‘I am here to escort you to Governor Dolos’ suite for dinner,’ he said, looking me up and down. ‘I apologise for interrupting you whilst you were dressing.’

‘I was not dressing.’

‘You intend to dine with the governor dressed in this manner?’

I glanced down. My garments were simple and unadorned, intended not to attract undue attention. Though on closer inspection, I had to concede they were caked in dust, and the hem of my robes dirtied from my passage through the mire.

‘Perhaps I should change,’ I said, once again glancing around my room. ‘Is there a washing facility?’

Stylee gave a near-imperceptible sigh, raising his hand and clicking his fingers twice. Two bulky footmen entered, flanking me. Both were clad in the governor’s livery, their faces hard and eyes cold. If either had carried a weapon, I would have taken them for guards or enforcers.

‘Ensure the propagandist is washed and dressed, and be quick,’ Stylee barked, as the pair took hold of my arms and escorted me from the room. ‘The governor will not tolerate undue delay.’

From his tone, it struck me that tolerance was not one of Governor Dolos’ virtues.

Chapter four

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I present Propagandist Kile Simlex.’

Stylee’s voice had surprising depth. As he made the announcement his arm swept out, directing me through the doorway and into the dining suite. I took a step forward, trying to carry myself with a modicum of assumed nobility. But my ill-fitted robes caught on my heel, and I only avoided falling on my face by breaking into a half-run, jogging awkwardly into the centre of the room, Kikazar hovering at my shoulder.

It was an impressive space, the table organically grown like the other furnishings, the walls adorned with portraits and landscapes depicting Bacchus and its noble lineage. The room was spotless too, the wood buffed till it shone like burnished bronze. I could smell the floral notes of the wood polish, but there was something else too: a hint of mildew, unsuccessfully masked.

Aside from two footmen, the room was empty.

I turned but Stylee was already closing the door behind him, leaving me as the only guest, my host seemingly indisposed. A servant appeared beside me, pouring a glass of wine the colour of copper. I took it, nodding my thanks. The man bowed before retreating, reluctant to speak. This suited me well enough; small talk was not my forte. It would be poor form to sit before my host arrived, so I elected to stand by the window, watching the ground crew toiling. The fact that my pose mirrored the servants was not lost on me. Still, they could only serve the wine, whilst I at least could drink it.