The grand hall of the palace was comprised of millions of bones separated by the glittering blue lapis from the mines of Macella. The various decks ringed the edges, endless doors leading to offices, conference rooms, and secrets. Everything shone—the bones that had been painted a rich gold, the bright silver of the archways. All of the walls were etched in more scenes of conquering and victory of other planets. Over one hundred planets in eight hundred years, systematically emptied of indigenous life forms, no matter their sentience, and smoothed over to pave the way for humans and the regimented Tholosian way of life. The floor was made of burnished Tholosian marble, white with veins of black, silver, gold, and soft pink.

Another guard guided them through the open space. People bustled to and fro, everyone on a clear mission. The countless footsteps echoed through the grand hall. Eris held her head high, shoulders back—the same careless grace that Zoe Eirene-X-2 gave to everything.

Training alone kept Eris’s hands from trembling, her face showing her true emotion: the desperate urge to run.

The doors to the ballroom opened, graceful violin music filtering out into the long, carpeted hallway, and Eris disappeared into her character. The way she walked held a hint of too much speed. And when she grasped the champagne flute off the plate in the steady hand of the wait staff, she drank without the same delicate sips Eris had been taught for years.

Eris spotted a familiar face from a past mission. Commander Ronan. Now, there was a man who would have access to the Oracle’s record room.

<Found your target,> Eris sent Ariadne and Clo, surreptitiously tilting her head. <Give me a moment to chat him up while you take his pass. Be careful.>

“Commander Ronan!” Eris-as-Zoe boomed, smoothly inserting herself in a circle of the highest-ranking politicians. “It’s so lovely to see you, and under such pleasant circumstances, too.”

The tall commander turned and grinned. He had a square block of a face, large hands nicked with scars from battle and missing the pinky on his left hand. Jet-black hair with a hint of gray. “Zoe.” He came forward and kissed each of her cheeks. Eris held back a cringe. “What the seven devils are you doing here, beautiful?”

The commander was someone she had known as Princess Discordia; she’d trained some of his soldiers herself. That familiarity with him had helped her gain his trust as Zoe, a somewhat gauche but invaluable friend and asset. Being a weapons dealer with a pretty face certainly helped.

Clo’s gaze flickered to Eris and narrowed. Eris knew she was surprised—no doubt rightfully wondering why Zoe and a commander of the Tholosian Empire were on such familiar terms. Their delicate truce was still spiderweb-thin—and trust could be just as tenuous.

Focus, Eris told herself. She couldn’t worry about Clo’s suspicions.