“Pointy,” Ivar snickered. “Now. As I recall, we were promised a baron of beef, a barrel of beer, and one of Sai’s cakes that is so special he only bakes it once every three years. So.”

He grinned up at all of them.

“That’ll be Bay fed. What will I eat?”

9

“Will this do, milord Duke?” whispered Star, gesturing at the shockingly extensive wardrobe laid out on the bed.

Kordas ignored that question for the moment. “How in the name of gods great and small did you do all this so quickly?” he asked. This was literally twice as much clothing as he had brought with him. It was not a “rainbow” of clothing, either; it was, as he had asked for, conservative. The linen shirts were all white. The breeches were all shades of gray. The waistcoats were all shades of matching grays. The coats were all shades of blue-gray. “Do you do this for every visitor?”

“There are many of us, and we do not tire,” Star replied. “And . . . no. No, we do not. We create individual garments, not entire wardrobes, and only when requested. But you are different.”

He licked his lips, and rubbed the back of his neck under his hair. He didn’t have to ask how he was different, not after that answer he’d gotten from Star about how he was permitted to treat the Dolls who had been assigned to him. Of course he was different. He might be the only person in the Palace who didn’t either abuse them or treat them as moving furniture.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, “and I am very much in your debt. This is all wonderful, and exactly what I described.”