The imperial suite was one floor below, outer door left open into its formal receiving parlor. Luviara was seated at a table, writing in her journal by the light of an oil lamp. She looked cross, irritated to have been left out. As the others filed into the parlor, Elen hurried down the stairs before the interlocutor could look up and see her, lest Luviara wonder why Elen hadn’t left with the menials.

Below, the kitchen was bustling as the cook and her assistants assembled a supply of journey food appropriate for a prince.

The chief menial took Elen aside. “The barracks are out of the way, and the annex bunks are cold at night. If you wish, there is a pallet behind the hearth in one of the storerooms. It will be quiet there. I will wake you personally before dawn, so you can be ready.”

“That’s very kind. Might I thank you by name, Chief Menial?”

He smiled in the genial way of an elder remembering their youthful days of flirtation. “Kind? I’m not so sure of that. You may address me as Navru. I suppose we may see you on the return journey.”

“So it is to be hoped, if the High Heavens smile upon us.”

His smile faded as he turned somber. “I believe you are one of the fortunate blessed.”

The words made her uneasy. “Do you? Why so?”

“Just a feeling I have. I got the gift of side-seeing from my grandfather.” Navru’s expression turned inward; his gaze had fixed onto a shore that Elen could not see. “You have survived things that killed others, have you not? Yet there is joy in you, despite these stormy tides that would have scoured others into oblivion.”

When he fell silent, she stood there, unsure what to say.

After a moment, he shook himself, as if returning from a long journey. “I do not mean to embarrass you. Tread carefully. Help may come from an unlooked-for direction.”

She pressed a hand to her heart in respect, then made her way to the storeroom. The pallet was tucked into a warm corner, with a curtain. She slung her pack down, took off her boots and outer gear, and lay down. Her thoughts raced in frantic circles. A far land. A lady-king. Beyond all that, what had this to do with Prince Gevulin specifically, rather than the empire in general?

But she could solve nothing here on her pallet. She focused on her breathing, the whole world inhaled and then exhaled, steady onward, calming her galloping thoughts and hammering pulse. The clatter of busywork and murmured chatter from the kitchen soothed her. She fell asleep.

An unknown time later, she woke to an uncanny silence. Something was very off kilter.

All she could think was: Had the past caught up to her at last?

55 A WILD AND ALLURING STORY