‘Can you move?’ she asked, when it had become abundantly clear I could not.

‘No.’

‘Do you require assistance?’

‘It would seem so.’

‘Are you sure?’ she asked. ‘There is a not insubstantial risk I may catch a glimpse of your armpit.’

‘I think it is an acceptable risk. Also, there is a possibility I might be slowly asphyxiating.’

She turned, tugging at the binds, her bird assisting with its beak.

‘Honestly,’ she said. ‘You would think a propagandist would have a better understanding of the importance of a first impression.’

Chapter eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I half suspected Shard had deliberately dressed me as an imbecile, until we stood at the top of the main stairwell, the other nobles mingling below. All wore variations of the same bizarre robes, the numerous folds hindering movement, and billowing sleeves posing a considerable risk to Dolos’ more delicate ornaments. All had pinched waists, the nobles stoically enduring the discomfort. Though a slight fellow, I felt like the corset was impeding my renal system.

Stylee made my introduction and took his time about it. There was little reference to my achievements, but an inordinate time dedicated to my ancestry. The words ‘siring’ and ‘betrothing’ were frequently employed. I found myself swaying, unbalanced by the ornate headdress. I might have fallen had Shard’s elbow not steadied me. She was far surer on her feet. Perhaps such poise was her birthright, but I suspect even she would have struggled in those ceremonial shoes. Wearing footwear constructed from mandibles was unsettling, and I felt as though my feet were on the cusp of being devoured. As Stylee concluded his introduction and we descended, I kept expecting disaster. I could not even see far ahead, not with the headdress tipping into my eyes, but Shard was my rock. She held me until we reached the bottom, where she offered a short bow.

‘Well, propagandist, I will take my leave.’

‘You’ll take what?’ I asked, panic creeping into my voice. Figures were already approaching from the crowd.

‘It’s custom,’ she said. ‘We separate and mingle for a time before coming back together later in the evening. Then we do that bit about the sun and moon.’

Perhaps this was true. I could envision such a code of conduct as a means for noble couples to enjoy the absence of each other’s company. But it was equally possible she was lying to me, intent on the banquet tables overflowing with food at the room’s rear, where I noted a handful of officers had already taken residence.

Still, I was not quite alone. Kikazar hovered at my shoulder. I had thought it prudent to bring it, hoping the rambunctious atmosphere might loosen tongues.

‘My dear Simlex!’