The major-domo led them through the crowd of officers, some pausing their conversations to bow or salute, though many of them hardly noticed the new arrivals. There was an air of excitement among them all, the kind of energy Clariel had often seen before a hunt, the expectation of adventures to come. Here she found it distasteful, the powerful and rich about to descend upon the weak and defenceless, as if a full array of Borderers were about to attack a rabbit hutch. All these sleek soldiers, and the massed ranks outside, up against the kind of folk who’d thrown the scrunched-up papers at the Palace gates … it had all the trappings of a nightmare, a nightmare bounded by the city walls.

‘This way,’ said the major-domo, opening a small door in the corner, revealing a narrow, winding stair. He took a lantern from its hook above the door and started to climb, his shadow flickering behind him across the steps. ‘This is the Governor’s private stair.’

The door at the top of the steps was open, a bright rectangle lit by many candles within. Kilp himself stood there. He was wearing armour, a coat of gilded mail with no surcoat over it, and his sword with the swan-wings hilt was at his side.

‘Well met, well met! Come on up! I’m sorry we shall not have too much time to dine, as no doubt you saw there is serious business afoot tonight. But the Governor’s office is ever busy.’

He stood aside as they entered a surprisingly large room, the narrow stair being truly a private entrance, as there were large double doors at the other end. The place was lit by candlelight rather than Charter Magic, two huge chandeliers of golden filigree hanging from the timbers of the vaulted ceiling, each carrying a hundred candles. Beneath them was a table of deeply polished walnut, set for six, with a great array of gold and silver cutlery, gold goblets and silver-rimmed glasses, and a massive salt cellar fashioned in the shape of Belisaere itself, or an abstraction of it, a thing of aqueducts and walls with a few key landmarks like the Palace, all of it shining gold and silver and massive gemstones. It was quite remarkably ugly and the weight of metal alone would make it worth a fortune.

Aronzo came in through the main doors as Clariel stepped in from the small, private way. He also was armoured, in blackened mail, and he wore a dark gold surcoat over it, a sword and long dagger on his belt. He smiled, his blue eyes bright in the candlelight.

‘Lady Jaciel and family. Good evening.’