“Get your things together. We are going out again. I have a new lead, a very promising one.”

Enzio smiled. “Is this the sort of excursion that requires two knights, Your Highness?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” she said, giving him a wink.

“Your Highness.” Kolby waited until he had reached them before saying more. He drew close, then spoke in a low voice. “First Minister Dray has sent instructions that, ah . . . that you are restricted to the city limits until we are told otherwise.”

“What? Are you . . . are you serious? You can’t be. You’re joking.”

Kolby shook his head.

“Why? What reason did he give?”

“None, but Dray did say the order came from the emperor.”

Farilane set her jaw and shoulders.

“Why do I suspect I ought to pack anyway?” Enzio asked, but she wasn’t certain who he addressed.

Kolby answered her question before she asked. “I believe Dray is in his office.”

Farilane couldn’t prove it, but she was fairly certain Martasen Dray had once been a rodent. The princess didn’t believe in magic, but the First Minister of the Imperial Council was the best evidence she’d ever seen to the contrary. Short and thin, with beady eyes, ears far too big, a head too small, and an unsightly overbite that revealed pronounced front teeth, Martasen Dray was decidedly rat-like. If her personal philosophy were to allow for the existence of enchantments, Farilane would have seized on the theory that some malicious witch had promoted Dray from humble pest to imperial pain. As it was, she settled on the idea that this was—as Orintine Fallon once wrote—a perfect example of “truth bleeding through.” The idea centered around the notion that the honest nature of anything must show itself. Evil was ugly, good beautiful, and Martasen Dray was a rat.

“Minister Dray, have I heard correctly? Did you place me under house arrest?”

“I . . . ah . . . good morning, Your Imperial Highness.” Dray, who had been seated at a desk large enough to serve a banquet on, shoved his chair back and stood up. This was a feat of considerable effort, given the size and weight of the velvet-padded armchair he’d enjoyed before her arrival. “I . . . ah . . .”

“Aya, aya? Is that an answer, or do you have a new secretary you’re calling?”

Dray presented an embarrassed smile as he brushed wrinkles from his sleeves and straightened his back. He took a breath and managed to compose himself. “The order that you remain in the city was issued by the emperor, not me. I am merely tasked with the responsibility of ensuring His Imperial Majesty’s will is implemented.”

At that moment, Dray literally twitched his nose. Perhaps he felt a sneeze coming on, but Farilane suffered a moment of personal doubt on her denial of magic. Is there a tail under that robe? There’s certainly a self-centered cruelty in those eyes.