Chapter 3

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The spacious circular hall, in soft turquoise tones with blue velvet fabric inserts, was filled with the quiet, pervasive rustling that occurs when large numbers of people try not to make noise.

The arriving nobles stood along the lines of a dark blue concentric pattern that covered the white, mirror-polished floor tiles, creating a giant spiral converging to the center of the hall, where instead of the expected throne, there was something like a rather large, round rostrum of the speaker, now empty. A huge white luminous crystal, playing the role of a chandelier, hung over the rostrum and over the first rows of noblemen who arrived at the Onstum, like a sword of Damocles. It was hanging by itself, motionless in the air, without any visible supporting devices.

It's amazing, though. A huge number of people engaged in a tedious, tiresome, and, funnily enough, expensive business. All the time on their feet, in uncomfortable positions, all they can think about is how to scratch themselves without creating a political scandal... Alex as a representative of one of the most ancient families, entered the hall among the first and for the fifteen minutes that it took to go to the others, had time to consider and "throne-tribune" and the part of the hall that was behind the throne. And most importantly, it is not clear who needs all this! Who invented it? Whose profit? Why? I bet most of the participants of this "solemn arrival" would be happy to confine themselves to: "Hello, here we are!", omitting further formalities ...

At last, the waiting ceased, and the staff of the Head Steward rattled against the polished floorboards:

"His Imperial Majesty!" A triumphant sound came from above, and the large double doors on the opposite side slowly swung open.

The Emperor was exactly the same as in the many records that Alex had seen during the flight. He was a short, lean man in his fifties, in a snow-white navy uniform, with a slightly angular face and lively gray eyes. His short, military-looking dark hair accentuated his high forehead, which was encircled by a hoop of gray metal with a single blue stone in the center.

Stopping in the doorway for a moment, the Emperor waved two fingers from his temple with a smile and moved toward the center of the hall. In the distant rows, a joyous, excited buzz swept through, which only the strict formality of the ceremony seemed to keep from degenerating into applause. As he approached the center, the reaction became more subdued but still positive.

Despite the long blue cloak over his uniform, the Emperor walked briskly and quickly, with a precise and measured step, forcing the attendants, who were walking a little behind him, to hurry up: a tall, stately blond man wearing a pale green uniform, with a scarlet cloak on his shoulders, fastened with a massive, richly decorated chain of the Order. And a dark-haired middle-aged man with an elongated, tired face dressed in a black uniform without insignia.

Exchanging smiles and salutatory nods with the arriving nobles, the Emperor walked to the "throne-tribune," and once again greeted the audience with a wave of his hand and took his seat.

Alex had already thought that the "oath confirmation ceremony" was about to begin, but to his surprise, the staff struck the floor again:

"Her Majesty, Queen Hershebeth," announced the majordomo loudly, and the doors through which the Emperor entered slowly began to open again.

The reaction of the hall to this announcement was an icy silence which, after a few moments, was replaced by the rustling of many whispers.

The queen was tall, impassive, and moved with such perfect grace that it seemed as if she were hovering a few centimeters above the ground. Her pale blue dress, made as if of glittering blue ice, barely reaching the floor, only strengthened this effect, evoking associations with a fairy tale snow queen. Her long, straight hair was perfectly white and styled so evenly that it moved as if it were drawn, like a single flowing mass, tied in the middle with a wide metal ring. A platinum-colored hoop hovered above her head like a halo, and in the center of it was a shimmering blue crystal like a sharp four-sided spike.

With truly regal grace, the queen glided through the vacant part of the hall, and, accompanied by uncomfortable glances and whispers, she headed toward the center, echoing the emperor's path. Her perfectly shaped face, with its stern mouth and straight, slightly upturned nose, was filled with a cold, unapproachable beauty, and her piercing blue eyes glanced blankly through the rows of arriving nobles.

Who she was and what caused such a cold reaction from those present, Alex was completely incomprehensible. In addition, although he was ready to swear that he saw the queen for the first time, he could not shake the feeling that she was familiar to him.

Standing three meters away from the emperor, who was now watching the queen's approach with an absent smile, Alex was deprived of the opportunity to whisper with Artala, who should have known exactly what was going on. Questions, for now, we'll have to put aside.

As Hershebeth passed by, Alex heard a woman whispering from somewhere behind him, loud enough to be heard by the queen and the emperor behind the podium, and even by his attendants:

"Great shadows, holo fabric with glow, how old-fashioned!" In the voice of the unknown connoisseur of beauty, one could hear a clear condemnation.

"She should have worn shoulder pads, too." The other commented contemptuously, causing a faint grimace of weary irritation on the blond man in the scarlet cloak that accompanied the Emperor. "Some kind of hopeless lack of taste..."

The queen, with the same nonchalant look, passed by and took her seat next to the emperor on the "throne-tribune," giving the hall a completely icy look of a sophisticated customer who does not like the goods on offer.

At that moment Alex realized who the queen reminded him of - his own attendant, Artala.

The same icy stare. Maybe they teach it at court somewhere especially?

The Emperor beckoned with a brief nod to someone on the sidelines, and the ceremony continued.

"Her Serene Ladyship, Sovereign Princess of the Great House of Peltar, Lady Nadina Pell! Arrived with honor and for the honor!" The majordomo announced, and Lady Nadina, standing to the left of Alex, a little closer to the throne, left her guardsman behind and stepped forward.

"Illustrious Princess of the House of Peltar!" The Emperor's voice was stern and solemn, but judging by his eyes, it was more of an act. "Do you swear, as an equal, by the word of your ancestors, to serve me faithfully, by honor and antiquity, from Starfall to Starfall?"

The pause clearly lasted a few seconds longer than the ceremonial prescribed, until finally Lady Nadina dropped to one knee:

"I, Nadina Pell, by right of equality, by my word and by the word of my ancestors. I swear..." Her words were entirely canonical and almost exactly like the ones Alex was about to utter, but the intonation... Nadine's tone had lost its omnipresent sarcasticness. It was unconcerned and lifeless. The arrest scene must have affected her even more than it had seemed at first. Or maybe the excitement had taken its toll. "...To serve you faithfully, from Starfall to Starfall, by honor and antiquity, demanding no other reward but honor and glory."

"Hail to the clan of Pell!" The Emperor proclaimed, raising his hands.

"Hail!" The many assembled responded in chorus, and Nadina, who rose and took the guardsman under her arm again, made her way toward the exit at a leisurely pace.

"His Serene Lordship, Illustrious and Sovereign Prince of the Great House Fyron, Lord Allesandro Cassard" The pounding of the beating heart almost completely absorbed the perfectly staged voice of the majordomo...

So calm down, it's only the Emperor of the Star Empire, a few thousand drunken Tallana rebels were clearly more dangerous... Alex engaged in auto training trying to extinguish the inexplicably flared excitement. And why in general, she told me about the record, chronicles, and other things. Maybe I wouldn't have panicked so much...

He said the oath on automatic, coming to his senses only at the words, "Hail to Cassard," but still, his gait was somewhat "wooden" when he left the hall.

"Finally..." Barely audible but greatly relieved, Artala said as the tall doors closed silently behind them.

On the other side was a small "passing" hall, decorated with huge pictures of battlespace themes, and a group of servants, in livery the color of the night sky, with trays full of drinks in their hands and with a willingness to serve on their faces.

Alex gratefully grabbed the glass from the servant and drained it in a gulp before he even knew what he was drinking.

One of the servants bowed in a deep bow and asked to do him the honor of escorting "Your Lordship" to the lounge. Alex could only support such an arrangement.

As it turned out, literally three steps away, in the next corridor, a small - even tiny, by local standards, round room was waiting for them, with only a corner couch and a table with snacks.

The chief captain was visibly relieved to throw off her incredible robe, which was immediately picked up by the servants, and then they left at once, leaving Alex and Artala alone.

"Forgive me for asking, but who is Queen Hershebeth?" Alex had already coped with the strange excitement, and now, he was understandably curious.

"The Emperor's wife." The attendant replied, after an awkward pause with a strange look.

"And what the Emperor is married?!" Alex was sincerely surprised.

During the flight to the capital, he had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of materials about the Emperor, and not a single word mentioned that he was married. He was a lonely, majestic figure with a golden halo of military genius. His wife did not really fit this image:

Maybe he just got married a short time ago. And the "Court" has not yet accepted the new girl?

"By the way, I don't know if that would be convenient..." He unsuccessfully tried to give his curiosity a more decent shape. "But I thought you and the queen looked remarkably alike."

The captain froze, with a small canapé in her mouth, which she had taken from the table, and looked at Alex like a hopeless idiot:

"Maybe it's because she's my mother?" Artala sighed disappointedly, adding with participation, "You didn't take anything... like that?" She wiggled her fingers meaningfully. "Shall I send a servant for the neutralizer?"

"It's just that I've lost my memory, and I don't know a lot of even the most obvious and commonly known things..." Alex began to explain himself on the spot but froze in mid-sentence when he realized exactly what Artala had told him:

"What do you mean - mother?"

"I mean, how did you lose your memory?"

They said the words almost simultaneously, and both were silent, digesting what they heard without noticing the suspension of silence.

One did not have to be a wise man to know that he was facing the emperor's daughter or, at worst, the adopted one. After all, who else could the emperor's wife's daughter be?

Most likely a blood relative. Now Alex saw the unmistakable family resemblance. Just more like her mother.

However, there was one question that came out of this that literally came down on Alex with all its shocking simplicity:

Why am I being met by a princess, and why is she handing over a warning about a test and some obscure pills?

He could somehow explain the first part of the question to himself, for example, job duties:

Can a princess serve as the Guard? Why not? For local noblewomen, a military career was frequent, if not commonplace. And she could have met me in the line of duty. As Captain of the Guard. Why not?

But, here, passing some pill under the table and warning about the inspection of the Inquisition, all this somehow did not fit with the duties of a captain of the Guard:

So, personal initiative. And then there are the words of gratitude. Did Prince Cassard somehow help the princess? Did they know each other?

Before he was sent to onstum, he was consulted extensively by Representatives of the Office and the Retainer Service of House Fyron. If they had known of Lord Cassard's acquaintance with the Emperor's daughter, this would certainly have been mentioned:

So, if they were acquainted, it was not public, and the help, most likely, was also unspoken... Some kind of shady dealings...

And that, the real Prince Cassard, was not alien to shady dealings, on the contrary. As Alex learned from the Marquise Turang, the image of a drunkard and playboy was rather nothing more than a cover for a member of the conspiracy...

Speaking of Isalaya, the Marquess of Turang. The princess, like the marquise, has atypically short haircuts for local ladies.

As it turned out in the Marquise's case, it indicated that she was a nun. Which, of course, was hard to believe, given Isalaya's more than fiery temperament.

Does this mean that the princess is also a nun? And perhaps this unspoken acquaintance of the princess and Lord Cassard, and some assistance, took place through her?

His train of thought was interrupted by Artala's question:

"Have you completely forgotten everything?" She asked, peering inquiringly at Alex.

In the time he had spent pondering, the princess's face had changed from shock to indignation, which gave way to... Joy?

"Completely." She concluded, without even waiting for his answer, and sighing with undisguised relief, she smiled broadly. "How could this happen, Prince?" She asked, evidently out of politeness.

"The result of a failed assassination attempt." The "prince" answered dryly, recounting the official version of his unconsciousness. "When poisoned by Grey Dust, some parts of the brain were significantly damaged. I assumed the greeters had been informed, for the Imperial Security service was aware of what had happened."

"You think too highly of them." Artala brushed it aside, and for a moment froze, as if remembering something, she asked: "What about your notes or journals? It might help you to recover your memory."

"As far as I was able to find out, previously, I was not in the habit of keeping detailed diaries."

"Such a pity." The princess sighed, not even trying to look upset. "My deepest condolences." She said in a pathetical tone and added with a weary wave of her hand. "And all kinds of nonsense like that."

On the one hand, the princess was obviously glad of Lord Cassard's oblivion and did not even think it necessary to hide it. But on the other hand, the situation was, as they call it: "informal and confidential." The princess treated him as an equal, if not as a friend, so Alex decided - that it was silly to miss such an opportunity and did not hesitate to ask questions:

"If you'll excuse me..." Alex began, trying to get Artala's attention as she concentrated on the tray of appetizers.

The princess froze with a canapé in her mouth and guiltily pushed aside the tray of food, which was already more than half-empty:

"Excuse me, Prince. I got carried away." For some reason, she began to make excuses. "You know how stimulants whet the appetite, and I have so much to do, I haven't had time to sleep in days."

The guilt-ridden Artala looked unexpectedly cute. So much so that Alex, despite the seriousness of what was happening, was even tempted to support the game just to admire that guilty face, but the need not to miss such a valuable source of information and curiosity took its toll.

"I'd like to torture you with more questions..." He finished his sentence, pushing the tray of appetizers back to Artala. "As long as we have, at least a little, free time."

"Then don't be shy. It is, after all, part of my duties as your chaperone." She practically purred back, taking another canapé off the tray.

"Thank you in advance." He thanked her sincerely. "I wouldn't want to get into an awkward situation, and with my memory problems, it's all too easy. Your hair. Am I correct in assuming that it indicates a spiritual rank?"

"I was trained in a Sororitas Monastery on Hessan." Nodded the princess. "And anticipating your next question, Yes. I studied with the Marquise Turang. Moreover, she is my Elder Sister."

"Elder sister?" Alex asked again, realizing that it was clearly not a matter of age.

"In the monastery, it is customary for girls who begin their training to be given as novices to their elders. A kind of personal mentor and equally personal novice."

"That's how..." Alex thoughtfully stretched out, trying to imagine what it would be like to study when you have such a splashing-with-energy person as Marquess Turang as your mentor. "Must have been boring."

"That's right." Artala smiled, but the smile was a little crooked. Artala smiled, but the smile came out a little crooked. "However, Isalaya is such a person that it's impossible to be offended by her for long. You should know."

That explains the familiarity between the princess and the real Cassard. Thought Alex, responding to Artala's remark with only a polite smile. Through his mistress: Isalaya the Marquess of Turang.

And it also answered the question that tormented him: "How old is Artala? She was younger than Isalaya, which meant she was in her early twenties.

There was one last oddity. Alex thought absent-mindedly watching as the princess with an inhuman appetite, finished with the remains of appetizers. How did I manage not to know that the Emperor is married and has children? Let's assume that I personally am a fool and could simply miss it. But before the flight to the capital, I helped to prepare people from the Retainer Service of House Fyron, and they were clearly aware of the issue.

"Your Highness, there is one point that I found very strange, and now it torments me." Alex broke the silence that had settled briefly. "You may find this hard to believe, but I have been preparing for my arrival at court, and I have had professional help. But somehow, even the fact that His Majesty is married managed to elude me."

The princess froze, stopped eating, and leaned back on the couch, staring at the questioner with a sudden heavy gaze:

"And I've already decided that 'torturing with questions' is just a figure of speech..." She sighed, looking straight into Alex's eyes; it was obvious she didn't like the question:

"First of all, why all these titles and ranks between people of the same circle, especially when we're alone." Artala began from afar. "And I'm basically annoyed by the title of highness, so if this isn't a formal ceremony, but you still want a formality, please: call me Captain Niazur. As to the point of your question: this is a very long and completely unnecessary conversation. To put it bluntly: my parents' marriage is not a popular topic. The fruit of this marriage." The princess pointed her finger at herself. "Because of a huge number of religious and political reasons, it's an even more unpopular topic. So it's perfectly normal that the people who prepared you avoided this topic."

The princess took a short pause and, leaning toward Alex, added:

"I can advise you the same thing." She said, in a half voice. "Don't touch the subject, at least not in public. Otherwise, you just run the risk of getting into a very uncomfortable situation where no matter what you say, everything will be against you."

"Excuse me." The question seemed innocent enough, and he didn't expect to strike an obviously sensitive chord. "Perhaps we'd better change the subject."

"Nevermind." With mild irritation, Artala brushed it aside. "I'm used to it. Speaking of changing the subject." She added with a meaningful look. "If you want something to eat, this is literally your last chance."

As if to obey her words, there was a cautious knock on the door.

"Yes?" Artala asked loudly at the closed door. Her tone and demeanor had changed dramatically, filled with an icy mannerism.

The door opened, and a servant slipped into the room like a snake:

"Come to see their lordship, the gentlemen of the Inquisition and a representative of the Great House Fyron." He said in an apologetic tone, bowing deeply.

"Let them wait. We haven't finished yet." The princess cut off in a tone that implied no objection, and the servant, still bowing, slipped back into the corridor, carefully shutting the door behind him.

"But you really should hurry, Allesandro." She added in a half-smile and in a much more personal way when the door closed behind the servant. "If we keep them waiting for more than a couple of minutes, even for my taste, it will come out somehow too much cause for gossip."

Alex threw a look of doubt at Artala, but the latter twitched her shoulder and rolled her eyes defiantly as if to say, It's up to you.

I had to make a decision. On the one hand, I didn't like the idea of eating unfamiliar pills, and on the other hand, I didn't like the idea of failing the Inquisition test. If it turned out that he was really an "adept," even more:

Isolation or extermination. That's the prospect of an illegal 'adept'. He thought, unhappily, fumbling for the pill in his pocket. It was rough and slightly porous to the touch. Prince Cassard, on the other hand, has already been poisoned. At that moment, I swapped places with him. Who's to say they won't try again?

Another round of long glances was exchanged with Artala. The princess was outwardly calm, but in her piercing blue eyes, there was a slight irritation that she didn't think it necessary to hide, and the fingers of her right hand were tapping the table faintly. She was clearly irritated by Alex's indecision, but there was no ulterior motive behind it.

Artala Niazur did not look at all like someone who wanted to kill him:

On the other hand, I've already met people who actually wanted to kill me: Lord Velaske, for example, or Professor Thakkar. And they didn't look like bloodthirsty monsters, with their hateful stares or anything like that. No, they were both quiet, rather suave, and intelligent conversationalists. Maybe even more suave and calm than the princess. Alex made a mental remark, looking at Artala, whose gaze was becoming more and more irritated. After all, there was nothing personal between us, only political interests.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

About Artala's political interests, one could only guess. Alex had only just learned of the existence of the Emperor's daughter, and there were clearly some secret dealings between her and the real Lord Cassard...

On the other hand, to poison directly, especially by handing over the poison... Alex thought about it but remembered his forced change of clothes and the princess's mannerisms when they were alone. Her Highness had the directness and candor of a rail when she needed something. Such a one could easily pour poison down his throat personally, too, if she needed it...

Exactly. Artala is straight as a rail and clearly a person of action. If she wanted me dead, she wouldn't have relied on chance - I could refuse, no, she would have chosen a more direct method of delivery.

Alex made a decision. Of course, there were a thousand other possibilities. The pill could have been swapped by someone in her entourage, or it was not poison at all. Or some other substance and the purpose was not to kill him, but, for example, to embarrass him or set him up somehow, but if you think about all the life is not enough: he took the pill and put it in his mouth, pretending to cough as inconspicuously as possible.

"I think if the Inquisition gentlemen want to see me, there's no point in postponing it." He said aloud, after pouring a glass of cool drink, which tasted almost like water with faintly berry overtones.

Artala just shook her head disapprovingly and silently squeezed the ring on the ring finger of her right hand. Literally immediately, there was a knock at the door, and it happened again: the same cold "Yes?" Artala, still the same serpentine slithering servant bowing all the time.

"Call this Representative of House Fyron," Artala commanded tiredly, looking displeased, "and those of the Inquisition, too, if they are together."

The servant slipped back out into the corridor, closing the door behind him only to open it again in a few seconds.

On the threshold of their small recreation room stood a young but solidly built blond man. He wore the dark red and black uniform of the House Fyron Guard, which looked somewhat odd on him. A small, neat beard accentuated his round, carefully shaved, glossy cheeks. Behind the blond man in the corridor stood two tall, shoulder-bellied fellows in uniforms of a pale green hue. For some reason, Alex associated them with burly paramedics, ready to "pack up the patients". The "orderlies" had short metal stacks on their belts: paralyzers.

"Incredibly pleased to welcome you, Lord Cassard," said with undisguised enthusiasm, the round-cheeked blond standing in the doorway, "Allow me to introduce myself," he added, extending his hand, "Ulter Ralval, Knight of House Fyron. I will represent our House during your lordship's inspection." The words "Knight" and "House" were pronounced with the deepest pride, "Gentlemen of the Inquisition," He twitched his chin slightly toward the pair in green uniforms "Everything has been prepared, the necessary equipment has been delivered, the witnesses have also arrived. So if you don't mind..."

"What kind of test?" Alex asked with quiet surprise. "No one told me anything."

"A pure formality, Your Grace," Ulter smiled disarmingly. "Before being appointed to certain positions in the Empire, aspirants are once again screened by the Inquisition for abilities or signs of initiation."

Alex paused for a moment, wondering how best to stall because the pill had to be given time to take effect.

"Do we have to do this now?" He said, raising an eyebrow lazily, and, with a weary sigh, added:

"I honestly don't feel well."

"Unfortunately, yes, Your Lordship, I must." The blond man bowed his head guiltily. "But it won't take much of your time or effort."

There was nothing to do: If I start pretending how bad I feel they might start treating me seriously and find out that I took this 'black rainbow' or whatever it is.

"Well, all right," he surrendered, "let's go then, quickly."

Shit, now we'll find out if I'm adept or not.

Taking advantage of the appearance of a Representative of the House, and people from the Inquisition, the princess chose to ignore her duties as an attendant and did not go to check with Alex, citing the sudden urgent business, promising to meet him at the end.

So it was just the four of them who rumbled through the echoing and practically deserted enfilades of the palace.

"Would you mind telling me, Sir Ralval, what this examination is all about?" Alex broke the awkward silence. The gentlemen of the Inquisition were somewhat behind them and did not look like potential interlocutors. "I confess I have no idea what to expect."

"You have nothing to worry about, Prince," Ulter hastened to assure him, smiling warningly, "in fact, the inspection is nothing more than a simple conversation. During the test, there are two representatives of the Inquisition. One of them will be your interlocutor, and the second, a specially trained adept, at this moment observes you and conducts some investigations of your aura..." At this point, the Representative of the House hesitated a little, obviously having no idea what exactly the adept should do. "But in any case, everything here is under strict control." He added hastily. "The adept's mental flow and state of mind during the inspection is recorded by special equipment, two sets, to be exact. One, of which our House provides, and upon completion is analyzed by our experts, so it is out of the question that Your Lordship would dare be influenced in any way."

By the end of his tirade, Sir Ralval had acquired a look of triumph and contentment, as if he had been the author of all these precautions.

"Well, I guess that calms me down a bit." Alex smiled tensely. He was rapidly becoming ill, and the pill must have kicked in. He was feeling a little dizzy. All the sounds seemed more rumbling and distant, and there was a kind of uncertainty in his movements as if he were a little drunk. And most importantly, his head. To say that his head hurt a lot was to underestimate what was happening. There seemed to be a lump of concentrated pain in the center of it, and it was growing rapidly, literally pressing on his brain.

"How long does this 'conversation' last?" Lord Cassard squeezed out, trying not to give away his condition.

"Usually less than a quarter of an hour, and often half that, unless, of course, the first Lord Inquisitor is delayed, Your Grace."

"Does the First Lord Inquisitor have to be present at the inspections?" His Grace asked blankly, staring straight ahead.

In normal circumstances, Alex would probably be very surprised at such news. Even his more than limited knowledge was enough to know that the "First Lord Inquisitor" is actually the head of the Imperial Inquisition, as well as the master of the "Order of the Arm" and the very man who followed the emperor during the ceremony of the oath. But now he didn't really care about that.

"Normally, of course not." The Representative of the House hastened to assure him and continued, beaming with pride. "But there is a tradition that the First Lord Inquisitor personally speaks to aspirants for the highest positions. This is not surprising, considering the antiquity and nobility of your family, Lord Cassard, and the position it holds in our House. It would be entirely inappropriate if, for the duration of the onstum, you were not offered the highest post."

"Sounds logical." Lord Cassard nodded, completely unconcerned by the torrent of dithyrambs poured upon him by a Representative of the House. He was simply too focused on walking upright and not wrinkling the blinding pain in his long-suffering head. He also wanted to come and sit down already. But the imperial palace was completely following the tradition of gigantomania of local palace architecture. Alex was willing to swear that it took them at least ten minutes to get there. Fortunately, during the time they walked, the pain subsided somewhat, dropping to a level that was unpleasant but quite bearable.

"Please, Your Grace." Ulter Ralval waved his hand as the servants opened before them the thick double doors, wood-colored on the outside, but the thickness and slowness with which they were opened were more like a safe door.

The inspection room turned out to be a small square room, with the walls covered with a soft porous material of the same soft green hue as the uniforms of the inquisitors, one wall was completely transparent, and behind it, there was a table with equipment, and three men in gray tunics - as the incessantly smiling Olter explained - witnesses, moreover - professional witnesses. The furniture was a table and four chairs, which appeared to have grown out of the floor, monolithic to it, and seemingly of the same matte gray metal as the floor. Next to the table, there were two open briefcases, which looked absolutely identical, with some flickering index lights and obviously working equipment.

"Have a seat, Lord Cassard." The representative hospitably pointed to one of the chairs at the table, opposite which there were two more, probably for the inquisitors, and another one a little further away, probably for the representative himself.

Fumbling for a chair with his hand, Alex cautiously sat down. The pain in his head had almost subsided, replaced by dizziness, and he was afraid he would fall off the chair and onto the floor because his body felt like it was always tilting to the left.

"To eliminate the possibility of interception and copying of records, contact neural antennas are used," Ulter explained while the inquisitors were fiddling with the cases, apparently screwing them to the floor. "And all information is transmitted through special shielded cables that are also separately sealed with the seals of our House..."

Sir Ralval went on saying something: about the precautions, about how the seals were certified, that it was all a formality because there had never been a case... But his voice seemed to drift away, becoming increasingly muffled as the dizziness receded. After a few minutes, when the room finally stopped spinning around him, Alex realized that he was sort of "not really there". It was a very strange feeling of detachment - as if he had ceased to exist here and now, having retreated somewhere "deeper." His body didn't feel like his own - it felt like a puppet he was remotely controlling, and the control wasn't exactly comfortable, so Alex just nodded in time with the House representative's lengthy explanations, trying not to show his altered state.

Fortunately, Sir Ulter was soon distracted. The adept who was to participate in the inspection arrived - a sickly-looking young man with very expressive dark eyes, who, for some reason, blinked all the time so that despite the Inquisition uniform, he looked like a bewildered teenager. With his appearance began some formalities on the verification of equipment, signing the protocols, and from Prince Cassard to the inexpressible relief of Alex, all for a time left behind.

When the formalities were over, there was an awkward pause:

"Forgive me, Prince, but I have been informed that the Lord Inquisitor is somewhat delayed," Guilty whispered Sir Ralval leaned toward Alex and spread his hands as if to emphasize that some circumstances are clearly beyond his modest powers.

"That's all right." Alex waved him off graciously. "I'm sure he was held up by matters of service."

He was grateful to the Lord Inquisitor for the delay. He was getting better by the minute, and though the feeling of "aloofness" had not disappeared. He had already begun to get used to it, feeling that he could hold a conversation without looking like a mannequin that had come to life. Even more so because the culprit of the delay - he had not given himself very long. Though, Alex was not sure of his sense of time. It seemed to him that almost seven minutes passed before the heavy doors of the room opened again.

The Lord Inquisitor was still in full dress: a pale green uniform and a bloody scarlet cloak, which even stretched behind him on the floor, but, by all appearances, did not cause much discomfort. The Lord-Inquisitor walked easily without any apparent effort, with the confident gait of a man who always arrives on time.

"Morir Quezox, Knight of the Empire and First Lord Inquisitor." The man who entered dryly introduced himself to Alex, putting his right hand to his chest and bowing his head slightly.

It was very official. With a heavy heart, Alex realized that he would have to do the same. As he rose from his chair, he mentally shifted his imperial title, already so mind-bending twisted, into the form used for the actual introduction. One couldn't have one form of title for all occasions, could one? No, that would be too easy.

"Alessandro Cassard, sovereign prince of Cassard and all it lans, High Lord of the Great House Fyron." Alex introduced himself, and was answered with a courteous nod:

"I am honored." The Lord Inquisitor gestured to a chair, inviting me to sit down again. "Please, Your Lordship, let's get started; I'm sure you're anxious to finish your inspection as soon as possible."

"Indeed, all the more so, it's all rather unexpected for me." Alex honestly admitted to sitting down at the massive table again.

"Totally common practice," Quezox assured him. Carefully he held up the order chain that held his cloak and sat down across from him.

A stately blond man with brown eyes, Lord Quezox was the type of man in his forties who liked to be filmed in commercials for banks and expensive cars, and he was one of the few people Alex knew about beforehand and without introduction. His name often came up when he was being prepared for a trip by the men of the Retainer Service of the House of Fyron, and during his own preparations, too - a very influential personality was looming. The head of the Inquisition, and at the same time the head of the Order of the Arms, which was a kind of analog of the nobles' "arms", that is, something like a personal imperial military retinue, outside the usual line of subordination, and on a much larger scale. In addition, during the flight to the capital onstum, the rumor often surfaced in conversations that Lord Quezox was the main candidate for the position of the new head of the Security Service.

If not the second man in the empire, then at least the third. Alex thought as he watched the Inquisition "guards" who had brought him here help their boss to adjust his cloak. It was all done with incredible piety.

The Lord Inquisitor nodded to let the adept know that we can begin. He hastily snapped two semicircles, which Sir Ulter previously called "contact neuro antennas" turned it into a hoop, and put it on his head. The view, given the thick hoses hanging over his ears, was quite comical, but the "tested" was not amused at all.

Lord Quezox gave Alex an appraising look:

"The verifier is a very strong adept," he warned. "Some people may experience discomfort when exposed: disorientation, nausea, headaches, tunnel effects. If you feel any of these things, don't be alarmed, just let us know."

"Now try to relax, and let's just have a conversation. This will help bring out your natural mental background more deeply. Tell me when you're ready, and we'll get started."

"Good." Nodded Alex, and added absolutely serenely. "Go ahead."

The sense of detachment created by the pill the princess had given him was still there, and everything was happening as if it were not with him. There was no fear, no excitement, and it gave such a sense of calm confidence that Alex expected the inspection with a kind of detached curiosity.

The young man, who was checking, stopped blinking incessantly, somehow pulled himself together, and, clenching his fists, began to stare at Alex with a heavy, unmoving stare. But he felt nothing strange, nothing at all.

"We can always talk about insignificant things." Meanwhile, smiling indulgently, Lord Quezox began. "About the weather, your flight, or your impressions of the capital... But perhaps you have some questions about the inspection itself?"

"Sir Ulter," Alex nodded gratefully to the Representative of the House who was watching from the sidelines, "pretty much described the whole procedure to me. In any case, I'm sure it will be done right."

"Maybe some questions for me?"

"To be honest, I have too little idea what the Inquisition does in general to ask any questions. Of course, apart from fighting against illegal adepts."

"It's just a stereotype." The Lord Inquisitor rolled his eyes tiredly. "I guess you have the holo serials to thank for it. Most of our work involves controlling droids and investigating cases classified as abominable crimes. It's boring and meticulous work, but it's necessary. We're the very cogs that spin just to keep the whole machinery of the empire running well, and chasing fugitive adepts and fighting demons is a tiny and fortunately much rarer part of the job than it seems to the average citizen."

"Demons? That's not a myth?" Alex raised his eyebrows in surprise: Do they have that here, too?

"Unfortunately, no. Sometimes when a strong, unstable adept dies, with manifest manifestations, a demon or what they call a "ghost" can form, a very dangerous phenomenon that is extremely difficult to deal with, but very, very rare."

Lord Quezox glanced at the young man in charge of the inspection - he looked like a marathon runner, his face reddened, his breathing uneven and heavy:

"Are you feeling all right, Prince?" He asked Alex, making sure the adept was able to continue.

"Some discomfort." Just in case, Alex lied, who felt nothing but aloofness.

"What kind?" The Lord Inquisitor inquired softly.

"Well...heaviness..."

"Can you continue? Or is it necessary to break off?"

"I think I can handle it if you don't take too long." Alex flirted. He felt like he could sit like this all day.

"Then I'll entertain you with a little more nonsense, Your Lordship. How was your flight? Was it all right? The decorations on an imperial courier might seem a bit too modest compared to the way one travels in the Tail Sector."

"It's been great." Alex shrugged. "Especially in this kind of company, I didn't even notice how the week flew by."

"Yes, company..." Lord Quezox nodded, evidently intending to continue small talk, but suddenly stumbled as if his thought stumbled on something. He paused for a few moments, scrutinizing Alex with his eyes, then gestured quickly to the man from the Inquisitorial Guard to accompany him. They exchanged a few whispers, and the escort, leaving the Lord Inquisitor a small infoblock, returned to his seat.

"You misspoke correctly, my illustrious prince." The inquisitor finally broke the pause, watching something in the infoblock. "Your flight lasted a little less than a week, only seven days..."

He put the infoblocks aside and looked up at Alex again:

"There are eight days in a week, after all, and a golden week counts double that." He stroked his smoothly shaved chin thoughtfully, looking at Alex and obviously figuring something out.

"Indeed, I must have completely lost track of the days." I chuckled to myself, Alex thinking to himself: He's quite a pedant, isn't he? "In good company, time goes by without a hitch."

"A week, a week, a week." Lord Quezox drummed his fingers on the table as if urging himself on. "And how is your health?" At last, he asked, trying to put a sympathetic expression on his face. "Have you fallen recently? Or perhaps any other difficulties with your memory?"

"I have partial amnesia." Directly replied Alex, who was beginning, not like where this conversation was turning. "After the poisoning attempt, some parts of my brain were damaged. I honestly assumed that everyone who needed to know that was put on notice." He added with pretension in his voice. "After all, the case was handled by the Imperial Security Service."

"No, I didn't know, for instance." The inquisitor waved his hands. "It must be all about communication delays." He added in a conciliatory tone and with ostentatious participation asked:

"I hope they found the villains?"

"Poisoners? As far as I know, not yet. But those who took part in the second and third attempts were caught, but they were not taken alive."

"Two more attempts?" Lord Quezox asked again, his feigned sweetness gone, and he seemed genuinely surprised. "Recently?"

"They've tried to kill me at least three times in the last twenty days," Alex answered, somewhat glumly, thinking to himself. And that's only officially, in fact, all seven, if not more.

"So..." Inquisitor quickly wrote something down on the infoblock. He was going to ask something else, but at that moment, red with tension adept, wheezed his eyes rolled back, and to the alarming beep of the equipment, he settled in the chair and unnaturally threw his head back. The men from the escort rushed to him. One of them took out a white porous ball, tore off its protective foil, and held it to the nose of the inspector. A strong cold scent, something resembling menthol, wafted through the room.

"I don't think there's any point in continuing." Pronounced the Lord Inquisitor, sighing as he rose from the table, ignoring the commotion that had begun. "We won't find anything anyway. Let's move on to the protocols for now." He turned to Sir Oelter.

While they were dealing with the formalities, the adept got better:

"It's completely empty..." He whispered when he came to himself. "Level eight, no less."

"Anything strange?" Lord Quézox asked, not looking up from his papers.

"No." The adept shook his head. "Absolutely plain background."

"It was to be expected." The Lord Inquisitor murmured as he handed the documents to Sir Ulter. "The old noble blood." He added, looking at Alex again. "In Old Families, there is often a high resistance. Of course, it will require more detailed analysis, but I am sure there will be absolutely everything in order, and the experts will not find anything strange. So I can congratulate you in advance, my illustrious prince. You are not adept. Moreover, you have a very strong resistance, at least level eight. This, by the way, corresponds to the results of the test you took as a child, though the level of resistance was determined to be much lower then."

Alex, slapping his knee, sprang to his feet. But it all went by in an unexpectedly simple, even mundane way, except that the lord inquisitor was acting strangely:

"And what does this resistance mean to me personally?" He asked aloud with sincere interest, "Except that I'm not an adept."

"Oh, very much," the young man who checked came to life, "this means that you are very difficult for adepts to influence in any way. Resistance is not uncommon in about five percent of the population, but in most cases, it's not significant. A strong adept can push through it, and the only advantage is that the target will feel the impact... But you already have a very strong resistance. In a sense, you don't exist for adepts, or rather, you exist very weakly. If you go through special training, it will be almost impossible to affect you. He paused to regain his breath and continued as if reading:

"Have you ever considered a career in the Inquisition? With your abilities, you could be incredibly useful and..." Lord Quezox coughed deliberately loudly, interrupting the adept's tirade. He stumbled and added, embarrassed, "Sorry, Your Lordship, it's a habit. But please, think ..."

"Allow me to congratulate you once again, Prince, and take my leave." Lord Quezox interrupted him, pulling the adept back and interrupting his monologue again. "Many guests, many inspections to come. We'll send you a copy of the report. And yes, I hope to have the opportunity to speak with you again soon, in a different setting."

The phrase "about a different setting" didn't sound very friendly to Alex's taste.

When the whole inquisitorial delegation had already gone out into the corridor, and the door had not yet had time to close, Alex heard the tirade of a young man: Why can't we send a request? He came to the service anyway. What difference does it make where..."

"The Inquisition may insist on a retest." As if in between, the House Representative reported. "A specially trained adept can emulate the resistance. Yes, and in any case, if you have any difficulty, contact me. I will always be glad to help you." He added, holding out a business card made on a thin metal plate. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for my next inspection."

Taking the business card, Alex realized that his suit did not imply pockets, so when, on his way back, he bumped into Lord Lister in the "passing hall," he was still twisting the card in his hands.

Lord Brenor Lister was a lean, unkempt young man of about eighteen and, to Alex's incessant amazement, one of the sector's most dangerous brethers, with more than a hundred duels under his belt. It had little to do with his appearance, which had something of a "nerd" about it.

Lord Lister, to all appearances, had just emerged from the throne room after swearing his oath: his eyes gleamed excitedly. He was a little flushed and a little excited. He noticed Alex and hurried toward his "comrade in arms," forcing his attendant, a very tall maid of honor with a strange, eye-catching hairdo, to hurry. Long, toe-length, milky white hair was gathered into numerous tight strands as thick as a little finger, and from the base were chained with metal rings every ten centimeters. As she moved, the rings of the neighboring strands struck each other, producing a quiet metallic clatter. It was scary to think how much all that beauty weighed.

"Allesandro, you won't believe it. Today was the first time in my life that I've ever complained that my family is not as old as yours..." Lister said in a faltering voice, greedily taking the glass the servant offered him. "Have you ever noticed," he went on, draining his glass in a gulp and immediately grabbing another, "that when you repeat the same word a lot, it loses its meaning and becomes a collection of sounds... Hail, `ail, ail..." Brenor took another big sip and took a breath. "I've said 'Hail' at least a hundred times. The poor guys standing at the end are probably hoarse by the time they take their oaths."

"Only the Emperor is worse off." On reflection, he added.

"Your Lordship." Lister's attendant intervened in the conversation. She spoke with a slight accent, a little lingering and at the same time abnormally resonant in the consonants. "You have yet to be tested..."

At that moment, Alex noticed there was something unnatural in the features of her face, certainly very beautiful, with expressive blue eyes, something elusive and alien, something that cut the eye with its presence but which he could not grasp. Maybe she wasn't human at all. Or a representative of a 'distant morphotype' like the Carpathians?

"I remember." Lord Lister nodded to his maid of honor and, leaving his nearly empty glass on the tray, turned to Alex again. "We really should be going. And you, Lord Cassard, I suppose they've had time to check on you already?"

"They did," he nodded, and with a faint shrug, he added without confidence:

"They said I had high resistance."

"Lucky..." Brenor sighed enviously. "And I confess, I'm afraid something might be revealed. There were rumors about my great-grandmother on my father's side..."

At that moment, the doors to one of the side aisles opened to let Artala in, accompanied by two officers, judging by their white uniforms, Navy officers.

"How was your inspection, Lord Cassard?" Asked Artala heading toward him, and added with a polite smile. "And who is your interlocutor?"

"My lord creator, save me from evil." The maid of honor who accompanied Lord Brenor whispered quickly, literally hiding behind him, trying to keep as far away from Artala as possible.

"Ah..." Alex muttered, squinting at the maid of honor and trying to understand the reason for her behavior. "Lord Brenor Lister, my good friend, and this is my charming attendant prin-"

"Of the Imperial Guard of the Second Wing, Chief Captain Artala Niazur." The princess blurted out in quick succession, not allowing herself to be introduced, and extended her hand to Lord Lister. "Let's meet."

"I am honored." The brether bowed his head politely but judging by the confused expression on his face, he didn't quite understand what was going on either.

"Prince, you don't have much time! Don't make me late, at least." The maid of honor exclaimed, and without waiting for Lord Lister's reaction, she turned sharply, making the rings in her hair beat a frequent beat, and went in the direction of the door that leads to a side corridor.

"If you'll excuse me, I hope to see you again tonight." The "blade of honor" added one last word, and with a guilty shrug, he followed his escort.

"Prince." Artala snickered, glancing behind the maid of honor and Lord Lister, who had already caught up with her, with a sarcastic look in her eye. "I should have an eye on you, you might make a political provocation out of nothing."

She waved her hand and let go of her attendants, and turned to Alex so that she could be comfortably taken under his arm.

"Is that so?" The "prince" sighed sorrowfully, taking the princess under his arm. "Then please enlighten me so that such a thing will not happen again."

"You were going to introduce me as a princess, weren't you?" She asked, squinting slyly at Alex and leading him into the side corridors of the castle.

"Yes." He nodded tiredly. All this incomprehension was beginning to tire him out, or maybe it was just the effect of the pill coming to an end. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Well... I'll bet you a thousand denarii you were going to introduce me as just Princess Artala, weren't you?"

"Right."

"Well, your friend would automatically be in a very uncomfortable position, and so would you, in principle. There is no title of princess in the empire, but there is a group of people who think there should be one. I could be called Princess of Soltara, though there is no such title. We could say that "Young Mother" corresponds roughly to the Crown Princess, but there are difficulties of a different kind... Do you see where I am going with this?"

"Any choice puts the chooser, in an uncomfortable position?"

"Exactly. As I said before, when it comes to me, whatever you say will be against you."

"Well, with such a pleasant companion, it is a pleasure to be silent." Alex made a joke.

"Flatterer." Artala snorted, but I could tell she was pleased.

They emerged into a spacious and surprisingly deserted enfilade of halls, where, hovering a few inches above the floor, a small open platform of a couple of chairs awaited them.

"Settle in." The princess suggested, sitting down at the controls. "It'll be faster that way."

The platform slid silently forward, gradually accelerating to the speed of a running man. The halls were in succession, in a masterly ensemble, creating an unhurried play of tone and style, underscored by the impeccability of the execution. All this beauty was utterly deserted, save for the guardsmen in their azure uniforms, who stood in the doorway.

"And what happened to the maid of honor who accompanied Lord Lister," Alex ventured to break the brief silence, "she was acting strangely."

"A religious moment." The princess brushed it off. "She's just synths. Most of them, the more religious ones, react the same way to me."

"May I ask why?"

"Well, it's obvious," Artala shrugged, looking ahead without meeting Alex's gaze. "I am the daughter of Queen Soltara, born of a sinful mortal and not of divine seed. According to the holy teachings of the synths, I am yet another 'Anti-Mother' and 'Child of Perdition'. Any orthodox synths should not be on the same planet as me, let alone in the same room. Also, "Anti-Mother" and "Child of Perdition" are my most flattering names. Most of them aren't."

"I'm sorry." It was obvious that the princess was uncomfortable discussing it. "I'm not ...."

"Yes, I remember your memory." She sighed sorrowfully. "And let's just change the subject."

"With pleasure." Alex could only support that approach. "Where are we going?"

"To the ball! Where we will dance and have fun and drink." Drink, the princess said with an obvious hint.

Oh, yeah, you have to take the pill with alcohol, he remembered, and judging by the feeling he was starting to feel some kind of withdrawal, the feeling of "detachment" was almost gone, he felt lethargic and apathetic, he just wanted to sit and not move anywhere.

"Of course, I'll have most of the fun," the Princess went on with obvious malevolence, "and you will drink and dance until they completely tear you apart."

"Honestly, I'm not in the mood to dance, and I have absolutely no idea who's supposed to tear me apart."

"Oh, you'll see now." Artala smiled as she stopped the platform near the large carved doors at which a pair of servants were on duty.

She took Alex under his arm again and walked with him to the door, beckoning to the servants. The large carved doors began to slowly open, revealing a huge hall behind them, and Alex literally felt the stares on his skin. Beautiful, smiling women were looming over him, slowly squeezing the circle.

* * *