The rainbow glisten of the Hall of Time, being beneath it—I used to be in awe of it, but now, all I can think about is my nightmare. Varia has nightmares about a Tree. And I had a nightmare in which this hall collapsed, and I had to wade through the glass shards as they cut me to reach two Old God rosaries with naked trees on them. I watched the glass shards of this hall arrange themselves on the bark of a tree, becoming it. Unease crawls through me as the summer sunlight glitters into my eyes, throwing crimson and azure shadows over my skin.

In comparison, the small stone hallway that opens into the throne room, and the throne room itself, feels like a lifting of a thousand pounds off my chest. The grand stone cavern that houses the throne makes me feel at peace. Perhaps because of the Hall of Time nightmare, but also because the place is nearly empty of people.

The vaulted ceilings of the cavern are held up by polished stone pillars, everything illuminated by the glass circles etched high above that let in several concentrated beams of searing white sunlight from outside. The light catches on the gold braziers but sprawls itself over the crystal throne at the back and center of the room. The lawguards march me up the long carpet walk and stop me in the very middle of a large beam of sunlight.

My eyes adjust, sunlit dust swirling around me as I capture each face—King Sref, relaxed and handsome on the shining throne, his hulking celeon royal guards at his side, and then scattered around the throne in smaller chairs are the three Ministers of Cavanos. I recognize them all from the banquets and Y’shennria’s training—the Ministers of the Blood, Brick, and Coin. The Minister of the Sword’s chair is empty—the space where Gavik should be sitting somehow seems to grow larger with each passing second.

I thought I wouldn’t be nervous. But King Sref is still a king. He carries himself like a true ruler, a true d’Malvane, and his sharp gray gaze on me has my palms sweating. I slowly make a kingworthy bow to the floor and lift my head only when his voice rumbles out, “Rise.”

“Lady Zera Y’shennria—” The Minister of the Blood, a short mustached man stands from his chair, his voice far louder than his stature betrays. “Niece of Quinn Y’shennria, you come before us as the secondary witness to the murder of Archduke Gavik Himintell. The evidence you provide here will be used in the investigation of unearthing his killer. Under the New God’s many watchful eyes, you are beholden to speak only truth. If this you do not do, the court of Vetris will be compelled to move rightly. Do you understand?”