Malinqua with some doddering old fool for a leader, so she cut the brothers from the succession. Everyone thinks one of her nephews will take the throne next.”

“But she hasn’t said which one?”

“No! She wants them to prove that they are worthy to rule, but so far there is no clear favorite.”

“What are the three nephews like?”

Melissande resettled herself in her chair, stretching her legs before her so her feet peeped out from the pleated fabric. She was wearing cloth shoes dyed the same color as her dress, and intricately embroidered with
a design of leaves and flowers. For an adult, she had the smallest feet Corene had ever seen.