The princess put down her list. “Last item on the agenda.”

Pinching his arm to rouse himself, Dwayne sat up on his stool. After the excitement of the new clerk interrogation, the meeting had settled into mind-numbing matters like where to quarter the border guard, which merchants will supply Bradford for the winter, and who among should be sent out to the Coi Islands. Dutifully, Dwayne had filled his notebook with the details, an effort that had taken little conscious thought, a skill he’d picked up while transcribing Lord Kalan’s ramblings.

The princess glanced back at her clerk. “Dame Sercombe, if you please.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The princess’s clerk went around the table, placing a sheet of paper in front of each chair.

“Her Majesty has decided to adjust today’s Order of Appeal.” The princess tapped her copy. “We’ll start with the Commoner’s Appeal.”

When Sercombe reached Lord Kalan’s seat, she hesitated, and then glanced at the princess, who shook her head. Surprisingly, Sercombe shook her head back and presented the sheet to Dwayne. He tensed. He did not want to draw further disdain from the princess, but the Royal Sorcerer’s Office couldn’t afford ignorance and so he accepted the piece of paper with a muttered “Thank you.”

As Sercombe returned to her seat, Dwayne scanned the document. It was a program that laid out the four different Appeals - Commoner’s, Mage’s, Noble’s, and Merchant’s - and the people making them. Two names, the only ones under the Mage’s Appeal, jumped out at him: Baron Otto Thadden and Lady Luisa Pol.

Right, she’d said that her appeal had been approved.

The princess cleared her throat. “Does Her Majesty’s Councilors have any objections to these changes?”

“I’d wondered why Her Majesty had ordered the Chamber to vet this… person.” Judge Koenig gave the princess a wry look. “Obviously, I can’t object to my own office’s work.”

There was only one name listed under Commoner’s Appeal, Olga Carmicheal, and unlike the others, a description of the appeal had been provided. Carmicheal was appealing a judgment that her lord had made regarding her taking a single day off work. Dwayne frowned. Such a judgment sounded well beneath the Queen’s notice.

“Her lord permitted this?” Lord Gallus’s voice had sounded even, but his nostrils were flared and color was coming into his cheeks as if this minor thing was making him very angry.

“Her Majesty noted his objections.” The princess didn’t turn to Lord Gallus, kept her eyes forward. “She believes that this is necessary.”

“Necessary?” Lord Gallus’s fist clenched. “Necessary?”

“Fascinating.” Giordano leaned back in his chair, the list still in his hand. “I expected that an Adhua or Walton resident would be selected for the honor.”

The princess’s lips tightened. “Those residents have the privilege of the Merchant’s Appeal through their guilds and guildmasters.”

“So guilds and firms can represent their members at court, but lords can’t represent their tenants?” Lord Gallus thumped the table. “It’s a noble’s duty to represent their tenant’s needs to our monarch. Is this vulgar Vanuria where the whole population can rudely show up on their liege’s doorstep and make a cacophonic clamor?”

Dwayne’s eyes widened. Of course, if the tenants went straight to the Queen, they’d be going over their lords’ heads. That was why Lord Gallus was angry.

The princess finally faced Magdala’s father. “Is that an official objection, Lord Gallus?”

The lord looked to the other chairs for support, but Judge Koenig’s eyes were closed as if she were napping, Giordano’s were still looking on the list, and, of course, Lord Kalan was still absent.

With a deep breath, Lord Gallus sat back in his seat. “No, it is not. I simply would like my, er, concerns to be on the record.”

“Done.” The princess’s expression cleared. She smiled. “With that, we’re finished. Councilors, you have ten minutes to get ready for the procession.” She got to her feet, waited for everyone else to stand, and then raised her hand as if she were holding a chalice aloft. “By Cueller’s Blessing.”

As one, councilors and clerks mirrored her salute. “By Cueller’s Blessing.”

“Meeting adjourned.”

With that, the councilors began to drift towards the back door. After he slid his notes into his bag, Dwayne moved to follow.

Sercombe stepped in front of him. “Sorry, Kalan, that’s for councilors only.” She lowered her voice. “Besides, you do not want to get near Anne at the moment. Trust me. Let me introduce you to the other clerks.” She waved. “Docherty, you’re not getting out of this.”

A short stout person in black robes and a white skullcap turned away from the door and glared at Sercombe. “What’s the point of this?” Docherty had been the clerk that Dwayne couldn’t see because of Judge Koenig’s hat.

“Solidarity.” The princess’s clerk pointed to herself. “I’m Dame Tate Sercombe. That’s Ms. Elena Monti.” She pointed to the older woman in gold pantaloons, who curtsied. “She’s been here the longest of us and that’s,” Tate gestured to Lord Gallus’s clerk, “That’s Lieutenant Mia Hill-”

“We’ve met.” Hill raised her chin. “Down at Walton.”

Dwayne forced a smile onto his face as he tried to recall all of the soldiers he’d met at Walton. Officer, dark brown hair, gray eyes. Nothing. That diving falcon insignia on Hill’s uniform however...

“You’re a windsong.” He still didn’t remember her, but Magdala had gone over the different windsong orders with him and Mei. “Peregrine Cast, right?”

“Oh, good job.” Hill rolled her eyes. “Now get us more licenses and I’ll actually be impressed.”

“Hill.” Sercombe put a hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “You know he can’t, not without the Royal Sorcerer.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Hill grimaced as Sercombe’s grip tightened, “Sir.”

Sercombe released Hill and gestured to the last clerk. “And finally, Father Lloyd Docherty.”

“Father?” Dwayne asked.

Sercombe waggled her eyebrows. “Youngest ordained priest in a generation.”

“It is not a praiseworthy feat.” Father Docherty’s hand went to his forehead. “Shouldn’t we go now? The Session procession is always late, but not this late.”

Sercombe nodded. “Yes, yes, we should go, but first, excuse me.” She adjusted Dwayne’s wig. “Better. Did you get all the meeting notes?”

Dwayne patted his bag. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Excellent, we’ll compare later. Hill and Docherty don’t bother, and Ms. Monti’s script is, um, well…”

“My own,” called out Monti from outside the room. “Are you two coming or not?”

“Coming.” Sercombe placed a hand on Dwayne’s shoulder. “You’ll follow them to the entrance hall?”

Dwayne nodded, not sure if she thought he was that incompetent.

“Splendid.” She started walking backwards to the back door. “I have a quick errand to run so I can’t walk you back. I’ll see you there.” Then she was gone.

Dismissing the natural question “If that door wasn’t for clerks, why could Sercombe go that way?” with a shrug, Dwayne left the way he came, trailing the other clerks as they made their way back to the entrance hall. Then a thought stopped him. Right now was his best chance to escape before Lady Pol made his secret known to the world. With any luck, like the Commoner’s Appeal running long, he’d be well on his way out of the city before anyone noticed. Maybe he’d even have time to collect his notes from the Tower.

Dwayne started walking again, slowing down to let the other clerks move on ahead. There were other considerations of course, Rodion and Sanford, Mei and Huan, the Tower, but they were all, by employment or appointment, really Lord Kalan’s responsibility, not his. However, the Vanurians now taking refuge at Walcrest were Dwayne’s responsibility. He’d better stop by and make sure they got out all right. Maybe he could ask Magdala to-

Dwayne stopped. Magdala was here, attending the Autumn Session. If he left now, he wouldn’t have the chance to ask her for help, present his proposal to her, or even say good-bye. No, she probably wouldn’t care about that, not now that she was back home. Maybe he’d send her a thank you note. After all, he couldn’t have gotten this far without her.

Satisfied, he resumed walking.

Soon he reached the entrance hall, where a few stragglers were making their way into the Throne Room. To his left were the Autumn Session, Magdala, and the responsibilities he’d fought for. To his right was Bradford, the open road, and freedom.

From behind him, a deep melodic voice asked, “Are you Dwayne Kalan-qe?”

The accent shattered Dwayne’s thought process. Feeling discombobulated, he answered, “Y-yes, I am.” He turned to the speaker with a hastily constructed smile on his face. “Sorry, I…I…”

He’d heard the accent but hadn’t actually listened to it, not enough to recognize it, and so he hadn’t expected to see a dark brown woman wearing thick white fur, patterned gold, and spiced perfume as easily as a farmer would wear a shawl. Flanked by two tall bald guards in silver armor, red wrap skirts, and long spears, the woman stepped closer, slowly, regally, her posture holding up a black storm cloud of hair. From head to toe, it was clear she had wealth far beyond that of any Souran noble or merchant as her hair alone could ransom baronies.

This was a Wesen noble.

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When she reached him, the woman placed her hands together. “The Sun beats well on you, Kalan-qe. I am Ifunanya Eminike-zat, Vice-Consul of the Ri’s Mission to Soura.”

These words, full of grand gravity, shook Dwayne free of his stupor. “I’m Dwayne Kalan, heir to Sanford, mage’s apprentice.” He’d forgotten the full list right at this moment. He’d never been this close to someone from the Ri, the mage’s kingdom on the east coast of Wesen. If she knew that Dwayne was Ri, she’d order those guards to grab him and take him away.

“So I hear.” The Vice-Consul’s dark eyes inspected Dwayne. “I also hear you’re Dragon Fighter, Ruin Delver, Mob Queller. My brothers and sons send me query after query from the Capitol. They’re asking, ‘What is she like, this Wesen who bears a Souran title, who earns such epithets?’ and I reply, ‘He is a Qe mage.’”

Dwayne frowned. “They can’t come and see that for themselves?”

The Vice-Consul raised her chin. “No Ri prince leaves the Ri. No Ri prince is allowed outside the Ri, which makes you, Dwayne Kalan-qe, a puzzle. In your face, I see a Seuda nose, a pair of G’nj eyes, the cheekbones of a prince, and not one hint of a wan-faced mother.”

Feeling dizzy, Dwayne pulled back from her. “It was a long time ago. You can’t tell now.”

“Maybe so, maybe so.” The Vice-Consul stroked her furs. “But I have seen what you claim to be. One has even started her own college.” She clicked her tongue. “A pity. You both are wasted here. If it weren’t for the treaties, I’d order Ife and Oluwabusayo here to take you both home.”

“Take us home?” Dwayne’s hands formed into fists. “You mean kidnap us?”

“It is where you belong.”

“I don’t belong there.” Dwayne advanced on the Vice-Consul. “Where I belong was ripped away from me by slavers.”

The Vice-Consul bowed her head. “I had heard that you were a slave.”

Dwayne asked through gritted teeth, “And where was the Ri when I was taken?”

The Vice-Consul’s hand came up, forestalling her guards’ spears. “Such passion. A pity you are not Ri. Still, our offer stands.” Her eyes met his. “Just know that if you are a prince, my brother, then your place is in the Ri.” She put her hands together. “May your coming suns be bright, Kalan-qe.” Then she turned on her heel and led her guards out of the palace.

It took Dwayne several breaths to take control of his anger, a feat made much more difficult by the realization that Sercombe had completed her errand and was in the entrance hall, watching him with several other Sourans. If he left now, they’d know, and worse, he’d look like he was going after her.

Damn.

Damn and damned.

He couldn’t run, not now.

***

Mei felt very small sitting in the six-sided high arched space walled with stained glass that was the Throne Room. Two thirds of it was filled with radiating rows of pews, all occupied by the richest and finest of Bradford’s residents. As for the remaining third, half lay between the center of the room and the doors to the entrance and was filled with the more common sort of Sourans, while the other half lay opposite it and was occupied only by three simple wooden chairs. All, pews, chairs, standers, faced the center where a massive silver and wood throne sat on a raised dais. Lit by a wheel of colored light streaming in from the biggest and highest of the stained glass windows, the monstrous seat looked twice as tall as Mei and was covered with silver cups that overflowed with lilacs. Mei couldn’t keep her eyes off it, and she heard sniffles from the standing section.

“Where’s Dwayne?” asked Maggie on Mei’s left.

Mei blinked and looked around. “He isn’t here?”

“No.” Maggie turned in her seat to check the giant doors. “The meeting has to be over by now. I saw my father’s clerk take her seat. Where is he?”

“Not your problem.” Fran reached across Mei and made Maggie face forward. “Your mother will drown us if you keep acting like that.”

Unconcerned about the Water Sage’s wrath, Mei turned in her seat and scanned the crowd.

Fran groaned. “No, not you too.”

“I can swim.” Ignoring the annoyed looks from the people sitting behind them, Mei searched the stragglers. No bad wigs. No black Tiger Masks. No Huan. She hadn’t actually expected her brother to come, but sometimes he surprised her. “I don’t see him.”

“Maybe he got lost,” said Fran.

“Oh cups, I hope not,” said Maggie.

A tall brown-haired Souran in a teal suit strode into the room with an older woman in gold on her arm. Both of them seemed familiar. Maybe Mei had seen them the last time she’d been called to the Palace.

Huan would remember.

“I’m glad your lady mother has to sit with the other Sages,” said Fran. Mei had missed what Maggie had said to prompt this response. “I do not want to be near you two when you’re fighting.”

Maggie sniffed. “We’re not fighting. I’m joining the College of Martial Magic and that’s that.”

Mei checked the standing crowd, hoping that Huan had slipped in somehow. She had to tell him about Black Tiger. The last time Mei and Huan had faced off against a real ShengXiao guard, Huan had nearly died.

“I doubt she’s actually given up,” said Fran. “You and your mother are cut from the same very stubborn cloth.”

“We’re not…” Maggie’s voice cracked. “Well, she said I could do what I want.”

“That doesn’t sound like her at all.”

Mei slid down into her seat.

“Any luck?” Maggie asked.

Mei shook her head. Ever since she’d talked to Charlie, she’d been wondering how she could help Huan get out of this predicament. Yes, they could fight, but she doubted they could take two of ShengXiao guards at the same time. The better option was to clear Huan’s name with the scrytives and then just go. Somewhere. Anywhere.

“Mei?” Fran squeezed Mei’s hand. “Are you all right?”

“What?” Maggie looked around. “Is she bothering you again?”

Fran raised an eyebrow. “Is who bothering her?”

Mei answered Maggie’s question. “No.” She hadn’t seen Momin in the standing audience or in the pews, but the spy was sneakier than a shade rat. One last time, Mei peeked back and spotted a dry and frazzled blond wig striding through the door. “Oh, there’s Dwayne.”

“Finally!” Maggie waved away Fran’s concern. “We should invite him over.”

“No,” Fran pulled down Maggie’s hand, “it’s too late.”

The doors behind the throne opened, and, as one, those who had seats, stood.

Maggie pulled Mei up. “You have to stand up.”

“Why-”

Bright horns snatched the words from Mei’s mouth, and the following chorus of triumphant pipes made further speech impossible. The horns Mei had expected, she’d spotted the liveried guards who held them, but the pipes somehow lived in the very air, a sonorous omnipresence with no true source. Still, she persisted and finally found the source: dozens of little metal pipes embedded in the Throne Room’s walls and pillars. The chorus was everywhere because the very room was the instrument.

As the harmonies soared, six people proceeded into the room: Lord Gallus bearing a silver sheathed sword, a merchant holding aloft a thick gold bound tome, a priest carrying a bronze goblet large enough to slake any thirst, the princess carrying a scroll under her left arm, and a thin man in blue bearing the hand of Soura’s monarch Queen Sophia the Fourth.

A head taller than the man at her side, Queen Sophia had light brown hair and sun-touched skin. She wore a dress covered in lilacs, an ash gray cloak embroidered with cups, and a delicate silver crown made of waves and mountains. Her slow deliberate steps took her past the seats of her councilors, past her daughter’s place at the right of the throne, her consort’s place at the left, and carried her to the front edge of the dais, where she stopped and gazed upon her subjects. For a moment, Mei could swear that the Queen looked straight at her.

Queen Sophia inclined her head. “Autumn Session starts.” Then in one smooth motion, she pivoted, walked over to the throne, and took her seat.

As one, those who had seats, sat.

Clearing her throat, Princess Anne stepped forward and unrolled her scroll. “On this the twentieth day of Camcli, we shall start with the Commoner’s Appeal. Olga Carmicheal of Dorneslinde, please step forward.”

As a woman in a plain white dress stiffly marched up to the throne, Maggie poked Fran. “I didn’t think they’d go through with this,” she whispered.

Fran shrugged. “Her Majesty has notions.”

As Olga spoke to the Queen, Mei listened to the whispers blossoming around her. Some expressed confusion, others resignation, a few anger, and she didn’t understand why. The Emperor of Tuqu had commoners come to the palace all the time. At least, Mei had heard that. She’d never met anyone who’d met the Emperor.

“And that’s the right of it, Your Majesty.” Olga cast her eyes down to the floor, her hands wringing her skirt, her appeal finished.

Queen Sophia leaned forward. “Your landlord’s judgment claiming needless rest; you Olga requite eightfold lost labor. Today’s appeal: your girl’s fever ran hot; with no doctor there, you stayed home to care.”

Olga hid a frown at the Queen’s phrasing and bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“This judgment overturned your monarch can, but must ponder this” ‘What is true labor?’” The queen paused and let the question linger in the air. “Labor is fieldwork. Labor is housekeep. Labor is the harvest. And,” Queen Sophia smiled, “it is love. Hear this: a mother’s work must labor be. No requite requir’d.”

Olga, tears in her eyes, bowed once more. “Thank you, Your Majesty, thank you.”

As Olga retreated from the dais, Queen Sophia raised her voice. “The Throne commands it.”

Princess Anne called out, “Our Queen speaks, we hear!”

“Our Queen speaks, we hear!” shouted Soura.

As dust drifted down from the ceiling, Mei wondered at the unity shown by all here. Even Maggie had raised her voice.

“We’ll continue with the Mage’s Appeal.” Princess Anne didn’t check her scroll this time. “Baron Otto Thadden of Kolz.”

As a large older man approached the throne, his blue and white robes fluttering behind him, Mei recognized him. The night of the dinner he’d inadvertently rescued her from Roberta Bruce.

Thadden dropped to one knee. “Your Majesty, this humble servant requests that you consider appointing a new Royal Sorcerer. The man who currently holds the position, Lord Bartholomew Kalan, is honorable and has a great many accomplishments, but-”

“Your Majesty!” From the back of the room, a purple and white shape flew over the audience and alighted on the dais next to Thadden, resolving into a blond woman in a high collared white blouse and purple cloak. Mei recognized her too. Lady Luisa Pol, the mage who was digging up Yumma.

Princess Anne glared at the wind mage. “Lady Pol. You were after Baron Thadden.”

Maggie glanced at Mei. “Did you know she was in Bradford?”

Mei shook her head, keeping her eye on Pol’s back.

Pol dropped to one knee. “My words are relevant to the Baron’s appeal.” She looked past the princess and locked eyes with Queen Sophia. “Lord Bartholomew Kalan has abandoned the position of Royal Sorcerer.”

A stone landed in the pit of Mei’s stomach.

Maggie’s chin dropped to her chest. “That idiot.”

“Is this some sort of plan?” Fran asked.

Mei’s eyes slid to the back of the room, to Lord Kalan’s apprentice. “No.” Dwayne looked as if he’d been shot. “It is not.”

Thadden glared at the wind mage. “Lady Pol, I have not finished my appeal.”

Pol pulled a letter out of her cloak. “This is a letter detailing his chosen course of action.” With a syllable, she sent the letter fluttering over into Princess Anne’s hands. “From now on, he plans to focus solely on his research.”

Princess Anne read the letter, her eyes going wide. She turned to Queen Sophia. “Mo-Your Majesty. It’s true.”

The whispers in the audience spread rumors like pollen.

“First, he makes a Wesen his heir and then he runs off?”

“I told you. He’s infatuated with them.”

“Is that boy our next Royal Sorcerer?”

Mei curled up in her seat. Her brother was right to skip this.

“My subjects.” As her words silenced the crowd, Queen Sophia rose. Her right hand reached out. “Be calm, my subjects. You have so many, many questions, but there is just one to answer here and now. Do we accept Lord Kalan’s retirement?” She looked into the eyes of her subjects. “Yes, we do.” She sat back down.

For a long moment, Princess Anne floundered, but she shook herself and rallied. “Candidates for the position of Her Majesty’s Sorcerer will be found. By the end of the Harvest Ball in two weeks’ time, we will announce the top contenders for the position.”

Queen Sophia’s voice was grave. “The Throne commands it.”

“Our Queen speaks, we hear!”

As both Thadden and Pol withdrew and the Autumn Session continued, Mei cursed how little warning she, Maggie, and Dwayne had gotten from Lord Kalan. It was especially surprising that Lord Kalan, who usually ran even small decisions by his apprentice, had left said apprentice out of his decision. Before this moment, Mei would have sworn that Dwayne knew everything about his master’s affairs. It didn’t make sense.

Mei blinked.

It didn’t make sense. There was no way that Lord Kalan, who’d endured dragons and ridicule and scorn for Dwayne, wouldn’t have told his apprentice about this. Still, Lord Kalan was fickle, and he was prone to last minute decision-making, which often required his message to be sent by the fastest possible method: windsong. A related fact: three nights ago, a windsong messenger - one heading northeast towards the Parvenue District, where Sanford was - had been found murdered, his messages stolen.

It could be coincidence. “Fran, do nobles become windsong?”

“No, not usually.” Fran tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”

“Do merchants?”

“No. They’re too valuable as sailors.”

Only nobles and very rich merchants lived in the Parvenue District, and the only non-Souran looking people that Mei had seen there were herself, her brother, and Dwayne. The messenger had looked Vanurian. Chances are that he didn’t live in the Parvenue district, which meant that he had to have been delivering a message, one that could have been for Dwayne.

“Mei?” Fran nudged her. “Mei, are you all right?”

“I am fine.” Mei clasped her hands together.

“Are you sure?”

Mei managed a nod as she remembered something that made her stomach twist. There were only five people in Bradford who knew Lord Kalan well enough to guess how he’d send messages: Dwayne, Rodion, Maggie, Mei.

And Huan.