For better or worse, everything appears to be moving more or less normally in the palace. The Leonodai who work here don’t have the luxury of taking a day off after High Summer. Still, it is a beautiful place to work and call home. Built into solid stone, an ample number of candles and sconces line every hallway. Stairwells wrap around the walls, leaving the center open and welcoming. Here and there, multicolored windows cast sunset-like patterns of light on the plush rugs. Palace attendants carry baskets of laundry or messages from one end of the hallway to the next. One gives me a second glance, but I duck out of her view and up a staircase.

Walk confidently, I remind myself. I know where I am going, at least for now.

On the next level, scholars in training study together over polished wood tables, the books stacked next to them nearly taller than they are. Just like warriors, they are expected to know their craft inside and out. On this level, numerous bookshelves run from wall to wall. Near them, candles enclosed in tall, thin glasses wait to be lit. No matter the time of day, a scholar can navigate the maze of tomes at their leisure, but the high glass limits risk of fire.

Feeling out of place on this level, I take the first staircase I see. Already, my legs are warming up as if getting ready to run drills or spar.

The third level is the last one to be built into stone, before the palace clears the top of the ridge, and is home to the king’s war council and the fully fledged scholars. Somewhere on this level is supposedly a grand ballroom, and though I am dressed for it, I don’t have time to explore. In the corner of my eye, I see the bright blue of the warriors patrolling the hall. They aren’t there to keep out enemies—after all, none have ever reached here—but they are meant to prevent inquisitive citizens from roaming around.

I fight the urge to quicken my step, lest it make me more obvious, but I turn quickly toward where Callen’s parents live. The hallways look more familiar, and although the color of the rug is duller than I remember, the interlaced vine design is exactly like it was when I was a girl.

“Not the time for reveries,” I whisper to myself. If I go any farther, I’ll wind up at a dead end. Pausing for a moment in a corner out of the way of the main walkway, I try to think like my sister and the other sentinels. Noam would be kept somewhere close to the king, but not too close. That meant this level, or perhaps the one above would be ideal. But it’s not like I can just go knocking on doors.