Eventually, we come to a huge door with metal cuffs at the corners and a knocker in the shape of a wyvern’s head at its center. I knock once. No more than a second passes before the door opens to reveal a Kazan servant who ushers Saengo and me inside. Our guards remain in the corridor with Theyen’s.

We step into a small foyer, to the right of which is a dining room. Theyen is already waiting at a low table, sitting cross-legged on a plush cushion with lavender tassels. In the brilliant light of multiple lanterns, his skin is the pale gray of river stones. He’s dressed in a teal tunic with silver embroidery. He wears a matching jacket and a darker gray sash knotted around his waist. At our arrival, he stands.

I decide it’s best to stick to diplomacy. “Hlau Theyen, may I introduce you to my dearest friend, Saengo Phang.”

They both bow respectfully and exchange greetings. He waits until Saengo and I lower onto large beaded cushions and then finds his seat again.

His civility surprises me. But then he shakes his head and casts a critical eye at my appearance. “You look haggard.”

I glance at Saengo with an “I told you so” look. I can tell she’s calling on every ounce of her good breeding to keep from glowering at him.

Passing a hand down my splendorous attire, I affect a mock frown. “Do I not meet your approval?”

“No one meets my approval,” he says easily. I suspect he isn’t entirely joking. “Did you not sleep well last night?”

Ghostly hands scratch at my arms. But I smile and say, “I slept fine. And you?”

“Perfectly. The Kazan need very little sleep in general.”

His servants finish serving our lunch, a sumptuous offering of roast smothered in plum sauce, fragrant herbed rice, pickled vegetables, and bite-size slices of fresh fruit.

“Hlau Theyen, thank you for the services of your healer. I’m deeply grateful,” Saengo says.

He nods. “I was sorry to hear of your condition.”

He does sound genuinely sorry, but I can’t help searching his face for anything that might betray an ulterior motive.

Saengo murmurs something noncommittal and then says more brightly, “I once read something about how the Fireborn Queens acquired their name. Is it true that Penumbria is protected by inferni?”

Theyen smiles, a secretive curve of his mouth. “That isn’t an answer that’s mine to give.”

“You’re a Hlau,” I point out. “Penumbria’s secrets are all but yours.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll say this and nothing more—the inferni like the dark places of the earth, and our chroniclers tell of how our ancestors formed a blood pact with them for mutual protection. But storytellers do like to embellish.”