Elite representatives of the Four Corners, roughly one-hundred in all, attended the banquet in the great hall. Stars blinked down from the black velvet sky through the rotunda's open ceiling. To visually reinforce his rank, Scipio sat on a dais slightly above the other royal family members.

The other visiting Nazeers, Skaards, and Wols who made the long journey to Oran remained in the lower courtyards, feasting on platters of freshly cooked meats and fish, steaming seasoned rice, and many jugs of wine from Oran's abundant vineyards.

When the feast was concluded, Scipio rose and climbed down from the dais, moving to the center of the great hall with his gold robe, embroidered with the Oran crest, trailing behind him on the marble floor. At forty-five, he appeared as handsome and powerful as he had twenty years before when he led the charge against the Nazeer's siege of Mynimium and brought back two Illymium princesses, among other spoils.

Nargos Nazeer, an Ardelymian duke whose jurisdiction did not expand beyond Nazeera according to Ardelymian law, remembered the defeat well. A red-faced rat of a man, he still walked with a limp from a badly healed swipe of Scipio's blade, and his anger bristled from the sanctions still imposed on his people. Some of the Nazeer men had brought their wives, pale-faced ladies weighted down with jewels and richly embroidered gowns. Most had thick, red hair, which was a badge of the people of the mines. They were healthy and well-fed, but their green eyes, pale as peridot gems, were filled with an envious hunger, a longing for the elegance and taste reflected all around them in Ardelym's capital city, which held sway over the other city-states.

The Skaards, fresh from battle and with no women accompanying them, had reluctantly left their weapons in the palace armory and succumbed to baths before the evening meal. Having eaten and drunk voraciously after their long journey, many of the men fought with heavy eyelids to stay awake. But their leader, the blond Skaard warrior with the fresh scar, was alert, his blue eyes shifting among the goings-on with keen intelligence.

In contrast to the colorful Nazeers, the sisters of the Weir, in their coarse gray robes cloaking their shaved heads, drank no wine and brought only tiny bites of food to their mouths. Their leader, Neit Wol, sat dourly with her arms crossed. Although blind since birth, her senses were keenly tuned to her surroundings. She appeared ready to listen intently and with grave skepticism to what Scipio Davadas had to say.

At the back of the hall sat Moranna, Jabe, and Carmelle, along with the other higher-ranking household servants, at their own table. With a limited view of the festivities from behind a marble column, Carmelle tried in vain to catch Tylla's eye.

"Welcome to Oran." The gold bracelets adorning Scipio’s wrists glittered as he spread his muscular arms wide. "One Zar ago, nine-hundred Blue Planet years, a man named Corellas Davadas was dragged through the God Gate in chains, a slave to the Nazeer people who once ruled all of Ardelym." His dark eyes scanned the crowd. "Within one year," he lifted his finger for emphasis, "my ancestor had killed the Nazeer king and claimed the queen for his own. She was of Nazeer blood, as well, and strong. And together, they created the proud Davadas people. For one Zar, we have ruled justly." He darted his black eyes at Nargos Nazeer's cold green ones and locked on them tightly. "And where in the past we have at times been enemies, our common ancestry joins us now in brotherhood and peace."

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Nargos, surrounded by his henchmen, nodded and cracked a smile. But beneath the banquet table, his ruddy hands clenched into tight fists.

"And now," Scipio diplomatically crossed the marble floor to face the Wols, who sat timidly like a sea of gray mice, "our sisters in selfless duty will in twenty-three moons open the Weir for us, and we will all travel to watch the God-gate open as it has every Zar since the beginning of time."

A nervous hum moved through the crowd. Scipio raised a hand in protest. "I know you will be afraid when the Blue Planet passes. I know you've heard many tales, but you must, we must, trust in Illym's great plan."

Seated on a gilded throne beneath a blazing torch, Flenn Illymium, dressed in a violet robe with the Illymium star crest embroidered in silver threads and pearls, steepled his long fingers beneath this bearded chin and nodded solemnly.

"Illym will not lead us astray," Scipio concluded.

The congregation bowed their heads. After a moment of quiet prayer, a throat cleared and a chair slid back against the marble floor.

"May I have permission to speak, my King?"

All eyes turned to the warrior Bonn Skaard. His golden head, free of its helmet, rose above the sea of men and women. His hair, freshly washed for the first time in months, glimmered in the torchlight. When he spoke, it was with the heavy accent of the Skaards, a people rarely seen beyond the Kadaar Mountain range.

"Please do, honored warrior," Scipio said, slowly taking a seat on his gilded throne. "The Skaards continue to be a bulwark against our enemies, and for that, we are grateful. You and your men will not be forgotten in our medals ceremony."

"Honored King," Bonn said, leveling his ice-blue eyes with Scipio's dark gaze. "We come to Oran not for medals but to ask for your help."

Whispers cascaded like waves through the crowd.

Bonn continued in a confident voice, "We arrived directly from battling the Thrades in the Northern regions."

Scipio shifted impatiently on his throne. "And you must come in victory to bring so many men."

Below his golden mustache, Bonn's lips twitched into an ironic smile. "This is only a fraction of our army. Zar festival or not, we would not leave our families vulnerable. I have, in fact, left my best men behind. I implore you, my King, to give us reinforcements to fight the Thrades," he paused to shoot a dark look at Nargos Nazeer, "and other interlopers who have attacked our villages. And when we are victorious, all of these men, weapons, horses, and ships we brought with us today will belong to you and Oran. This I ask of you, my King." He bowed solemnly and took his seat.

A rumble of outrage rolled like a runaway chariot through the crowd, gathering speed.

Scipio raised a dark hand to quell it. "Bonn Skaard, your reputation as a fine warrior and an honest man excuses your importunateness. A banquet among ladies is no place for war talk. We will discuss the topic in my private chambers tomorrow."

Bonn's strong jaw clenched beneath his beard, but he said nothing further.

To shift the mood from somber to festive, Hyperia stood with a broad smile. Her burgundy gown shimmered as she made her way to the front of the dais. The jeweled net catching her jet-black hair floated sparkles about the room.

As she parted her red lips to recite a memorized speech of welcome, a sudden boom shook the palace walls. The tremor passed from floor to limbs, creating a ripple effect that had some people dropping their wine goblets and running for the doors. The Skaard men instinctually reached for weapons that weren't there and looked at their leader for direction. Only the Wols stayed silent, their heads bowed beneath their gray cowls.

Amid the chaos, Flenn Illymium rose and pointed a long finger to the open ceiling. Within the star-studded indigo sky, a white ball of fire exploded, followed by showering stars.

The screaming guests in the courtyards rustled about in blind panic, unsure of where to seek safety in the strange palace.

Over the ensuing pandemonium, Flenn raised his voice over the din, shouting, "It is a sign from Illym!"