An old woman, who made Dorna look like a callow youth, tended the firepit in the room’s center, next to a pack of—no. Not wolves. They were hyenas, but white-furred and blue-eyed. The old woman whipped around to stare at me as soon as I stepped foot in the hall. She narrowed her eyes and gave me a scowl, suggesting she’d be tempted to hurl burning logs if I wandered too close. Then she threw me a toothy grin that resembled a dog baring its fangs more than a smile.

I’d never seen her before in my life.

“The god-king’s throne sat up above,” Senera said, pointing toward a staircase that echoed the angles of the wall and continued through a small door in the far-off ceiling. At the staircase’s base, several dozen women sat together at a single, long table.

“Who—?” I started to ask.

“The Hon’s wives,” she said. “Don’t worry. We won’t have to sit with them.”

“His wives?” I blinked. Senera had mentioned the Yorans had no problem with polygyny. Indeed, neither do the Joratese, but our partnerships consist of smaller groups, fully polygamous. Three people. On rare occasions, four. “Just how many wives does he have?”

“One from each of the forty-eight tribes.” She gestured toward the main tables. “Let’s go meet the others, shall we?”

Senera led us around the tables until I saw brighter colors than Yoran pastels, worn by men and women with Quuros skin tones. These people wore vivid colors in homogeneous hues. Colors denoting royals, I realized, feeling startled and disturbed. In theory, these people shaped the empire. So why would they share a table with the man so notorious for his hatred of the same?

Then I heard a familiar laugh: Sir Oreth.

He seemed to be fitting in just fine.

Guests had started drinking in advance of meal service. Servants made steady and regular passes around the tables in an unending quest to keep the glasses full.

Sir Oreth saw me staring and grinned nastily. He nudged the next man over, who wore head-to-toe blue. The other man grinned back and made a salacious gesture with his hands.

I looked away and wished I had my weapons.

Relos Var walked over. He’d been sharing a table with two more royals—although these wore black instead of bright colors. They couldn’t have looked less similar otherwise; one looked sick and pale by Quuros standards, while the second man reminded me of Dango, if the muscled bandit had decided to shave off all his hair.

Relos Var took Senera’s hands and kissed her on the forehead. “The Hon is on his way. How are our guests behaving?”

“Janel’s been good, but I’m worried about the Vishai priest. We had to leave him in the room. There’s something wrong with him.”