On the second floor, plaster covered the walls. On the third floor, she found paneling, and by the fourth level the paneling was a richly carved dark cherry wood. Lanterns became elegant chandeliers, a long red carpet ran the length of the corridor, and glass windows let in light from outside. She recalled how out of place Saldur had seemed when he had visited the kitchen. She looked down at her dirty smock and recognized the irony.

The door lay open and Regent Saldur stood before an arched window built from three of the largest pieces of glass she had ever seen. Birdsongs drifted in from the ward below as the regent read a parchment he held in the sunlight.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to get here.”

“Something you should understand: I’m not interested in excuses or explanations. I’m only interested in results. When I tell you to do something, I expect it’ll be done exactly as I dictate, not sooner, not later, not differently, but exactly how I specify. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She felt considerably warmer than she had a moment earlier.

The regent walked to his desk and laid the parchment on it. He placed his fingertips together, tapping them against each other while studying her. “What’s your name again?”

“Amilia of Tarin Vale.”

“Amilia—a pretty name. Amilia, you impressed me. That is not easy to do. I appointed five separate women to the task of imperial secretary—ladies of breeding, ladies of pedigree. You are the first to show an improvement in Her Eminence. You have also presented me with a unique problem. I can’t have a common scullery maid working as the personal assistant to the empress. How will that look?” He took a seat behind his desk, brushing out the folds of his robe. “It’s conceivable that the empress could have died if not for whatever magic you performed. For this, you deserve a reward. I’m bestowing on you the diplomatic rank equal to a baroness. From this moment on, you will be known as Lady Amilia.”

He dipped a quill into ink and scribbled his name. “Present this to the clerk downstairs and he will arrange for you to obtain the necessary material for a better—Well, for a dress.”

Amilia stared at him, unable to move, taking shallow breaths, not wanting to disturb anything. She was riding a wave of good fortune and feared the slightest movement could throw her into an unforgiving sea. He was not punishing her after all. The rest she could think about later.

“Have you nothing to say?”

Amilia hesitated. “Could the empress get a new dress as well?”

“You are now Lady Amilia, imperial secretary to Empress Modina Novronian. You can take whatever measures you feel are necessary to ensure the well-being of the empress.”

“Can I take her outside for walks?”