“In that case, if you are just Isabelle, what am I to do with you? As a mere mortal, you lied to me about your mental state, stole a ship, conspired with the enemies of l’Empire, consorted with pirates, and made promises in my name that you had no right to make.”

“And saved the world,” Isabelle said.

“I admit that is a significant mitigating factor,” Sireen said. “I suppose I’m going to have to settle for adopting you.”

Isabelle was stunned. “But…”

Sireen held up a finger. “I can already see the objection brewing in your mind. Don’t tell me why I shouldn’t do this. I am issuing you an imperial pardon and I am making you my legal daughter. Ultima Thule is a royal colony. It needs a royal governor, someone who can deal with uncharted territory and adapt to shifting needs, someone who can govern on her own with limited resources and little oversight. It also has to be someone I can trust to do the right thing even when it’s the wrong thing. Besides, you scare the shadows off of most of my nobles, and putting you second in line to the throne will make people think twice about challenging Princess Josette’s claims. Don’t you agree, Princess Isabelle d’Auroborea?”

“I…” Isabelle said. “Yes, Madame. I will do my best.”

“Now, there’s a terrifying thought,” Sireen said, but with a glint of good humor in her eye. “Making you governor is not a reward. As la reine it is my duty to put the right people in the right place. Yet I would like to express to you my personal gratitude, if there’s anything I can give you that you desire.”

Isabelle nearly declined by pure reflex. The things that she yearned for weren’t the sort of gifts that even a reine could bestow. She had Jean-Claude, Marie, and Bitterlich …

“As a matter of fact,” Isabelle said, “I would like a favor from the Order of the Succoring Shadow.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Bitterlich asked Rebecca as they waited in the antechamber outside one of Rocher Royale’s many retiring rooms. He was certainly not sure he wanted to face what awaited him beyond the door.

Rebecca fidgeted in her new dress. The knee-length skirt and tall boots, similar to the ones Isabelle wore, had been a fight to get her to wear, but, in typical thirteen-year-old fashion, almost as soon as she’d been adorned, she’d twirled herself dizzy making the skirt flare.

“Yeah,” she said in the flat tone that he’d learned to interpret as social nervousness. “It’s a favor to la reine, right? That’s worth summat.”

“I see you’ll fit right into court life,” Bitterlich said.

A doorman ushered them into a comfortable sitting room with couches at right angles, a low table, and historical tapestries on the walls.