All through the day, the common folk of Vorlese danced and sang and ate and drank, giving thanks to the Lord of the Golden Throne for their very existence. As dusk fell the ruling elite began to gather in the manses and palaces, drifting together in their very finest clothes to give worship to the Emperor like a swirling, spiralling mass of gas and dust starting to coalesce inside a beautiful nebula. While the reveries of the labourers might dissolve into drunken brawls over long-standing family feuds, the nobles and dignitaries favoured other, more subtle methods of asserting dominance.

Usually.

The greatest gathering of all was held in the palace of the planetary governor. To be invited was an acknowledgement of one’s standing within society. To attend was to indicate a willingness to be involved in the political games that were played by the elite, and there were no opportunities given to learn the ropes. However, to refuse an invitation was at best a sign of weakness, and at worst could be taken as a direct insult to the office of the governor. So it was that invitations had become a commodity and currency in and of themselves, a way of gaining access to the uppermost social circle or, in contrast, of forcing someone into a position that left them vulnerable and prone to exploitation.

‘I’ve heard that Sen Uru Dukarr is not in attendance this evening,’ Chetta said to the usher escorting her and Vittariel to the waiting area where they would be presented to the crowd. After some discussion they’d agreed to arrive together in order to present a unified front to society in general. Chetta had wondered whether people would assume that she’d in fact taken up with her deceased husband’s brother, and had decided that if that would strengthen the image they wished to portray then she was fine with it. And truth to tell, all things being equal she’d not have objected.

‘I couldn’t possibly comment, high lady,’ the usher replied smoothly. Chetta sighed and palmed him a hundred-ducat piece – a small fortune for a labourer, little more than a handsome tip for a servant in the governor’s household. Even loose proximity to power held the potential for high rewards, if the power was great enough. ‘Perhaps I misspoke. I have heard the same, and from my colleagues whose jobs are to organise such things, so I doubt they are incorrect.’

‘And do your colleagues know why he has declined the invitation?’ Chetta inquired.

‘That would be a private matter between Lord Dukarr and Governor Taranthis.’

Chetta rolled her eyes and slipped him another coin. ‘Honestly, why do we even continue this farce?’