Not even on my list. Farilane was certain he had been about to ask for food, a job, clemency for a loved one, or perhaps a bar of soap. This was so far off the mark, she was intrigued. “Who is this Proust? What is he a master of?”

“He, ah . . . hard to say exactly.”

“And why didn’t he come here if he wished to speak to me?”

“Master Proust is a very important man—”

She smiled. “And I’m the imperial princess. With the exception of the emperor, my father, or my brother—there is no one more important. People come to us.”

“Yes, yes, yes—I understand. So does he. It’s—it’s just that he can’t. It’s hard to explain.”

Farilane had no doubt about that. This man likely had a difficult time explaining his name. “Fine. What is so urgent and important?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Farilane suppressed a laugh. “You want me to go meet a stranger you can’t describe, who refuses to come here for reasons unknown, to discuss something you know nothing about?”

He answered with a painful grimace.

“Look”—she almost put a hand on his shoulder again, but caught herself—“as enticing as all this sounds, and I’m not being facetious here, it really is bizarre enough to be intriguing. I’m certain I have other plans. Almost positive I was going to file dead skin off my heels later today. So please relay to your master that I’ll have to pass. I’m sorry you had to call in your last favor to borrow that tunic, but a meeting is not going to happen.” Farilane turned. She took three steps, then the man managed to speak again.

“He wants to help you find the Horn of Gylindora.”

Farilane stopped.

“Going somewhere, Your Highness?” Ethan Yardley asked as Farilane followed her new guide out of the palace and into Imperial Square. Seeing the Teshlor Knight, she knew it was past midday. In the mornings, the gate was watched by Ransara Soto, one of the few Calynian Teshlors, the one who wore a gold earring and made the ladies swoon. Ethan was no slouch, either. The man was as chiseled as a statue, but unlike most of the knights, he let his hair grow long.

“Yes,” she replied, still struggling to attach the pendant to the collar of her hastily grabbed cape. “I was thinking of heading out to the forest, stripping naked, slathering myself in honey, and then running through the trees screaming, ‘Come get me, bears!’”