The Palace was too big. Four floors in the central portion, three in each wing—and both wings were long. And there were so many rooms. Room after room, most of them only minor variations of other rooms with colour the only notable difference. Apparently, there were multiple cellars too, although Rudiger had never been in any of them. He hadn’t been in most of the aboveground areas either. Then there were all the side buildings. He hadn’t been in any of those either and had no idea what any of them were for—although he seemed to recall a mention of one of them being for Isyar.

There were so many people, too. Everywhere he turned, there were servants or guards or both standing beside doors or in front of them. Some doors would be opened when he moved towards them. Others remained resolutely closed, the guards unmoving and unflinching. At least both the servants and guards were helpful about giving directions whenever he got lost—which happened more than once—and it was nice to have servants offering him food and glasses of wine as he wandered the corridors.

He’d done a lot of wandering today, trying to figure out how to socialise with the princes as Zandrue wanted. He couldn’t just walk into a room and strike up a conversation with one of them, could he? Zandrue thought he could use his experiences in Ninifin to help him, but they were such different situations. Just because he was in a palace then and a palace now didn’t make them the same.

No, he needed to take a different approach. He didn’t need to use his experiences in Ninifin; he needed to use his experiences in this very same palace last year.

“Rudiger!”

Rudiger turned away from the portrait of King Martan the Conqueror he’d been staring in the direction of, but not really looking at, and crossed the creatively named Red Salon—called that, no doubt, due to its red walls, red carpet, red curtains, red everything. “Hang!”

Alhang Merrin was a big man—not as tall as Rudiger, but broader. He slapped Rudiger on the shoulder and embraced him in a tight hug. “Didn’t think I’d see you back here again, not with Princess Felitïa being banished and all.”

“Came here with Quilla.” Rudiger resisted the urge to rub his shoulder. Hang was a powerful man, and he was armoured and Rudiger wasn’t.

“Oh yes, for Prince Garet’s funeral.” Hang shook his head. “Shame about that. I heard she lost it on the Queen.”

“Yeah, she did.”

“I don’t know if it was brave, foolish, or both, but I wish I’d seen it.” Hang laughed. “So how’ve you been?”

Rudiger sighed. “Let’s see. Been attacked by Red Knights and Darkers, shot at with arrows, and stabbed through the hand.” He held up his left hand to show the scar there. “Can’t move it as well as I used to. Got involved in a rebellion in Ninifin. You know. Everyday stuff.”

Hang smirked. “Sounds like you’ve been busy. Ninifin, eh? I’ve heard rumours Princess Felitïa defected there. Any truth to those?”

“She was there, but I wouldn’t call it a defection.”

“How’s she doing?”

Rudiger shrugged. “Broke her ankle, took an arrow through her shoulder, had all her fingers broken. But otherwise she was doing fine last I saw her.”

“Shit, just what have you lot been up to?”

Rudiger chuckled. “Long story.”

Hang put an arm around Rudiger. “Let’s go get some food and you can tell me all about it. I just came off a six-hour shift without anything to eat and I’m starving.”

Rudiger nodded. “Lead the way.”

Hang led him through the back corridors, then down to the ground floor and out one of the side doors into blowing snow.

Rudiger shivered. “You could’ve warned me we’d be going outside! There will be food at the end of this, right?”

Hang laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s a quick trip. But the only places in the Palace for guards and servants to eat are tiny spaces between rooms. I’m taking you to the mess hall. We’ll have more room there. Better food, too.”

The mess hall was in the first line of buildings northwest of the Palace, so Hang was right about it being a quick trip. Once they were inside, they sat at the end of a long table with bread, meat, and dried fruit piled in front of them. “Best thing about working here,” Hang said, “is there’s always food available all hours of the day. Doesn’t matter how early or late. It’s not always the freshest, but it’s good.” He bit into a leg of goose.

Rudiger looked about. It was a larger room than just about any in the Palace, but much plainer. There were no portraits on the walls, no chandeliers hanging above. It was draughty too, though better than being outside.

“Eat something,” Hang said. “You’ll stop shivering so much.”

“I don’t like winter, all right?”

Hang chuckled. “I remember.” He took another bite of the goose leg.

“I grew up on the Thumb. Didn’t really have winter there.”

“Yeah, remember that too,” Hang said through a still-full mouth, spraying bits of food onto the table in front of him. He covered his mouth with his hand and mumbled, “Sorry ’bout that.”

Rudiger took some bread and meat for himself, though not a lot. He’d been eating almost constantly all day long just wandering around the Palace.

“Learning, I see,” Hang said.

Memories of the banquet celebrating Felitïa’s return a year ago swam through Rudiger’s head. “Don’t remind me.”

“So, tell me this long story of yours.”

A couple hours earlier, Rudiger had spotted Hang attending the King in the Grand Hall. That was what had prompted him to send Hang a message to meet him. He felt a bit guilty that he hadn’t thought to contact his old friend before that, and he felt even guiltier that a large reason why he initiated contact was to use Hang to gain access to one or more of the princes. So Rudiger had spent the last couple hours trying to decide what he should tell Hang. In the end, he decided to tell him everything. Hang knew a lot already anyway, and Rudiger was certain the big soldier could be trusted.

So Rudiger launched into a description of everything that had happened since he’d last been in the Palace. He tried to keep it as brief as he could, and he probably forgot a few things, but he was sure he covered the important points.

Hang stopped eating partway through the story, as he started to add in his own comments and questions, which Rudiger did his best to answer.

“So, Felitïa really did do those things she was accused of? She started the war?”

Rudiger shrugged. “Sort of. I wasn’t around for most of what Felitïa did, but as I understand it, the Volgs were going to start a war anyway. Felitïa just gave them an excuse.”

“Then she almost started a war in Ninifin?”

Rudiger groaned. “That was also on the verge of happening anyway. Fra-Ichtaca just used Felitïa as a convenient excuse.” He sighed.

“Look,” Hang said, “I like Felitïa. I really do, but somehow, I don’t think she’s cut out for international politics. Maybe she should keep out of it in future?”

“For what it’s worth, I think she regrets what she did. We all regret a lot of what’s happened.”

“Yeah, that’s good, but it doesn’t change that it all happened.”

Rudiger sighed and bit into his bread. It was stale.

“So why are you telling me all this? I could just go to the Queen with it.”

“Because we need allies, and I need someone who can help me get to know this place better and the people here.”

Hang smirked. “Allies? After all your regrets, getting involved in more politics?”

“Honestly don’t want to,” Rudiger said, “but there are Darkers in the Palace.”

“Darkers? How?”

“No idea. That’s what we’re trying to figure out. But Quilla was visited the other night by her ex-husband, and he just happens to be a high-ranking Darker who’s been trying to kill Felitïa for years.”

Hang leaned back. “Shit, Felitïa really draws in the worst people, doesn’t she? So what did this Darker want?”

“Don’t know. Quilla was too drunk to remember.”

Hang laughed. “What do you want me to do then? If there are Darkers here, I should report it so they can be rooted out.”

“Zandrue says if we do that, they’ll just go into deeper hiding.”

“Then why would Quilla’s ex come to her so openly?”

Rudiger raised his hands in defeat. “Again, no idea. We just gotta figure out where they are.”

“Back to my previous question then,” Hang said. “What do you want me to do?”

“Like I said, you can help me get to know this place better. And the people. And...uh...maybe tell me how I can get in to see some of the princes.”

Hang laughed. “In other words, you are getting into more politics.”

Rudiger sighed. “Not out of choice.”

“Well, to start, you’re a guest here, so you’re allowed to know some of the princes’ movements.”

“That mean you’re willing to help?”

Hang grinned. “Guess so. Could be fun.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Not much we can do right now, though. I have an early shift tomorrow, but once that’s done, I’ll show your around a bit. In the meantime, how’s that horse of yours doing?”

* * * * *

“You should have seen it. Garet practically held them off all by himself, and he was only sixteen at the time. He was already destined to be a great warrior. Gods, I loved that man. I’ll miss him so much.” The speaker sounded like Princess Annai.

“I know what you mean. I think everyone here is going to miss him terribly. We all loved him.” Zandrue didn’t recognise the second voice. It had a distinctive Friazian lilt to it, though.

“Not half as much as me,” Annai said.

A familiar voice joined the conversation. “But you both hated him. You said so all the time.”

“Sinitïa!” Annai snapped. “Don’t talk that way. Garet was my brother. Of course I loved him.”

“But you—”

“Sinitïa, enough!”

Okay, time to save Sinitïa. Zandrue gripped the door handle, opened it, and strode into the room. She stumbled to a stop as the occupants looked over to her.

“Oh. I’m so sorry. Excuse me, your Highnesses, my Lady.”

Princess Annai stood by one of the yellow walls with blue patterning. Sinitïa sat in one of the many blue-cushioned chairs lining the walls, her head sunk low. The third person was a small, slim Folith with freckled skin and sandy brown hair. She looked familiar, but Zandrue couldn’t place her.

“What do you want?” Annai asked. She fanned herself with a wide, purple fan that matched the colour of the heavy gown with wide skirts that she wore.

“Apologies, your Highness.” Zandrue curtsied as she spoke. “I was just returning to my apartments, but I think I’ve gotten a little lost. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Sinitïa raised her head, smiled, and waved. “Hi Zandrue!”

Annai rolled her eyes and scowled. “The guest apartments are one floor down.”

Zandrue curtsied again. “That explains a lot. Thank you, your Highness. And may I say that mourning dress is stunning? It looks perfect on you.”

“Of course it does. Now on your way.”

Zandrue curtsied again—gods, she hated this fawning, but it was a means to an end. “Of course, your Highness. Although...if I could say one more thing?”

Annai groaned. “Go ahead.”

“I want to apologise for the manner in which we arrived. Quilla’s behaviour was atrocious.”

“That’s certainly true. It was inexcusable. Father is too forgiving sometimes.”

“She’s grieving or course, but that doesn’t excuse what she said, and I just want it known that we don’t all approve. I probably won’t have a chance to say this directly to her Majesty, so I thought I’d use this moment to say it to you. I apologise again for any inconvenience.”

Annai fanned herself again. “Very well, I accept your apology.”

“Thank you, your Highness. If there’s anything I can do in your service to help make up for it, please let me know.”

Annai frowned. “In my service? Why would I want one of Felitïa’s friends in my service? No, you’ve apologised. That is enough.”

“With respect, your Highness, I know you and Felitïa don’t get along very well. Truth be told, she and I have had our differences recently. I don’t approve of what she did on Scovese or her actions in Ninifin that led to Garet’s death. I liked Garet a lot, and I don’t know yet if I can forgive her for that. But that’s neither here nor there. People know me as a friend of Felitïa. Having one of Felitïa’s friends in your debt looks pretty good for you, doesn’t it? And I could tell you a few things about Felitïa, too. Things you could use against her.” Zandrue gave her best demure smile and curtsied again.

Sinitïa stared at Zandrue, her jaw hanging open. It would have been better to do this without Sinitïa present, but since Quilla’s visit to her, Sinitïa was not allowed to leave Annai’s presence, and while she was likely to sneak away at some point, there was no telling when she’d manage that. In order to make all this believable, Zandrue needed to start the process as soon as possible. She would just have to explain it in private to Sinitïa once she finally did get away from Annai.

Annai’s frown deepened. “Seriously?”

“It kind of makes sense, Annai,” the freckled woman said. “If we can trust her, that is.”

“Exactly,” Annai said. “What possible reason do I have to trust anything you say? I’ve accepted your apology. Let that be enough. On your way!”

“Yes, your Highness. Thank you for listening to me.” Zandrue curtsied one last time and backed out of the room.

Once she’d closed the doors between her and Annai, she sighed. She would have liked to listen at the door again to hear what Annai said next, but a servant was coming down the hall with a tray of pastries, so she started back towards Felitïa’s apartments, snatching a pastry as she passed the servant.

Even without knowing Annai’s immediate reaction, Zandrue felt that had gone well—better than expected, in fact. With luck, it had planted a seed she could nurture over the coming days and weeks.

* * * * *

The setting sun reflected off the freshly fallen snow. It gave the entirety of the Palace grounds, from the gardens to the trees, fountains, and even buildings, a faint orange glow. It was amazing how, in the space of just a couple days, the weather could go from rain to snow. It should have been beautiful, but Quilla couldn’t think of it in those terms. Beauty didn’t exist right now. It couldn’t. Especially in the sunsets she used to love watching with Garet.

The balcony door opened and Marna stepped out, carrying a shawl. She curtsied. “I brought you this for the cold, my Lady.”

Quilla stared at the shawl. Right now, she liked the cold. It was piercing and its discomfort gave her something to feel other than anger and sadness. It probably wasn’t a good idea to stand out in it without some protection, but she hadn’t been intending to spend very long out here. Just a little while.

That little while had gone on longer than she’d intended, though.

She took the shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Thank you, Marna.”

Marna curtsied again and turned back to the door.

Quilla bit her lip. “Uh, Marna?” This was as good a time as any to start making nice with Marna.

Marna turned back to face her. “Yes, my Lady?”

“You asked before what it was like being an Eloorin with servants?”

Marna lowered her head. “Yes, my Lady. I spoke out of place. I meant no offence.”

Quilla shook her head. “You did nothing wrong. It was a simple question. I’ve just been distraught recently.”

“Understandably so, my Lady, with Prince Garet’s death and all.”

Quilla forced a smile. “I just wanted to apologise for the rude way I responded.”

“No apology is necessary, my Lady.”

Quilla bit her lip again. She wasn’t sure why she had such trouble talking to this girl. Marna seemed nice enough. Of course, there was every chance Marna was reporting every word Quilla said back to Ardon. It didn’t matter that Ardon was on her side; it was still disturbing. That was a reason to be wary of what the girl said.

“Was there anything else, my Lady?”

Quilla took a deep breath and walked over to the door. “Let’s go back inside.”

Marna curtsied and followed.

Quilla sat on the chaise longue in the salon and tried to make herself comfortable. It used to be such a comfortable seat, but now… After a moment, she just accepted that she wasn’t going to be as comfortable as she wanted.

Marna had closed the balcony door and was walking over to Quilla.

“Bring some wine,” Quilla said. “And two cups.”

Marna placed a pitcher on a tray, but paused when she reached for the goblets. “Two, my Lady?”

Quilla nodded and gestured to the chair nearest her. “Come sit and have some wine with me.”

Marna looked down at the floor. “I couldn’t possibly, my Lady. It would be inappropriate of me.”

“Marna, I’m not actually a lady. I’m an Eloorin with a servant, remember? I want to answer your question and tell you a little about what it’s like. So come sit with me and have a drink.”

With a quick nod, Marna placed two goblets on the tray and hurried over to Quilla. She placed the tray on the table beside the chaise longue, filled one of the cups, and handed it to Quilla.

Quilla took it from her. “Thank you.” She took a sip and nodded at the other cup. “It’s all right. Go ahead.”

Marna hesitated a moment longer, then picked up the pitcher and filled the other cup half full. She took the goblet, moved over to the edge of the chair, and lowered herself slowly into it. She continued to stare at the floor.

Quilla leaned low, trying to make eye contact with the girl. She raised her cup. “It’s all right. I know this isn’t normal behaviour for a lady and her servants, but like I said, I’m not a lady, and I don’t actually want to be one. I never did. I just wanted Garet.”

Marna looked up. “You must have loved him very much.”

“Yes, I did.” Quilla sat back up and took a sip of wine. She stopped herself taking a larger drink. She wasn’t going to repeat the other night. She’d make this cup last the way she always used to.

Marna raised her own goblet to her lips. She hesitated again.

“It’s okay,” Quilla said.

Marna tipped the cup and took a small sip.

Quilla smiled at her.

Marna smiled back. “We’re not supposed to drink this wine. It’s too high quality for us. There’s lower quality, watered-down wine for the servants in the kitchen.”

“Then you get a bit of a treat.”

Marna lowered her eyes. “I’ve actually had some before. We all sneak sips from time to time.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Quilla said.

Marna peered up at her. “So, what’s it like? Being an Eloorin with servants, that is. I mean, if it’s not too forward of me.”

Quilla sipped at her wine. “It’s weird. I feel caught between two worlds. The nobles don’t like me because I’m not really one of them, and the servants don’t like me because they think I’ve betrayed them somehow. Maybe I have. It didn’t bother me as much before because I had Garet. I suppose, over time, it would have started to bother me more, but now he’s gone, it definitely does.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through that,” Marna said. “If it’s any consolation, I like you. I don’t think you’ve betrayed anyone.” She took another sip of wine and placed the goblet on the low table in front of the chaise longue.

Quilla peered at her own cup. “Thank you. That means a lot. I hope we can get to know each other better, Marna. Felitïa always spoke highly of you.”

Marna hugged herself and gave a small smile. “I’m glad. I liked working for her Highness. She was always nice to me.”

“Well, I hope I can be nicer to you from now on.” Quilla placed her cup down on the table beside Marna’s. “I even hope we can become friends.”

Marna hugged herself tighter. “I’d like that.”

“Tell me about yourself, Marna.”

The girl grimaced. “I’m not sure what to say. I’m just a servant.”

“How did you come to be working at the Palace? How long have you been here?”

“A few years. I—”

A knock at the door interrupted her and Marna sprang to her feet.

Shit. Whoever it was had rotten timing.

Marna hurried over and opened the main doors. A young Eloorin boy in Palace livery stood there. He held out a piece of paper. “For Miss Quilla Steranovist.”

As soon as Marna took the paper, the boy darted away. Marna closed the doors. “A letter for you, my Lady.”

“Bring it here.”

As soon as she had the letter in her hands, Quilla turned it over and back again. The paper was folded over and sealed with wax, though the wax bore no sigil. She broke the seal and unfolded the paper. The letter contained only a single sentence.

Have you reached a decision yet?

It wasn’t signed, but she recognised the handwriting. It had been a long time since she’d seen it, but it wasn’t something she would ever forget.

“Shit.”

“Is everything all right, my Lady?”

She looked over at Marna. “Go find Zandrue and bring her here right away.”

Marna curtsied and rushed for the door.

“Wait!” Quilla hurried after her and handed her the letter. “Tell her it’s from… Well, she can probably guess who it’s from.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“You can read it if you like. I don’t care.”

“That’s not—”

“Now get going. Be as quick as you can.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Marna hurried from the apartments.

Quilla stomped back over to the chaise longue, grabbed her wine, and brought it to her lips. She paused. Then, with a scream, she threw it at the wall. “Fucking bastard!” The goblet shattered and wine splashed out, leaving a dripping red mark on the wall and a puddle of red on the floor.

What the fuck was Dyle playing at? Had she made a decision yet? About what? Why the hell had she gotten herself so stupidly drunk she couldn’t remember? She kicked at the low table, knocking Marna’s cup of wine over and spilling out its contents.

She stood there, breathing heavily for some time—she wasn’t sure how long. Her heart beat loudly. Eventually, the doors opened again.

“My Lady? Zandrue’s here. My Lady?”

Quilla didn’t turn to look. Her heart continued to pound.

A moment later, Zandrue was in front of her, putting her arms around her, and hugging her. “We’ll find him. Marna says she knows the boy who delivered the letter. She’s going to take me to him, and maybe he can tell us who gave him the letter, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first. Will you be all right for a little while?”

Quilla took a deep breath and nodded. She stepped back from Zandrue. “Just find him.”

Zandrue nodded. “Marna, let’s go.”

Once they were gone, Quilla sat on the chaise longue and picked up Marna’s goblet. She refilled it and drank a gulp.

Hello Quilla. It’s been a long time.

A part of her had still hoped it had been a drunken dream, but there was no doubting it now. Dyle was definitely here.

She closed her eyes and tried to think back to two nights ago. She remembered the wine. She remembered visiting Sinitïa. She remembered Ardon. And she remembered those words.

Hello Quilla. It’s been a long time.

Then there were just images. His scar. Had he been rubbing it? Yes, he’d rubbed it numerous times. Or was she just creating that image now to satisfy her desire to remember?

And there had been more wine. She’d definitely drunk more wine while he’d been there, but she couldn’t say if it had been a single sip or an entire pitcher.

And she remembered Dyle reaching for something…

Her locket!

He had reached for the locket and she had backed away from him.

Don’t you dare!

He had taken it. He must have.

When you make up your mind, come find me at…

Gods damn it! He’d given her a way to find him and she couldn’t remember it. Typical. She should tell Zandrue this.

She gulped down the rest of her wine and poured another cup. She shouldn’t drink so much, but to hell with it. She didn’t care right now. Maybe getting drunk again would somehow help her remember. Being sober sure as hell wasn’t working. She drank down the goblet and poured another.