Whatever words they were to exchange were interrupted by Loveless, still hooded, inserting herself between them like a chaperone. Her words were fast and urgent, playing on both the witnessed feat of engineering and the promise of more to come if Prince Tarfel were to receive a full and proper hearing. Tarfel himself nodded along, as if his life depended on it. Perhaps, Chel considered, it did.

The tall woman nodded, distracted, her eyes still on Kosh and her butterfly, then signalled to one of her guards. The man turned and marched out of sight beyond the curtain, and Chel felt himself unwind a notch, relaxing a sliver of the tension in his aching shoulder.

‘Again?’ the tall woman asked, over Loveless’s shoulder to Kosh. The Nort fussed with the butterfly a touch more, then straightened, turned, and cast it into the air with a supple roll of her arm. The vessel soared from her hand over their heads, turning gently in line with the contour of the walls, then bobbed and dipped, sending some of its mortal brethren fluttering up in an iridescent cloud. It came to rest on the chamber’s far side, skidding over the marble, just as a new procession came into view.

The group flowed with silken finery and dripped with jewels, with the exception of the mailed and rigid house guards. At its head came the Keeper herself, haughty and upright, her long train carried by a trio of scuttling waifs. They skirted the fallen butterfly precisely, all the while giving the impression that it didn’t exist. From either side, the assembled attendants and nobility near-threw themselves prostrate with deep and conspicuous bows, some pushing bodily in front of others. The tall woman broke away from Kosh and strode to meet the group, saluted with pole-arm stiffness, then stood to one side, fixed as a statue.

Loveless, maintaining her role as herald, bowed deeply with her hood pulled low, then stepped aside once more. Tarfel took a step then inclined himself in courtly greeting, a calculated gesture, indicating he felt he was greeting an equal in stature.

The Keeper paused for a moment, then bowed her head but not her body. Chel saw Tarfel grit his teeth. His gambit had failed. Formalities complete, the two approached each other, coming close enough to speak. Loveless hovered in Tarfel’s shadow, head bowed and still hooded, translating with the manner of someone who’d rather be spending their time in any of the five to twelve hells.

Chel watched them talk, watched the Keeper’s face for signs of her intent. A thin, strong-featured woman in later years, her eyes sunken into dark hollows over drawn cheeks, the white of her hair bundled and bound into an ornate head-dress, she gave nothing away. She barely seemed to blink, her stare like a lizard’s.