Arian glanced at the river below. Dark, swift, with little streaks of white foam. Ahead, the streets were thronged with people and closed in by tall buildings. They passed streets leading off to her right. More buildings crowded shoulder to shoulder down all of them. She recognized Dorrin’s house by its pennant; from its upper windows one of Dorrin’s people threw down rose petals. One caught on Arian’s nose; she blew it off, and it landed on her horse’s mane. On the other side, the wall of the palace complex stood much taller than the palace wall in Chaya. The clamor of the bells stopped suddenly as they turned the corner into the wider street that led to the palace gates, but the cheering continued.

“The bells have their own timing,” the king said without looking at her. “They always ring at noon—but also when they feel like it.”

“You have no ringers?”

“No. Legend says the elves installed them and told the king to leave them alone. We have no way to ring them—they are sealed into their tower.”

Once in the palace courtyard, paved with the same pinkish stone as the ashlars of the wall, servants swarmed to take the horses and unload the pack animals. This was the courtyard Dorrin had told her of where the battle of magelords had taken place.

Arian followed her escort through the palace to the apartment set aside for her, the former queen’s chambers. The bedroom overwhelmed with heavy furniture, all covered in rose-colored velvet under lace, velvet draperies and bed curtains, tapestries depicting flirtatious maidens and fond lovers in lush gardens, and a strong scent of dried rose petals. What had the king’s mother been like to choose such decor? The room felt stuffy and warm; Arian’s headache—born of the noise and bright sun outside—worsened.

Servants in palace livery bustled about—maids unpacking Arian’s clothes into a closet the size of a small room, bringing in ewers of hot and cool water, filling the pink stone tub in the bathing room, scattering rose petals on the water. “Refreshments are on the way, milady queen,” one of the maids said. “You will want to refresh yourself and rest after your long journey, we know. Your ladies-in-waiting—”

It took a moment for Arian to realize the maid meant her women Squires. “Not ladies-in-waiting,” she said. “These are my Squires, my guards. They are all Knights of Falk.”

“Oh!” The maid looked frightened. “Beg pardon, milady queen … we thought—”

“No matter,” Arian said. “They will not trouble you.”

She had no idea how to get rid of these strangers without offense. Lieth, who had been to Vérella before, gently shooed the maids all the way out of the chambers and came back with an armload of towels scented heavily with herbs.