She entered a huge bedchamber dominated by a four-poster bed with the mattress held above the floor by a frame of wood and cloth strips. Barely taking in the tapestries and carpets, the windows facing the harbor and the luxurious bed linen, Chloe’s gaze went immediately to the man lying on his back on the bed.

Solon was on top of the tangled linen, eyes wide open as he wheezed. He wore a silk robe on his lean frame and had both hands over his sternum.

A magus in yellow hovered near the bed on the far side, turning his dark stare on Chloe as she entered with the steward behind her. Beside him she recognized one of the lords from the throne room, a short bald man in an orange robe.

Knowing she must project confidence, she turned to address the steward. ‘I will need an empty cup, a jug of very hot water, some fine silk, honey, and lemon.’

‘Wait,’ the magus said, talking to the steward rather than Chloe. ‘She could be preparing a slow-acting poison. She is a foreigner. She is not to be trusted.’

‘Lord?’ the steward addressed the bald man.

He thought for a moment. ‘Bring what she needs. But fetch a slave also.’

When the lord nodded for her to proceed, Chloe made an inspection of the sun king. Despite who he was, she felt sympathy for the obvious pain he was in. Solon’s wide eyes followed her movements as she checked him over and he winced at regular intervals. She felt gently around his throat, making the magus tense when she had both hands around his neck, and checked the color of his hands. His circulation was good, and his glands weren’t swollen. His face had none of the yellow discoloration of jaundice. The shadow around his eyes was the result of fatigue and pain.

The problem was evidently in his chest, and Chloe found herself agreeing with his magi’s assessment: he had a cancer, a malignant growth inside him. It was advanced, she decided. The magi, priests, and priestesses from the Temple of Aeris said that such cases always meant a painful but imminent death.

Completing her inspection, she saw the steward returning with the items she’d asked for. He’d brought a slave with him, an old man with a loincloth bunched around his waist.

‘He is the best I could find at short notice,’ the steward said. ‘A night worker. I found him scrubbing floors.’

‘Please, place the items on the table there.’ Chloe pointed.

She soon busied herself preparing the tea of the soma flower, adding the plant matter from the bowl to the jug of hot water.

‘What is it that you are making?’ the magus asked.

‘Tea,’ Chloe said.

‘What is in it?’ he persisted.

‘A flower, prepared in a special way.’

‘What flower?’ he asked in exasperation.