Boxed in by stone cloisters and passages, the garth Lady Lara had allowed Mydea to use was one of the better gardens in the Seraglio, known for its fine marble sculpting of Syla Stormsong and her harp. One could even make out the folds and wrinkles in her sleeveless tunic.

It was around this centerpiece that the tables were arranged in relation to. Unlike Princess Mirah’s peculiar choice of round tables, Mydea opted for more popular rectangular ones. The head table where she and her chosen guests would be seated had the sculpture right behind them, while three more tables were arrayed perpendicular to it. This gathering would be much smaller than Lady Mirah’s by an order of magnitude with not even fifty attendees.

Fine white linen tablecloths with gold and grey stitchings of the star and storm were draped over each table, and it only took a glance for Mydea to confirm each one was spotless. Polished silverware was laid out by the additional servants Lara had assigned to her specifically for this event. Mydea found no faults in the preparations, and could only commend the High Stewardess for training these servants so well.

Seeing as there was nothing for her to correct with the servants’ work, Mydea ran through the seating arrangement sketched out on a parchment. Tomas, as Prince Jaeson’s valet and sole representative in Aelisium for the time being, would be seated to her right as the guest of honor. To her left would be Zoe Doris, the simpering daughter from some knightly line that Prince-Consort Pythos currently favored. The rest of her guests were split between more of the Deeplands’ low nobility, but also a spattering of lords and ladies across all the other eminent regions.

The point of today was to send a message after all, and ensuring each of the eight eminent regions was represented would mean that message would be heard by all.

‘The Deeplands could make a serious bid for Prince Jaeson’s hand if they wanted, but they merely choose to abstain.’

It was then that Troia appeared, hurrying to return to her side. “Has Lady Vivyan left already?” Mydea asked, letting her magic seep into the air around them to block out any sound. It would prevent any wandering ears from listening in unnoticed, but could not prevent wandering eyes from watching.

“Yes, my lady,” Troia said after a moment to catch her breath. “The maid acted exactly as you’d predicted.”

Mydea smiled. “And?”

“Her benefactors wore green and gold,” Troia said, intentionally leaving out any names in case someone was reading their lips.

The smile slipped from Mydea’s face. She had expected spies, but not from Princess Lille. Any claimant to the Starlight Crown would have been too powerful to spite, but Her Excellency was doubly so because of her father’s family—the House Eminent Morgraine of the Everbloom. That ancient kingdom was easily the match of any two eminent regions, as it had proved over a century ago when Emperor Hadrian ascended the Starlight Tower.

First, Prince Jaeson’s valet had disguised himself while guesting at Aigis, then Princess Mirah had invited her to tea, and now she was learning that Princess Lille had had her watched since she’d arrived earlier this week. Something about this all simply did not add up. House Kolchis was not so strong as to merit this much attention, nor was Mydea herself some special prize among the stoneborn.

“What should we do, my lady?” Troia asked, shifting her weight between her feet.

“What indeed,” Mydea murmured, glancing at the seating arrangement in her hand. “Find me a quill and some ink.”

Direct retaliation was out of the question for obvious reasons. She did not have the resources to compete in that way, nor would she even if she could. Leaving Aelisium, using Snowscorn’s foaling as her excuse, would not be viable for some months and left her … unsatisfied. She had not helped her family yet. Leaving the matter alone was an option too. Spies were most dangerous in sheep’s clothing, and Ida had already given herself away. The risks she posed could be mitigated.

But doing nothing while others did as they pleased against her was bitter medicine to Mydea, and she was never so obedient a girl.

Troia returned to her side with the requested items. “Thank you,” Mydea said, inking the quill. With a deft hand and keen eye, she began scratching out names and moving them about. Rather unfortunate for some third daughters and second cousins as their seats on the high table were given to Bloomlings and Dunelanders, taking special care to seat them right besides each other.

“I know that look well,” said the familiar, husky voice of Tomas. He entered their bubble, and brought the back of Mydea’s hand to his own lips. “Another scheme already, my lady? It’s not even noon.”

“When in Aelisium, do as they do,” Mydea said without batting a brow.

He grinned, showing two rows of straight, white teeth. “It’s beneath you to use Aelisium to excuse your nature.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re awfully early, Tomas, but since you’re here, I must thank you for agreeing to be my guest of honor.”

“I could hardly deny a request from House Kolchis after they’d so generously housed me over the harvest season,” Tomas said. “Not to mention Prince-Consort Pythos seemed rather insistent that I accept as well. He even deigned to send me a pointed letter to that effect. Are you mending ties at last?”

“Nothing is settled yet, but I’m hopeful this is a start,” Mydea said, leading him to the high table.

“I always knew you’d succeed,” Tomas said.

“Did you now? Your faith in me is touching.”

Tomas snorted. “I do not live by faith, but by sight. Are you not the same woman who in a fortnight brought to heel her soilborn, strawborn, and stoneborn vassals? For anyone so competent, the relevant question is not if, but when.” He took his seat.

“I’m honored you think so highly of me,” Mydea said, “but the world has a way of tearing down even the best of us. I am not so confident my family has eluded the snare.”

“You’d know better than I,” Tomas said with a tip of his head.

Ida arrived not a few minutes later, slightly breathless and Mydea paid her no mind. Not long after, her guests began trickling in in ones and twos. She met each of them with a smile and a kind word, before directing her maids to show them to their seats.

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The fingers of Syla Stormsong’s statue moved deftly as it began plucking away at the marble harp in her hands. The melody she played was soft on the ears and remarkably pleasant; not so quiet that it demanded silence to be heard, but not so loud as to stifle conversation. Still, the hystors would say even this was just a pale shadow of Syla’s song, which could stop a person’s heart dead with its climax.

“Your choice in venue is impeccable, Lady Mydea,” said the freckled Annabelle Coxworth.

“It’s an honor to have the likeness of Syla play for us,” said hawk-nosed Lady Flint, who might have been the highest ranked lady present besides Mydea herself if she were not a bastard born to a strawborn father.

“Thank you for having me, my lady,” said the demure Fiona Feathers.

The trickle of guests became a stream as the next hour neared. There was the buxom Lady Kastellanos from the Isles of Nysia, accompanying her daughter, Iana. Roxanne Redford was a lady of the Haven, plump and proper, while Jullian Ado from the western steppes had strong thighs and an elegant air about her. Of those ladies from the Deeplands, Mydea recognized the women close to her age: the fair-skinned Helena Stone and blue-eyed Carol Peacher; tall Talia Nomikos who used incense for perfume, and slim Thena Argyros with her braid bound with silver rings.

The clamor of the Imperial City’s bells marked the tenth hour’s arrival, and though a few seats remained unfilled, Mydea took her place at the high table so that tea could truly begin. Anyone coming late would have to be seen to by Troia. There was a price to tardiness even for the stoneborn.

Tomas was engaged in conversation with Lady Julian of the horses her family was known for. No winged breeds though, for while the Vaynish Plains had more than enough grassland, they lacked the elevation necessary for pegasi foals to practice flight.

“Do you share Princess Mirah’s fondness for flowers?” Mydea asked Fiona, who was the daughter of a knightly house sworn directly to the Langoures and herself even being one of Her Excellency’s ladies-in-waiting.

The Dunelander girl dipped her head towards her. “I’m not so learned as Her Excellency, but one picks up a few things when serving her for as long as I have. Are you a hobbyist as well?”

“I wouldn’t dare call myself that,” Mydea said. “My brother’s the one with a real passion for plants. I’m just a good listener.”

Fiona flashed her a smile. “We seem to have that in common then.”

“It’s a shame my brother and Her Excellency didn’t get to speak during his weeks here,” Mydea said. “They might have enjoyed each other’s company.”

“It cannot be helped,” Fiona said. “Things have been busy ever since it was announced Prince Jaeson was searching for a bride.”

“Odd that he isn’t here yet,” Mydea said. “Ah, but how about Princess Mirah? She’s of age now, and I’ve heard nothing of her wedding prospects.”

Fiona sipped from her cup before answering. “Her Excellency is in no rush,” Fiona said, deflecting.

“No one she favors even?” Mydea asked. “Forgive me if I’m prying too deeply. We rarely hear news about the comings and goings of the Imperial Court back home. I plan on savoring every moment of this.”

“There were a few suitors when she studied back in Kyroh, but nothing serious enough to be worth mentioning now,” Fiona said. Kyroh was what the Dunelanders called many things—their eminent region, the massive snaking river which made parts of it fertile, and the city from which the House Eminent Langoure ruled both. No doubt she referred to the city in this case, which housed an athenaeum.

“What of Prince Cleo? I thought they looked a fine enough pair.”

The Coxworth girl, sitting besides Fiona, snorted. “Prince Cleo hardly seems as invested in Her Excellency.”

Fiona glared at her.

“What makes you say that?” Mydea prompted the Bloomling girl, sensing opportunity.

“The Empress will be holding a masquerade ball soon after Lady Twigstone arrives,” Annabelle said, smirking at Fiona. “Princess Lille has already arranged to attend with His Honor.” That was, to be entirely fair, more Princess Lille taking initiative than Prince Cleo expressing a preference, but Mydea rather doubted Annabelle cared so long as she could infuriate the Dunelander.

“Will Prince Jaeson be here by then?” Mydea asked.

“Unfortunately not,” Annabelle said. “He still remains at the Middle School.” Which was still further south and east of them, close to Grandgrove, if Mydea remembered her geography lessons rightly.

“Missing the ball held in his honor? Now that’s a shame,” Mydea said, loud enough that Tomas could not have missed it.

“An utmost shame,” Tomas said. “Still, there will be princes aplenty available for the asking.”

“One less now, if what I’m hearing here from Dame Coxworth is true,” Mydea said, clamping down on her smile as Fiona and Annabelle’s glares intensified.

“I didn’t know you had a taste for Pyrian specimens,” Tomas said.

Mydea savored the bitter aftertaste of her warm drink first. “I can’t say that I have a taste for them, but wouldn’t it be something to say I once danced with a prince? I should be the envy of all the girls back home.”

“You may get your wish yet,” Tomas said.

“You think my odds good?” Mydea arched her brow.

Tomas grinned. “Better than some, worse than others.”

“How specific,” Mydea said dryly. She turned back to Fiona. “It’ll be of great interest to see who Princess Mirah deigns to go with, now that Prince Cleo is spoken for.”

“She has already chosen,” Fiona said. “She had to turn Prince Cleo down even, with some regret, for she had already promised to go with Lord Adamm Morne.”

Mydea breathed out slowly. “Has she now?”

“An easy claim to make after the fact,” Annabelle quipped. “How can the heir of a house nominal even compare to a prince?”

Fiona wilted.

“A foreign prince,” Tomas interjected. “They may be the largest of their league, but hardly comparable to any house external.”

“House Morne is no ordinary house either,” Fiona added, some confidence returning to her now. “They are sworn to the Empress directly, and are more often than not honored with authority over Aelisium’s gates.”

Mydea was happy to let them continue to trade barbs, so long as it did not break out into blades. If Princess Lille thought to spy on her, then it was only fair that Mydea struck back in her own way.

Who in the Empire did not know of the deep hatred between the Bloomlings and Dunelanders, born of long struggles and sacrileges? That Princess Lille and Mirah were candidates for the same crown could hardly have helped the matter any. All she’d really done was capitalize on their natural enmities by seating them so close to each other, and prying into topics that would most likely cause friction. With any luck, this heightened tension, however small, would distract Princess Lille from paying Mydea any further mind.

She might have felt some guilt for repaying Princess Mirah’s kindness in this way, but Fiona’s words betrayed her mistress. Her own attendance at Princess Mirah’s tea party had been no kindness, but rather the same ploy she was using here.

After all, hadn’t Lilith Morne done the same thing to her? Certainly Vivyan had done them no favors by engaging with Lady Miryam, but the brunette woman had only added fuel to that fire.

She’d worn a dress the same as Princess Mirah’s that day, and arrived with one of Her Excellency’s people. Now, Mydea had learned she intended to attend a ball with Adamm Morne too. It was too much to be mere coincidence; too much that she could not help but think that Morne had acted on Mirah’s orders. Pitting Marcherkin and Deeplanders against each other, picking at scabs, so that when the time to decide succession came, alliance between their two eminent regions would not be likely?

Were this anywhere else, such connections would hardly be enough to draw conclusions with… But this was the Imperial City. Scheming was all they did.