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“But perhaps it would be better to take a domestic bride,” Jiramondi said. “The prefect is very popular. Perhaps Filomara and the council would be happiest if one of us married Liramelli.”

“Maybe there is no way to know what would please them,” Corene said. “Maybe it would be better to marry to please yourselves.”

“All that would please me is being named my aunt’s successor,” Garameno said flatly. Jiramondi merely nodded.

Corene could hardly fault them for that sentiment. She’d crossed an ocean in search of a crown, after all, since she didn’t seem likely to inherit one at home. But she couldn’t help thinking that such single-minded focus on the pursuit of power wasn’t particularly attractive in either man. It made her squirm to think how unattractive it must be in
her
.

•   •   •

S
teff remained closeted with Filomara for the next series of days, and without him the afternoon penta tournaments seemed oddly flat. So they were all delighted when he finally joined them in the sun-filled room where they had gathered to play cards.

“Did you escape, or did my aunt throw you out?” Jiramondi inquired when Steff pulled a chair up to the table and practically collapsed in it.

“I think I escaped, but it’s hard to tell,” Steff said with a groan. “Some fellow showed up to discuss—something—and at first she invited me to listen. But then she changed her mind and said I might be excused.”

They laughed, and he went on. “It’s been like that for days. Every time a visitor arrives, she’ll spend five minutes telling me who he is and why he’s important, and then she’ll have me sit in the room and listen in. Then he leaves, and she questions me about what I heard and what I learned and whether or not I thought he was lying. It’s more exhausting than plowing the entire farm by hand.”

Liramelli gave him a serious look. “But it must have been instructive.”

Steff ran a hand through his hair, which—until that moment—was neater than Corene had ever seen it. In fact, now that she looked him over closely, she could see that his whole appearance had been subtly altered. He was wearing highly tailored, completely unadorned Malinquese clothing; the dark colors suited his face and made him look older and more sophisticated. Or maybe that was the effect of his intense concentration on everything the empress was trying to teach him.

“I suppose so,” he answered Liramelli. “I can’t tell how much I’m actually
learning
and how much I’m just listening in bewilderment.”

Jiramondi shuffled the cards and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. When everyone nodded, he began dealing another hand of penta. “If Greggorio can learn the intricacies of Malinquese politics, you can, too, because Greggorio is as stupid as an ox,” Jiramondi said. When the three women protested, he shrugged. “He
is
stupid. I’m fond of him, and he doesn’t have an ounce of cruelty in him, but he’d make a terrible emperor.” He flicked a card at Liramelli and challenged her, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Corene watched Liramelli’s earnest face crease with worry. Corene supposed the other girl was capable of lying, since
everyone
was capable of lying, but she didn’t seem to be able to do it when Malinqua was the topic at hand. “He would probably be a very popular ruler,” she offered at last.

“He certainly
looks
the part,” Jiramondi agreed. “But I don’t think he could negotiate a trade agreement to save his life.”

“He simply needs to marry well,” Melissande decreed. “Handsome, stupid men always benefit from marrying intelligent, resourceful women.”

Steff sorted his cards and gave her an impudent grin. “Are you volunteering to take him in hand?”

She swatted him lightly on the arm. “I
am
very clever,” she answered, then nodded across the table. “But so is Corene, and so is Liramelli—and Liramelli, besides, has the advantage of understanding the whole of Malinquese politics. In fact, the match is so obvious, I cannot believe it has not been promoted before now.”

Liramelli’s face suddenly assumed a closed expression, and even the easygoing Jiramondi looked to be momentarily at a loss.

“Ah,” Melissande said. “So there is some unhappy history here.”

Steff looked up from his cards. “What, were the two of you betrothed or something? What went wrong?”

Corene punched his shoulder. “Stop talking. Just play your cards.”

“I wish people would stop hitting me all the time,” Steff complained, ostentatiously rubbing his arm.

“Then shut up when people tell you to.”

Liramelli had regained her usual composure. “Everyone knows the story anyway. Yes, you’re right. Filomara and my father had decided
that Greggorio and I would be an excellent match. It had not been formally announced but—”

“Everybody knew,” Jiramondi supplied.

“But Greggorio didn’t—he wasn’t—he didn’t seem to have realized how beneficial such a match could have been to the kingdom,” Liramelli said carefully.

He thinks you’re plain and boring, and it broke your heart,
Corene thought.
Were you in love with him? You seem too smart to care only about a pretty face.
Though she supposed even the smartest woman could be dumb about love. To help Liramelli through the painful part of the narrative, she said flippantly, “He rebelled at the idea of being tied to one woman for the rest of his life, and he started flirting madly with anyone who crossed his path. And since he’s gorgeous and might be emperor one day, everyone flirted back.”

“Yes,” Liramelli said. “My father was angry, the empress was furious, and Greggorio—” She shrugged.

“Greggorio didn’t notice,” Jiramondi said. “Since, as we’ve already established, he’s stupid.”

Melissande leaned back in her chair, somehow managing to look artlessly fetching as she did so. This sort of intrigue was absolutely delicious to her, Corene thought. “I think perhaps you do not give young Greggorio enough credit,” she said. “I think he saw the road that had been laid out before him, did not want to travel it, and took whatever steps he deemed necessary to change his course.”

“Think that if you like,” Jiramondi said dryly, “but never in the eighteen years I’ve known him has he ever thought that clearly or that far ahead.”

“So what happened?” Steff asked, as blunt as ever. He caught Corene’s hand as she lifted it to swat him again. “I mean it. What happened?”

Liramelli glanced at Jiramondi. “There was a girl named Sarona. The daughter of one of the richest merchants in the city. He began spending so much time with her that no one could overlook it. Filomara was angry, but it didn’t deter him. I even heard him tell Filomara that he could marry Sarona if he wanted—she was certainly high-born enough. Which happened to be true.”

Corene and Melissande traded looks. As if she didn’t know,
Melissande said, “But this Sarona, where is she? I do not remember meeting her at court.”

Liramelli glanced at Jiramondi again, clearly trying to decide how much information to share. “The stories differ. Everyone
believes
Filomara told her parents that she had to be removed from Palminera or Filomara would ship the girl off herself. The empress claims she never gave such an ultimatum.”

“At any rate, she’s gone now,” Jiramondi said.

“How long ago did she leave?” Corene asked.

“A nineday or two before you arrived,” Jiramondi answered.

Corene raised her eyebrows. “Not very long. Is Greggorio heartbroken?”

Liramelli looked sad. “I do think he’s lost some of his—his
brightness
since Sarona left,” she said.

“So maybe he did love her,” Corene said.

“And who would want to marry a man in love with someone else?” Liramelli asked.

“It would not bother me particularly,” Melissande said briskly. “People fall in and out of love all the time. It is to be expected! And a king—well—he might have
many
loves over his lifetime. I don’t think you should marry a royal ruler and think to find romance.”

“One has to admire the practical Coziquela spirit,” Jiramondi said, saluting her with his penta cards.

She gathered up her own cards and began sorting them into suits. “Yes, I think one does,” she said serenely. “Now, shall we play this round? Oh, we must, because I have a
very
good hand.”

•   •   •

W
hen people weren’t speculating about Steff’s audiences with Filomara or Greggorio’s affection for Sarona, they were talking about the upcoming gala. Apparently it was rare for Filomara to plan a celebration of any size, and this one would be massive. The main event would be at the palace, of course, but there would be additional venues throughout the city where she would arrange for food, music, and entertainment, all paid for by the crown. The scale of the event required so much planning that it might not occur until a nineday or two before Quinnasweela.

Corene expected that she and Melissande would spend hours determining what to wear to the grand fete, but she was surprised when Liramelli seemed to be fretting about the same topic. Well, she hadn’t figured Liramelli out yet, she knew, so the Malinquese girl was always surprising her.

Once was when Liramelli asked her to dinner. She’d managed to loiter behind with Corene after one particularly raucous penta round, maneuvering so that the two of them were alone together, putting away the cards.

“My mother and father would like to invite you to their apartment for dinner sometime in the next nineday,” she said, her serious voice making the request seem even more formal.

Corene had only had a few brief conversations with Liramelli’s parents, and they’d all been so desultory that she couldn’t imagine sitting through a whole meal, but, of course, there was only one answer. “I’d be delighted! Simply pick a day.”

That was quickly settled; it took longer for Corene to decide what to wear to the meal. Liramelli exemplified the Malinquese fashion of severe unadorned simplicity, so Corene wanted to show respect by wearing her plainest, darkest tunic and trousers. And yet, the prefect and his wife might be
expecting
their foreign guest to look exotic. So Corene compromised by adding a brightly colored shawl covered with winking sequins. A gift from Zoe, who loved anything gaudy.

Liramelli had offered to meet her at her door and escort her to the prefect’s suite in the southern wing of the palace. Corene was positive she wouldn’t find her way otherwise, so she gratefully accepted. But when she answered the knock on her door that evening, she found Foley there instead of Liramelli.

“Just wanted you to know I’m ready,” he said.

“You’re coming with me?”

He nodded. “I’ll wait in the hallway.”

She tilted her head to one side. “I’m trying to decide if they’ll find that rude or impressive.”

“I don’t much care,” he responded.

His tone was polite but his posture was unyielding; clearly, nothing would dissuade him from accompanying her. But she liked the thought
of him prowling along behind her as they traversed the palace’s endless halls. She liked knowing he would be within call of her voice for the duration of the meal. “Then I’ll hope they think it’s impressive.”

Liramelli arrived just then and cast only a cursory glance at Foley; it seemed she was used to him by now. “I love that shawl,” she said instantly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“My stepmother gave it to me. I love it, too.”

Liramelli set off toward the end of the hall, not the direction Corene usually went. “I’m already lost,” she said with a light laugh.

Liramelli produced her usual serious smile. “There are two stories that connect between the red wing and the white one,” she said. “One is the ground level, of course, but the sixth one also connects.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You didn’t grow up here, chasing other children down the halls and learning where all the stairwells and passages run.”

Corene laughed. “That sounds like fun.”

“Greggorio and I knew every inch of this palace. We’ve been on the roof, we’ve been down in the foundations. I don’t think there’s a single room we haven’t been inside.”

“Even the empress’s suite?”

For a moment, even Liramelli’s strict face looked merry. “
Especially
the empress’s suite.”

She took them through an unmarked doorway that Corene would have thought opened onto another bedroom, but that led instead to a stone stairwell, chilly with disuse. Thin tubes of gaslight provided adequate but uninviting illumination and contributed to a somewhat haunted feel.

“Up,” Liramelli said, and they climbed two more stories before arriving at the sixth-floor landing.

“This door is always tricky,” Liramelli commented, wrestling with a heavy metal handle.

“Maybe it’s locked,” Corene suggested. “The empress probably doesn’t like people roaming where she can’t see them.”

“You’re supposed to
think
that,” Liramelli said. “But it’s always like this.”

“Let me try,” Foley said, and stepped between them. Two good
pulls and he wrenched the handle in place with the satisfying
click
of the catch disengaging. The door swung open.

The sixth-floor hallway was almost as spooky as the stairwell. At least half of the sconces appeared to have been turned off, leaving great stretches of the corridor in darkness. In what light remained, Corene could see dozens of thick doors, all of them shut tight, guarding who knew what secrets or horrors? She was even more grateful Foley had come along. Maybe Sarona wasn’t the only young woman who had suddenly vanished from this palace.

“I suppose you and Greggorio went into all of
these
rooms, too?” she asked.

Liramelli didn’t seem at all affected by the dramatic lighting and lurking shadows. “Every one!” she answered, leading them forward. “Most are moldy old bedrooms that haven’t been used in decades. Some are just storage rooms, though I can’t imagine that anyone remembers what’s inside them.”

“Isn’t this the top floor?” Corene asked. “I would have thought it would hold the servants’ quarters.”