His Eternal Majesty, Hibiki Yamagoe, stood on the dais in the Grand Ballroom of the Winter Palace and surveyed his subjects. They were many; the dragon racers and their teams' personnel, easily identified by shirts covered in sponsor logos; aristocrats in old-fashioned formal wear; representatives of team and race sponsors in crisp suits and gowns; and, of course, the discreetly-circulating staff in their palace liveries.

The hall was grand and ancient, its walls still panelled in the lacquers of the earliest days of Hibiki's empire, its drapes painted in the styles of the three kingdoms, the furniture and many of the light fittings Occidental. Tables along the right-hand wall held a buffet representing all his domains. The windows along the left opened onto bay balconies overlooking the courtyard where the dragons gathered.

Hibiki had been amused to note the young Marquess Hyperio being subtly guided to one of those balconies by the glamorous blonde CEO of one of Tenebrae's biggest sponsors, the latter's body language suggesting that something other than a business opportunity was on her mind. That subtlety would doubtless have been lost on Helia's father, but Pirenne was absent, having travelled back to Occidens the day after the race, citing poor health.

The other notable absence was Tenebrae's head vet, a fact about which Hibiki was considerably sadder. For as slight and shy as the girl had seemed, her team's success was testament to extraordinary strength of character, and Hibiki would have liked to have the chance to learn what made her tick.

There would be scant opportunity to do that with Tenebrae's team manager, too, for a different reason. A small crowd surrounded Petunia Platt just on the edge of the dancefloor, almost completely hiding her from view. They were mostly young nobles, some of the most eligible of the coming generation of the Occidental aristocracy. If Platt felt inclined to take a suitor from the peerage, it seemed she would have free choice.

Hibiki made a mental note to alert Lachlan to that one, once he came back from whatever he'd insisted on going back to the Imperial City to take care of. This was not really an event the Emperor wanted to be without his spymaster at.

The third member of Tenebrae's bright young triumvirate approached the dais and made her bow. She wore an immaculate tuxedo a few years out of fashion, her bow tie sharp enough to slice cheese. Her purple hair was untidy, but there was at least some artifice to its fluff.

Answering her careful obeisance with a nod, Hibiki gestured her forward, saying, "Phoebe, join me."

"Milord." Phoebe stepped up onto the dais and turned to face the room, a respectful four paces to Hibiki's left.

"Congratulations on your victory," said the Emperor. "You have done the Imperial League no end of good, I feel."

"Thank you, milord." Phoebe bobbed her head.

"You are aware I have taken something of an interest in your career?"

"Milord?" The young Hyperio's voice sharpened, slightly.

Hibiki looked at her, found himself face-to-face with a narrow-eyed expression of wary suspicion that was also, implicitly, a challenge. The Eternal Emperor took stock, then surprised himself by saying, "Tell me, Phoebe, have you ever felt fear?"

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What was that supposed to mean? Phoebe stared up at the Emperor, trying to read the strategic mind that had dominated a millennium of empire in his thin, sharp features. Up close, there was no clue to his immortal nature, he just looked like kind of a tall guy paying very detailed attention to everything.

She tried to think of when she'd last been afraid. She'd been angry and hurt when Petunia had confronted her about the Raven's blackmail threat. Worried, certainly, but afraid? The image that rose to her mind was very different. She said, "At Baleara, when I saw Soot turn to try and catch me. If he'd got too close to the cliff, clipped the rocks…"

His Lordship let out a chuckle. "I was warned you only think about dragons."

"Can you blame me, milord?" If he was laughing, then it couldn't get her in too much trouble if she made a bit of a joke, too, could it? "Look at where it's got me."

"Quite so." His smile was a slow, subtle thing. He went on, "Tell me, Phoebe, how would you feel about wearing gold next year? It goes rather well with purple, don't you think?"

Phoebe's skin prickled. "Royal Tenebrae, milord? Surely it should go to Temisia?"

The Emperor snorted slightly. "They hardly need it, now do they? I have my reasons for preferring to give my blessing, next year of all years, to a team not yoked to one of my fractious dukes."

Narrowing her eyes, Phoebe studied Hibiki's face again. Quietly, she said, "The Carthagian expansion."

He nodded. "For you it would mean an extra surety against our Calabrian friend, and you can be sure your father would not dare make trouble. I have seen to that."

That sent an actual chill down Phoebe's spine. She hadn't spent much time in the company of her peers among the noble houses of Occidens, but one thing they all agreed on was to be wary of direct, personal approaches from the Emperor. And Helia had already met with him once.

Before she could figure out how to answer, Hibiki's eyes flickered past her shoulder. He said, "Consider it. I shall have someone present you the formal offer, discreetly, in due course." Then, a little louder and brighter, "Ah, Thessaly, lovely to see you again. Madame Hynafol, thank you for joining us."

Phoebe turned to see Brynna and Thessaly at the foot of the dais. Brynna wore a shimmering black gown and a white fur stole, her hair flowing voluminously behind her. Thessaly's dress was shorter, green and beaded here and there with what might have been real emeralds; over it she wore a three-quarter-sleeved shrug jacket. Her lips, cheeks and eyelids glistened with a shifting myriad of ocean colours. Both women curtsied, and Phoebe could see they weren't used to the gesture.

The Emperor dipped his head to them both. "Thank you again for your lovely performance at the race, Thessaly."

"My pleasure, milord," said Thessaly, nodding again.

"Now, would you be so good as to take your young lady off my hands?" He was still addressing Thessaly, Phoebe realised, feeling a hint of a blush starting to rise. "I'd very much like to have an old people's chat with your manager."

Thessaly frowned slightly, glancing from Hibiki to Phoebe and back again. Then she made another curtsey, shallower this time, and held out her hand to Phoebe.

Phoebe remembered to say her "By your leave, milord?" and wait for his nod before stepping down to join Thessaly.

As she did so, she heard Hibiki say, "Join me, please, Madame Hynafol. I should very much like to hear…" before Thessaly pulled her away.

She stepped up to Thessaly's side, adjusting her grip on the mermaid's hand so that they could intertwine their fingers. Thessaly pressed closer, her shoulder against Phoebe's upper arm. Although she spoke in a whisper, Phoebe heard her easily. "Do you know how to dance?"

The dance-floor was at the far end of the hall, and hardly anyone was dancing yet. It was probably safe for now – maybe safer than the crowd. Phoebe smiled, "I'm a little rusty, it's been a while. Did you ever learn court dances?"

"I learnt a few," Thessaly said, smiling shyly, "but yeah, I'm a little rusty."

"Come on then." Phoebe freed her hand and put her arm around the small of the mermaid's back. "Let's go step on some noble toes."