Up she went, periodically passing cells. None of the doors were locked, and she pushed some open and stepped inside. Each room was small. Old, rotted straw lay scattered across the ground. Tiny windows allowed only a fraction of moonlight to enter. There were heavy chains mounted to the walls and the floor. Some rooms had a stool or a bucket, but most were bare of any furniture. Amilia felt uncomfortable while in the rooms—not just because of the cold, but because she feared she might end up in just such a place.

James and Higgles had been correct. The tower was empty.

She returned down the steps to the seret. “Excuse me, but what are you guarding? There is no one here.”

He did not respond.

“Where did the soup go?”

Again, the seret stood mute. Unable to see his eyes through the helm, and thinking perhaps he was asleep while standing up, she took a step closer. The seret moved, and as fast as a snake, his hand grabbed hold of his sword and drew it partway from its scabbard, allowing the metal to hiss, a sound that echoed ominously in the stone tower.

Amilia fled.

“Are you going to tell her?” Nimbus asked.

The two were in Amilia’s office, finishing the last of the invitation lists for the scribes to begin working on. Parchments were everywhere. On the wall hung a layout of the great hall, perforated with countless pinholes from the shifting of guest positions.

“No, I’ll not add to that witch’s arsenal of insanity with tales of mysterious disappearing pots of soup! I’ve worked for months to put Modina back together. I won’t allow her to be broken again.”

“But what if—”

“Drop it, Nimbus.” Amilia shuffled through her scrolls. “I should never have told you. I went. I looked. I saw nothing. I can’t believe I even did that much. Maribor help me. The witch even had me out in the dark chasing her phantoms. What are you grinning at?”

“Nothing,” Nimbus said. “I just have this impression of you slinking around the courtyard.”

“Oh, stop it!”

“Stop what?” Saldur asked as he entered unannounced.

The regent swept into her office and looked at each of them with a disarming smile.

“Nothing, Your Grace, Nimbus was merely having a little joke.”

“Nimbus? Nimbus?” Saldur repeated while eyeing the man, trying to recall something.

“He’s my assistant, and Modina’s tutor, a refugee from Vernes,” Amilia explained.

Saldur looked annoyed. “I’m not an idiot, Amilia, I know who Nimbus is. I was thinking about the name. The word is from the old imperial tongue. Nimbus, unless I’m mistaken, means ‘mist’ or ‘cloud,’ isn’t that right?” He looked at Nimbus for acknowledgment, but Nimbus merely shrugged apologetically. “Well, anyway,” Saldur said, addressing Amilia. “I wanted to know how things were proceeding for the wedding. It’s only a few months away.”