I refrain from laughing and pat the seat beside me. “A lot of it. Just the way you like.”

We’re both on our second helping before the servant returns and introduces herself as our personal maid. The idea both intrigues and confuses me. I’ve never had a personal maid. I suspect she’s meant to report everything we do back to Ronin.

Saengo only spares her a brief glance, but I give her closer scrutiny. Her eyes are brown. Human, then. Originally from Evewyn, I’d guess. She has the light skin tone and black hair of the northerners, like Saengo.

Although I’ll never know my blood family, my appearance—tawny skin, black hair, the shape of my eyes, and the curve of my nose—indicates I have ancestors from both the northern and southern regions.

There’d been periods in ancient history when the borders stood open, allowing free movement across Thiy. But that was well before the Dead Wood and before the shaman emperors conquered much of the continent to form the Nuvalyn Empire. With so much animosity between the kingdoms now, it’s difficult to imagine how such a time ever existed.

Before the attack, I’d never even seen a Nuvali shaman, much less glimpsed the Empire. But the stories I’ve read and the tales I’ve picked up paint a strange picture—a land where the sun holds dominion, where magic lingers thick as dust in the air, and where the power of the shamans runs through the earth like veins, the very lifeblood of the Nuvalyn Empire.

The servant announces that Ronin will see us both, but separately. My stomach dips, making me wish I’d eaten less. Saengo gives me a small smile, but I can read her nervousness even without the connection between us.

I allow the servant to usher me away from the table to bathe. I’ve just finished changing when there’s a knock at the door.

“That’ll be your escort,” says the maid. She rushes out into the sitting room to answer the door. I take escort to mean guard.

I’m proven correct when two soldiers await me in the hall: one, an older woman with the gem-colored eyes of an earthwender. The other is a human man with heavy brows and a thin mustache framing his mouth. The human man stays behind to guard Saengo, but the earthwender gives me a curt command to follow her.

She guides me through long hallways with floor-length windows and past columns inlaid with chips of crystal. I take in what I can of the castle and its layout. Closed courtyards with marble pools, long dried, whisper of a former grandeur. Given the castle’s age, it’s in remarkable condition. White patches speckle the stone, especially glaring against the more vibrantly patterned walls. As we round a corner, I peer closer.