Kordas felt his jaw sagging, as he heard what were almost his own thoughts being echoed back at him from the Doll’s—well, it didn’t have a mouth, but it did have a voice.

“The ones below who know the language of clothing have chosen a path for you that this one hopes will serve. Your clothing is fitted exactly, and designed to display the physique of a very physical man. One who is not lightly trifled with, lest he lash out physically in anger.” The Doll gestured at the garments on the bed. “Slightly out of fashion. No ornamentation of the outer garments. Lace is linen thread, not gold or silver. You do not display wealth upon your person. But this only signifies that you feel no need to. This should, if the ones below are correct, engender conflicting feelings. The first, that you are, as you say, a bumpkin to not understand that clothing makes the man. But the second, an uneasy feeling that perhaps the Duke is so confident he feels no need for display. And if you are that confident . . . what is your reason for feeling such confidence? Is it misplaced confidence? Or do you have power that is not apparent?”

He forced his mouth to close. “I think you might be the very first being I have ever met that understands the—the Fourth Game,” he said.

He used that term to see if Star really did understand it. And Star did not disappoint.

“We call it the Great Game. The Game of Power,” Star agreed. “We who are unregarded and unobserved have been observing this Game since we were bound to serve.”

Well, that particular turn of phrase caught his attention. But he wasn’t given the chance to ask about it, because at just that moment, all the mage-lights in the bedroom dimmed and turned to a soft blue, and a three-note chime rang across the room.

“Milord Duke, that is the signal that it is time to dress for dinner. This one fears that, although you are accustomed to dress and undress yourself, the close fit of these new garments will require that this one assist you.”

“Botheration,” he muttered, and sighed. “Will the Emperor be at this dinner?” If his memories were correct, the answer should be no. When he’d last been here, the Emperor only attended Court meals that were “occasions,” preferring to keep his physical presence as a sort of reward—and an opportunity for his courtiers to display their loyalty. He rather doubted that his presence tonight was an “occasion.” The arrival of the tribute-horses had never been any sort of event before, and it didn’t make sense that it suddenly would be now.