An awning covered half the area. Under its shelter, a young menial was setting up cots, while an older menial knelt on a thick mat, polishing gear. Luviara sat in a folding chair, writing in a journal. The other half of the area was open to the sky so smoke could freely rise from a fire burning in a portable hearth. At a camp table crammed with utensils and pots, a scowling cook supervised two assistants as they brewed tea and prepared a meal.

The prince’s carriage had its doors open on both sides. The interior was unexpectedly simple: a padded seat and a stand where a book or scroll could be fixed. However, a cunningly constructed deck had been unfolded to give extra room, a means by which His Exalted Highness could sit well off the ground and take his ease. The concubines were busy hanging curtains, draping the table with silk, and setting out porcelain from a padded traveling chest. They spoke to each other in an undertone, casting nervous glances toward the silent Spires and the beast-headed statues that stood about thirty paces away. Another menial sat cross-legged inside the second carriage, mending a torn sleeve on a robe whose gold-and-silver-threaded embroidery shimmered where moonlight caught at it.

Where was Kem? Elen looked for Ipis, too, but saw neither.

Simo had approached Hemerlin, interrupting him just as the chief menial was berating a young menial haplessly struggling to prepare a suitable bath for the prince when there were no sources of free-running water at hand. Jirvy and Xilsi had lagged behind, quartering the ground for signs of Spore, although Elen could have told them she’d never found Spore this close to the Spires. Surely the wardens knew that, didn’t they? Maybe they were avoiding Hemerlin. Or, if she judged by their choppy movements and clipped steps, they were arguing. None of her business!

Where was the prince?

At the Residence, she’d tallied up the numbers: the prince, seven wardens, two concubines, eleven menials, and the interlocutor. She walked all the way around the encampment, following the trail of a warden whose name she did not know. In other circumstances, she would have been amazed and amused by this hive of luxury buzzing in the midst of rough hills, all to cater to one person’s sensibilities and demands. The draft animals stood stone-still, with threads of mist rising off their bodies. Elen’s stomach rumbled, and she licked dry lips, thirsty, but she kept searching. She did not see Kem. Where was Kem? There was one menial missing, too, and one warden unaccounted for.

Dread pooled in the pit of her belly. There was only one place left to look.