Unlike the smaller, somewhat crude original imperial residence, which now served as the Teshlor Guildhall, the “new” palace had no walls. The golden-domed, white-marbled edifice that marked the end of the Grand Marchway—originally built as a tomb for Nyphron—had become the palace out of sheer laziness. Plans were drawn up for a new palace, rejected, and drawn up again. In the end, temporary became comfortable, and concerns about living above a crypt were discovered to be unfounded. No wall had been slated for the tomb, and none added when the imperial family became permanent residents. The age of constant warfare was over. Nolyn’s reign was a time of peace. Walls were seen as a relic of the past.

Farilane saw it as a convenience of the present.

Slipping out the back, Farilane led Kile toward Arion Avenue, a lovely little street that was spared the mercantile crowds of Imperial Square. The two walked the serene boulevard divided by towering trees. Farilane lifted her hood, carefully tucking her golden hair out of sight, and wrapped her body in the muted cloth. She let Kile continue to carry her bag as well as his. Who could accuse her of trying to escape without bringing so much as a pack? She could claim to be seeing Kile off on whatever journey he was taking. Once they reached the far bank of the Bernum River, when the odds of her being seen by anyone who might dare to stop her were reduced to absurd, she would carry her own weight. For now, she let Kile suffer the thought that she expected him to haul everything all the way to Dibben. It was good for him. She hadn’t tortured the replacement near enough.

The city itself also lacked a wall. She and Kile would not need to pass through any gate or checkpoint where people might ask questions. Percepliquis was a trusting city in a peaceful time.

“Where are we going?” Kile asked, struggling to keep up with her quick, unencumbered strides.

While the city might be trusting, Kile was less so, but Farilane was glad of it. His inquiry showed he wasn’t a fool—an excellent trait in a traveling partner. Also, the question was far more eloquent than it appeared. He showed no concern, made no accusation, although she was certain by now that he held both. Farilane was confident in her ability to perceive much about a person at a glance, but here she had studied Kile only to come up mystified. He was far more intelligent than he let on, wearing his commoner personality like a cloak. His true face, she believed, was hidden from her. That alone made him more interesting than anyone else she’d met in the last hundred years, with the possible exception of First Minister Dray. But where Dray gave the repulsive impression of a rat, Kile had the feel of an adorable mutt.