Raisa demurred when the High Wizard and her council suggested that she move into her mother’s elaborate quarters in the main palace. That could wait until after the coronation, she said. The queen’s chambers held too many painful memories to move in so soon. Also, she had a sentimental attachment to her old rooms. Anyway, she preferred to mourn her mother in seclusion, not burdening the court at large. Besides, she would likely redecorate the suite once her grief had abated somewhat, and that would be easier if it were not occupied.

She had a dozen arguments, and her story often changed depending on the audience.

Han admired her politician’s ability to say no and keep saying no while making it seem like no one wanted to say yes more than she did. Still, he was surprised by her decision to stay where she was. It seemed like claiming the queen’s rooms would reinforce the inevitability of the coronation to those who still might hope for a different outcome.

From all appearances, resistance to Raisa as queen had evaporated after her sudden reappearance at the memorial service. Han knew that it had only been driven underground. Even if Raisa survived her coronation, an assassin could make sure her reign was short-lived.

Amon Byrne was taking no chances. He kept handpicked bluejackets on duty outside Raisa’s room whenever she was in residence, and they accompanied her wherever she went, even inside the palace.

Han’s suite was small by palace standards—intended for a servant—but it was almost too big for him—consisting of a room to sleep in and a room to sit in and another room for spares.

He had lived most of his life with the rest of his family in a single room. If there had been more than three Alisters, they’d still have shared a single room. Except for when they visited the privy, most families in Ragmarket did everything in one room, whether it was eating, sleeping, piecework, laundry, dying, birthing babies, or making love.

The furniture in Han’s suite was heavy and ornate, like the kind in some of the fancier parts of Southbridge Temple. The bed in particular was huge and lonely, and Han rattled around in it, plagued by an excess of space and bad dreams.

It was so deadly quiet at night it was hard to fall asleep. Even with his shutters open, most nights all he could hear was the splashing of the fountain in the courtyard. It was almost a relief when lovers crept out there in the moonlight, breaking the silence with their whispers, laughter, and sighs.

Except it only made him ache for what he’d lost.