After being dried with towels, the prince waited with the same patience—or expectation—as his concubines clad him in a fresh set of undergarments. The trousers and long jacket were fastened with buttons and loops.

Bodies vanished so quickly. Beneath clothing. Under the roaring assault of an avalanche, like Aoving.

Or into the hideous tendrils of irrupting Spore, like the intendant’s elder daughter. That poor young woman had been devoured and distorted into an eight-limbed, six-eyed, and four-mouthed shrilling monstrosity while meanwhile Elen had dragged the frantic father across a moat to safety. Seeing the horror unfold, he’d lost all reason and sense and had tried to fling himself into the Spore to rescue his beloved child even though anyone and everyone knew it was too late. On that awful morning, fifteen years ago, she’d been the only person willing to risk herself to save him. Her rescue of the intendant had given her, Aoving, and Kem an opportunity to make a new home in Orledder Halt. But the memory of his howling grief still haunted her.

She shut her eyes, shutting out the past, only to be elbowed by the theurgist in warning. Prince Gevulin was on his way out of the chamber. Elen followed at the end of the line as, again, the palace servants made no objection to her presence. They seemed not to see her.

The procession proceeded to the imperial dining hall, where a repast had been laid out. The concubines brought instruments on which they played “The River’s Lost Love” with great facility.

The intendant’s younger daughter served the prince herself, offering whatever delicacies the Residence cook had managed to produce on short notice to tempt the palate of a prince. His Highness gave neither compliments nor complaints, merely ate some things and passed the rest on to his wardens. At least he recognized they needed nourishment to continue at such a pace. Elen hoped the concubines and menials would get something to eat too, somewhere and somehow.

Once he finished eating, the music ended. He rose, flipping out his sleeves.

The intendant said to the theurgist, “May it please His Highness if there is any information I can impart to His Highness with respect to the road ahead.”

The prince answered scornfully, “I have all the information I need.”

He strode from the room, the concubines and menials scurrying after him.

The theurgist set a jade token on the table. “In thanks for your efforts,” she said to the intendant’s daughter. “You are a relation of the intendant, I must suppose, but not his spouse, since you wear a widow’s badge.”

“I am his daughter. My spouse died in the east, fighting against the Blood Wolves, so I returned home.”

“May the High Heavens grant you peace.”