Kit had just stepped outside the door when she realized she would not be making much progress anytime soon. The streets on both sides of the restaurant were being cordoned off, and a wall of mixed-race security forces blocked her escape in any direction. On her left, she could see a slow cavalcade moving up the street. It took her a moment to realize who must be at the heart of that mass of bodies, though she recognized the tourists and the reporters and the guards who circled around it.

“Chay,” she said aloud, and waited at the door for the procession to pass.

Except that it did not pass. It came her way, slowed even more, and turned toward the restaurant in one chattering lump. She was squeezed back to the brick of the wall, pushed off the walkway by a blueskin guard who was shouting orders into a handheld communicator and gesturing widely as if to sweep the air clean with his palms. She hopped to get her footing on the rocky ground and tried not to elbow the other unfortunates who had been shoved off the sidewalk next to her.

And then, like the others, she craned her neck and peered around people’s heads to try to catch a glimpse of the infamous visitor. There was Ariana Bayless, no mistaking that severe blue face and regal bearing. There was Ariana’s favorite council-woman, whose name escaped Kit at the moment. And there—yes, it was Girt, as blond and stupid as ever.

And beside him, big and golden and ropy with power, strode Chay Zanlan. He was dressed in a ceremonial tunic, a richly embroidered green silk, but his powerful arms were bare and the breadth of his chest was in no way disguised by the cut of the cloth. His bushy red hair was streaked with gray, his face was lined with every one of his sixty-some years, but there was nothing feeble or infirm about him. He was taller than Ariana Bayless by a least a head. As always, he used that height to his advantage, staring imperiously at the crowd around him with a gaze fearsome enough to make the most ardent stalker slink back.

A gaze that snagged on Kit’s face and brought those roving gray eyes to a standstill. Chay halted, and the entourage around him came to a sloppy stop. “What—?” “Who—?” “Is there a problem?” his escort murmured, but Chay ignored them all and pushed past his bodyguards to come face-to-face with Kit.

She had straightened against the wall as soon as he noticed her, but she made no move to meet him halfway. They had not parted on the best of terms. She would not go running to him now.