Micah mirrored his father, in black robes and falcon stoles, his skin chalky against his black mane of hair. He leaned forward almost eagerly, black eyes fixed on Amon as if he thought Amon might bring important news.

Averill was finely dressed in trader style, his Demonai talisman a challenge to the Bayars and their wizard amulets. He wore white, the mourning color of the Spirit clans. This made him stand out against the others like a dove amid crows.

Amon couldn’t help thinking that those in mourning black resembled a flock of carrion birds ready to pick over his bones.

The Bayars bracketed Raisa’s sister, Princess Mellony, who occupied the ornate chair at the center. Though they hadn’t dared to actually seat her on the throne, they might as well have. She was already taller than Raisa, but she looked to Amon’s eyes like a little girl in a big chair.

Mellony had always been frillier than Raisa, even when they were small. But the gown she wore today was intended to make her look older, to make her fit the role that some intended her to play.

To look like a queen of marriageable age.

She’s thirteen, he thought. Almost fourteen. Her gown was of mourning black and simply cut, showing off her fair skin and blond hair. The tip of her nose was faintly pink under the powder, and her eyes showed evidence of weeping. Today, dressed and made up as she was, she looked to be sixteen. Queen Marianna’s diamonds sparkled at her neck and wrists.

She’s already dressing the part, Amon thought bitterly. He’d always thought of Mellony as lightweight and insubstantial, but…was it possible she’d played a role in clearing the path to the throne?

Stop it, he said to himself. You’re biased. You always will be in favor of Raisa. Mellony had always been close to her mother. It made sense that she’d want to wear the queen’s jewels now.

Amon came forward and knelt before Mellony, bringing his fist to his chest. “Your Highness,” he said. “Please accept my condolences for your loss, a loss we share as a nation in mourning.”

That wasn’t bad, he thought. He’d rehearsed it all morning.

“And accept my sympathy for your loss also, Corporal Byrne,” Mellony said, in a clear, high voice. “A loss we feel almost as keenly as you do. This is a dreadful time, is it not?” She gestured with a glittery hand for him to rise. “Please. Sit. The Byrnes are our friends and loyal servants. They are welcome to sit in our presence.”

Amon guessed that someone must have coached her on the royal “we.”

A chair was produced for Amon, and he settled into it awkwardly. Since he was off the dais, everyone was still looking down at him.