From within the dining room there came soft applause. What’s the sound of six hands clapping, Baru thought, if they’re clapping in service to the Throne? Whatever sound they make, you can’t blame them for it. Ha ha.

She went in. They’d prepared the evening-room with purple gauze across the western windows. Cutouts set into the hive-glass made contoured shadows. The oil lamps burnt soft and clean, sweeter than whale fuel.

Cairdine Farrier the Itinerant, Cosgrad Torrinde the Hesychast, and Prince Svirakir the Apparitor sat on three sides of a six-sided table. All were half-masked in white porcelain, and the polestar glinted around their right eyes. They were applauding: Farrier with great gusto and his hands above his head, Hesychast with perfect form and politely inclined eyes, Apparitor with two stiff palms and his eyes rolled halfway back. The servers had already laid out the full course, with flutes of clear cool water and berries for dessert.

“So.” Baru sat. “Empty seats. Are we expecting more company?”

Farrier’s eyes danced. “We have two special guests for you, Baru.”

Her chest ached with trepidation. Her parents? Would he dare?

“My hearty congratulations,” Apparitor said, unctuously, “for all your very hard work in Aurdwynn! Camping in the pristine wilderness for a few months while I ran around positioning the pieces. I do hope you didn’t exhaust yourself taking all the credit.”

“Do shut up, Svir,” Farrier said. His beard complemented the mask very nicely. “A toast, if I may? To the first unbound Special Advisor in some years. May she outlive the others!”

“Long life,” Hesychast murmured, raising his flute. “Come, Svir, come along.”

“Suck my cock, Cosgrad,” Svir snapped, to Farrier’s soft tut-tut, but he put his glass up. Baru chimed her flute against theirs and drank. Pure dew-distilled water. One drop of lemon. The glass flawlessly cast, one piece, from kelp ash.

The string quartet finished “In Praise” on the third verse. Silently they ushered themselves out.

“I was just telling these men,” Farrier said, “about the history of unleveraged cryptarchs, which is to say, those who lack a hostage or other control. Quite a gamble, if the records are to be believed! More power, but more risk. Rather like double or nothing. Although it’s always turned up nothing, so far.”

“He means,” Apparitor said, “that you’re going to die.”

Baru wasn’t sure she’d expected anything but death since midwinter. She began to serve herself. Carve the whitefish first, then pluck the small bones from the flesh with the steel clasp. She made a little pile of them. “I’d like this matter of the duchess closed,” she said. “It troubles me that my colleagues expected me to fail. I prefer to be relied on for success. Now, with respect to those two warships offshore—”

“Apparitor’s problem,” Hesychast said. “Farrier and I are unconcerned.”

“Unconcerned?”