Guards stood at the door; the Master of Ceremonies signed a book on a stand to one side, then unlocked the door and led Dorrin and the servants with the box inside. It looked much like the bank vaults Dorrin had seen in Aarenis—a windowless room with shelves, boxes, heavy leather sacks, ledger books.

“Does the prince know what this contains?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “He, Duke Mahieran, and High Marshal Seklis.”

“It must be inventoried,” the Master of Ceremonies said. “That is the Seneschal’s task.” To one of the guards he said, “Fetch the Seneschal.”

The Seneschal and the High Marshal arrived together, and shooed the Master of Ceremonies away. “You can instruct Duke Verrakai on the ceremony when we’ve inventoried the gifts.” Dorrin unwrapped the box, opened it, and then unwrapped the gifts, opening the box to show its jewels still intact. The Seneschal, with no change of expression, wrote down a description of each one. Then he and Dorrin rewrapped, retied, and finally she was able to leave and attend the Master of Ceremonies, a few paces away from the door, waving his arms and giving directions to the servants.

“There you are! I must conduct you to the prince’s dining hall for luncheon, and on the way, explain the details of tomorrow’s ceremonies. You will need—” He looked at Dorrin. “—you will need a ducal robe—do you have one?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said, stretching her legs to keep up with him, and trying at the same time to understand where in the massive pile she was. “I do—you mean the long one with fur at the cuffs?”

“Yes. And shoes, not boots. Your sword will do, but it must have a tassel, in silver, the length of your hand; if you do not have that, you should seek out the royal outfitters in Bridge Street. Short breeks, tied at the knee with ribbons of your family colors, with a rosette. The shirt to be adorned with lace—wider than that on your shirt today. A velvet cap, with a feather—silver pheasant is best.”

He kept on, all the way down a set of stairs Dorrin was sure she had not seen before, then announced her at the door of a room that overlooked the front courtyard. After a moment, she recognized it from the evening before, but now the long table was covered with a green cloth, centered with bouquets of roses, cream and pink and red and yellow, their scent filling the room. Besides the prince and Duke Mahieran, she saw other men and women in the dress of nobles … by the colors and insignia, this was the Regency Council.

“Be welcome, Duke Verrakai,” the prince said. One by one he called the others forward to introduce her. Dorrin knew Marrakai had been Kieri Phelan’s friend; the burly man wearing the ducal chain gave her an appraising look and finally nodded.

“You look like one of Kieri’s men—and it was you who rode through here like the winter gale to come to his aid, was it not?”