Two women of medium rank had gathered in front of the mirror. Both wore skeletal stacks of gold on their wrists and patterned skirts the shade of seaweed⁠—a modest imitation of the Gatdulas’ incandescent green. They quieted as she approached. She ignored them and made as though she were straightening her raptor-shaped headpiece, shifting it so the weight of its golden wings lay evenly on either side of her forehead.

“Datu Kulaw,” the woman closest to her said, bowing her head in respect. Imeria recognized her as the wife of an undistinguished nobleman from the north, likely affiliated with the Luma family.

“Yes, that would be my name,” she said, eyeing them coldly. Her message registered as both women gathered their skirts and left the sitting room without question.

Once they left, the serving girl emerged from the shadows in the back of the sitting room. “We’re alone,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve already checked.”

Imeria met her gaze in the glass. The girl might have been lovely if not for her sallow cheeks and sickly pale skin. She was a well-reared girl from the south, but not much to look at⁠—this was exactly the kind of person Imeria liked to collect. “So, Yari,” she said, “you have information for me.”

Yari nodded, a flush of excitement spreading over her thin cheeks. “It happened only this morning, right after the procession. I saw the general herding a man toward the eastern wing,” she whispered hurriedly. “His guards waited until the other servants were upstairs with the guests. Then they snuck him in through the kitchens. I hid when I heard them coming. They didn’t look like they wanted to be seen.”

Her information made Imeria take pause. The queen was particular about her private affairs, but this reeked of suspicion. What man would Hara Duja try to sneak within the walls of the palace? And why did she want to conceal him?

“This man. What did he look like?” she demanded.

Yari bit her lip. “I’m afraid I didn’t see his face, my lady. He was dressed very strangely.”

“Oh?” Imeria raised her eyebrows. “How was he dressed exactly?”

“In a stiff white shirt and heavy trousers. Almost like a westerner,” she said. “You don’t think he’s actually from the west, do you?”

Imeria diverted her gaze, unable to give Yari an answer. Instead, she reached for the tiny purse in the pocket of her skirt and counted its contents in the palm of her hand. “For your services,” she said, tossing Yari a gold coin. “If you learn more, you know how to contact me.”

Yari bowed once again. “Anything for you, my lady,” she said, eyeing the coin greedily.

Imeria glanced again at her reflection in the sitting-room mirror. She looked tired, and not as young as she had once been. “Thank you again,” she said to Yari, before returning to the clamor of the dawn feast.