The Prince across from him ate very little, and listened intently, his expression so closed Kordas could make out nothing of what he was thinking. The Duke, as his girth suggested, ate practically everything. The Count ate about as much as Kordas did. There was music. The air was gently perfumed; the jewels, gold, and silver glittered; the mage-lights were just bright enough and a pleasing color of pink. The conversation was muted in a way that suggested there was some sort of dampening effect in this room, so that the sound didn’t become overwhelming. Kordas took note that virtually every Doll attending the humans had some sort of identifying feature about it. Some were subtle; small marks on the forehead, such has he had made on Star, Rose, and Clover, or actual faces drawn or painted on the heads. The faces . . . well, they were done well. He suspected there might be some subtle competition going on, with the masters of the Dolls hiring artists to do the work. Some of those faces were just a little too realistic for comfort. Some of the Dolls were ostentatious, displaying gold or silver jewelry as if the Doll was a merchant’s display model. Some were ridiculous: wigs on their heads, and dresses, or coats and breeches, which made them look like gigantic versions of a child’s toy. So he wasn’t the only one who wanted to tell the Dolls apart.

All of them, however, sported the Imperial tabard. Evidently the Emperor wanted to make sure that people were aware at all times that the Dolls that served them belonged to the Emperor, not to them.

From time to time someone around him would address Kordas with some quip that was meant to highlight or confirm that he was, essentially, a bumped-up country Squire. Mostly he answered these in a way that confirmed that impression.

But when the Count, over the dessert course, asked sneeringly, “Just who was your father, Valdemar?” he decided it was time to break that impression a little.