The court was comprised of two dozen buildings, as Tyrus explained. The Chambers of the Divine were at the back, near the storehouses and the tea garden.

“The tea garden is magnificent,” he said. “Particularly now, as the cherry blossoms begin to bloom, but I’ll ask you to stay away from that end for now.”

“So Thea and Ellyn have no cause to complain,” Ashyn said.

“Yes. That seems best.”

He pointed out the Hall of the Eight Ministries—the large building he’d been sparring behind. To the side was a small, lushly landscaped garden, centered about a pond. He left them there on the bridge overlooking the pond while he went in to make arrangements for their visit.

“Will you stay here?” Moria asked Gavril once Tyrus was gone.

“I will,” he said. “They require my statement on the matter, and they’ll not want to waste time fetching me from my mother’s house.”

Moria nodded. Ashyn wandered along the bridge, leaning over to look at the koi fish sparkling in the clear water below. She continued off the bridge, heading for a collection of unusual rocks arranged beside the pond.

“So Tyrus,” Moria said when her sister was out of hearing range. “You don’t like him.”

Gavril stiffened. “If I gave that impression, I apologize—”

“Stop politicking, Kitsune. There’s no one to hear you.”

“We are in the imperial city. There is always someone to hear us. Remember that, Keeper.” He lowered his voice. “As for Tyrus Tatsu, he is the emperor’s son. I cannot afford to have a personal opinion on him. If you are asking if I suspect him of ulterior motives, I do not. Tyrus is as he appears. When I knew him, he had no interest in politics, and I cannot imagine that has changed. He knows it’s not in his best interests, and it doesn’t suit him anyway. He lacks the guile to compete in that snake’s nest. He is best suited for his chosen profession: a warrior.”

“So he can be trusted.”

“No one here can be trusted, Keeper.” He gave her a stern look. “Remember that, too.”

“I misspoke. Is he honorable?”

A pause. It didn’t seem as if Gavril was considering the matter, but more as if it pained him to speak the words. “Yes,” he said finally. “Tyrus is honorable.”

Moria realized that was Gavril’s problem with the young bastard prince. He respected him. He might even like him. Which was unacceptable, because Tyrus was the son of the man who had, in Gavril’s eyes, betrayed his father.

They were taken directly into a large chamber, where they were seated on cushions and given food and drink, and then told that the chancellor and one of the three major counselors were on their way. Gavril had warned them to expect a delay—the men would be briefed first, and would not rush, for fear of seeming panicked.