She had no idea what methods were followed to appoint such men. There ought to be some criteria, some checklist, some test. The First Minister was the voice of the emperor and head of the council. His word was just as much law as Estermon’s, more so, since the emperor relied on the First Minister and his council to carry out his will. She couldn’t imagine that her grandfather had randomly grabbed a passerby and slapped the title on him. And yet, she couldn’t fathom how a person such as Dray held the job. Why not the likes of Kolby, a man of impeccable courage and integrity, or an educated, dignified, well-spoken man like Virgil? She barely knew Kile but was certain that even the slender scribe would have been far more capable than this rodent with the dirty fingernails and itchy nose.

And there was one more thing—he unnerved her.

She sought to attribute the feeling of apprehension to his odd nature, his diminutive social powers, and rodent-esque habits but knew this to be defensive rationalization. She felt embarrassed to be worried by such a marvel of awkwardness, yet if she were honest, she must admit that he frightened her. She couldn’t say how, couldn’t fathom any route by which such a destination could be reached by such a person as he, yet there it was: a stunning contradiction, an unsolvable puzzle with buck teeth.

She continued to stare at him, to study the man behind the desk, and he remained standing, content it would seem to be stared at. This, too, bothered her. Why didn’t he wave her away, claiming to be busy, as he most certainly was? Why didn’t he attempt to douse her anger with platitudes, offers of wine, and titillating tidbits of current news that he most assuredly possessed? He did none of those things. Martasen Dray, First Minister to the Emperor, stood before her, patiently waiting as she studied him.

It’s as if he expects the scrutiny. Like he has been waiting for this moment to arrive.

Thinking that Martasen Dray was in some manner ahead of her in his planning was like realizing spring would not follow winter this year.

That’s where the fear rises from. Those are the embers that emit the smoke. His awkwardness is a lie. He’s putting on an act. Is it just for me, or do others know?

Does it matter?

The man had been First Minister for at least a decade, and no problem had revealed itself. Still, Farilane felt there was something here, just as with Kile the scribe, that warranted investigation—but not now. She already had a full schedule.

“How long am I to be under this arrest?”

“Until your birthday.”

“My birthday?”

“I suspect your family wants to ensure that you are on hand for a planned celebration. A surprise party, I suppose. But you didn’t hear that from me.”