The girl tested the water with one toe, shivered deliciously in anticipation, and slid into the tub one leg at a time. The thatch of hair between her legs was a darker green, Maya noted, before she furiously dragged her eyes away.

Ask. Her. Name. She’d paused too long, and it would be awkward. Plague that. Ask or you’ll regret it.

“Um,” Maya said. “I—”

“Beq?” Another girl’s voice, coming from the anteroom.

“In here!” the girl in the pool shouted.

In a few moments, two more girls and a younger boy had piled into the bath, sending great waves of warm water sloshing over the side and into the drains. None of them did more than nod at Maya as they passed, chatting and laughing. The beautiful girl, Beq, was laughing with them.

Right, Maya told herself. I got her name, didn’t I? She tugged her towel a bit tighter and beat a hasty retreat.

*

Beq featured heavily in some very inappropriate dreams that night, and Maya woke up the following morning feeling irritable and unsatisfied. Her clothes, washed, folded, and patched, were waiting in a neat pile outside her door, along with a breakfast tray and a note instructing her to be at Kyriliarch Baselanthus’ office within the hour. She dressed hurriedly, gobbled the bread, jam, and vulpi milk, and set off into the depths of the Forge with only a vague idea where she was going.

Fortunately, before long she ran into a servant who was able to give her directions that got her most of the way. The Council of Kyriliarchs occupied the upper levels of the fortress, where the mountain narrowed, their offices set against the exterior walls to provide windows and balconies. That meant pounding up endless flights of circular stairs until she’d worked up a healthy sweat, and by the time she got to the proper floor the spiraling meant she’d completely lost track of which direction she was supposed to be going.

Up here, at least, there were more people about than in the cavernous, empty lower levels, and the furnishings made the place seem more inhabited. The corridors were still raw stone, but the floors were covered with long rugs, and flowering plants stood at intervals between the sunlamps on the walls, providing a little color. Maya paused to catch her breath, then flagged down a well-dressed middle-aged man making his way toward the stairs.

He was tall, with red-black hair carefully combed and coiffed. When he saw Maya, breathing hard, he raised one elegant eyebrow and gave her an indulgent smile.

“Yes, Agathios?”

Damn. Belatedly, Maya noticed the colors trimming his jacket. Blue-red-purple, that was Nicomidi Thunderclap, a member of the Council. Maya swallowed and bowed, hoping he wouldn’t take offense at being buttonholed like a servant.

“My apologies, Kyriliarch,” she said. “I’m due for a meeting with Kyriliarch Baselanthus, and I seem to be lost.”