There was another stir in the crowd, smaller than Mydea’s entrance had caused, but still noticeable. Atop the grand staircase and beneath the brightly lit chandeliers cascading downwards like a waterfall was a woman dressed in a slither of flickering fabric that left so much unsaid. The woman lifted her hand, and shadowy tendrils caused the lights shining on her to dim—and it was only then that Mydea noticed. What had once been a solid stretch of black silk was now thinning and near translucent, as if only existing partly in their reality.

A rather telling attire for Vivyan, Mydea thought with a snort. The umbrator just couldn't resist using shadoweave.

“That must be Black,” Mydea’s female companion said in a tone no less bitter than the darkest of brews.

Marcherkin, Mydea concluded immediately. I share a table with Lady Miryam Bludbolt once again. Who else in Aelisium would hold such a deep grudge against Vivyan Black but her? It made too much sense when all the clues fit.

“I’m surprised the Kolchis girl isn’t with her,” Miryam said.

Mydea giggled before she could stop herself. “Why would that be the case?”

“They’re friends, aren’t they?” Miryam asked. She paused as her thoughts caught up to her, then her eyes narrowed at Mydea. “You sound familiar with them. You’re a Deeplander?”

“She’s clearly Ilyosi at least,” Prince Altan said. “The complexion fits.”

“Ilyosi means I could be from any of three eminent regions,” Mydea said.

“The Haven barely counts,” Altan argued. “Only the House Eminent Mylankolia and a handful of their vassals are Ilyosi.”

“That still leaves Nysia then,” Mydea said, though they looked unconvinced. It was, admittedly, a weak deflection.

Miryam crossed her arms in front of her chest. “We’ve few enough ladies from Nysia at the moment. You’re a Deeplander,” she said more surely now.

“Guilty.” Mydea showed them her palms in surrender. She faced Miryam. “Which is why you should believe me when I say there’s little love lost between Black and Kolchis. That’s no secret in the Deeplands.”

“How do you explain their working together these past few days then?” Miryam asked. “Kolchis dominates Tomas’ attention, and only Black has managed a private audience with him thus far. I cannot believe Kolchis wasn’t involved in that, not after my duel with her and my wager with Black.”

With that, the Marcherkin outed herself. Mydea had avoided naming her until now while Prince Altan remained in the dark. “I don’t deny that those things came to be,” Mydea said, “but I’d be careful ascribing those intentions to them.” With so many schemes afoot in the Imperial City, it was the height of arrogance to assume everything revolved around oneself.

“For four years, Prince Jaeson fostered with my father, and Tomas was with him then,” Miryam said in a tone quiet and somber. “The three of us were together nearly every day back then, but now, Tomas will not even deign to speak with me. Worse, he seems willing to practice Eminent Domain with Vivyan Black and watch me lose my wager. I thought we were friends.” Her sharp eyes latched on to Mydea. “Do my suspicions of Kolchis still seem so unreasonable?”

“No,” Mydea was forced to admit. She’d reach the same conclusion if she were in Miryam’s shoes, knowing what she knew. Who would believe that Tomas was acting of his own volition, ignoring even his childhood companions? It was almost as if he was sabotaging Prince Jaeson’s cause.

Was that it? Had Tomas been bought off by someone? Mydea frowned to herself.

Prince Jaeson would surely hear of this upon his return, and Tomas would be summarily dismissed. Without his patron, he’d quickly end up a corpse and thrown off the edge of Aelisium. Yet, Tomas did not strike her as so foolish, and acted with confidence.

“It grieves me greatly to hear this.” Prince Altan offered Miryam a charming smile and his hand. “Perhaps a dance to take your mind off of things? It will do you no good to stew here.”

Miryam raised a brow at him. “A dance? Do you prefer one with our hands, or our arms?”

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Altan’s smile didn’t falter. “I’m bereft of a sword at the moment, so it will have to be the former.”

Miryam didn’t give him more trouble, and they joined the couples waltzing in the center of the room to a booming, upbeat melody. One pair in particular danced lightly across the fountain’s surface, every step freezing the water for a moment. There was always one at every ball.

Mydea swallowed the last mouthful of her mango wine, and left it on the table as she studied the room itself. One could be forgiven for thinking the walls were built from glass, with mirrors covering every inch of them, and even the ceiling too. Each one showed scenes beyond sight, from the rolling dunes and a giant snake of a river that could only be Kyroh, to the endless steppes of the Vaynish Plains. There were the great drydocks of the Haven and the sparkling waters of the Splendid Sea; the grazing grounds of pegasi on the Aigean and Anarev Ranges; fields of colored flowers to rival the gardens of the Seraglio, picturesque vineyards, orchards and farms, and the ceiling showed the moon and stars.

Unlike the mirror in her own room, these scrying mirrors were not linked to the mirrorplane. From here, they could stare out into the world, but the world could not stare back.

She could have happily spent all evening studying what each frame held, but Mydea could not leave her work half-done. With a quick sweep of the room, she found Vivyan mingling with a small ring of stoneborn, and Mydea was willing to wager at least a few of them were Deeplanders. She spotted an opening in their ranks, and inserted herself seamlessly.

“So the fae queen joins us,” said a man with a golden lion mask. He toasted to Mydea with a glass of Kyroan sour wine, and a servant arrived to offer Mydea her choice of drink. She settled for sweet ambrosia. “We were just speaking of New Thrage and their latest provocations. Your thoughts?”

“You speak of their encroachment in the Sundered Sea?” Mydea asked. At his nod, she continued. “New Thrage remains the mightiest of our neighbors—a peer and a rival to the Syngian Empire. However, they’ve no great naval tradition to speak of, and to the best of my knowledge, their greatest successes at sea have been to replicate a fight on land. Let them sink their efforts into that instead of something more dangerous.”

“Everything can be learned with time,” said a woman with large and thin hoops of gold hanging from her ears. “They’re no danger at the moment, of course, but should they be left unharried, we might find ourselves facing a fleet to rival the Haven’s many years from now.”

“Do you propose we wage a war for fear of this future fleet then?” asked Lion Mask dryly. “We cannot keep New Thrage from the Sundered Sea.”

“We might accomplish it with a marriage,” the woman answered, tilting her head towards a man who could only be Prince Cleo, considering he wore his usual attire of a formal tunic. Strangely enough, Princess Lille was not with him despite rumors that they’d be attending together. In her absence, at his side was a dark-skinned woman likely to be Princess Mirah.

Lion Mask snorted. “You think we ought to borrow the might of the Pyrian League? I’ll admit their phalanxes can be fearsome, and the city-state of Astines has fine sailors, but I fail to see how any of those would truly help us in a war with New Thrage.”

Not to mention Astines was on the wrong side of the continent.

“She speaks of their dragons,” Vivyan said. “If a royal match were to be made—”

“Preposterous,” Mydea interjected. “Pyria would never let us have one.” The beasts were far from unstoppable in the skies, but bringing one down took time. A fleet caught out in the open seas could be turned into a funeral pyre, and that threat kept Pyria the dominant power of the League instead of wealthy Astines.

“Do not be so sure,” the woman with hooped earrings said. “Stranger things have come to be.”

“Mayhaps,” Mydea said. “But why remain preoccupied with dreams of future glory in far-off wars?”

“I’ve not heard of any rumblings from across the Sundered Sea,” Lion Mask said. “Do you mean to speak of regional concerns?”

Mydea nodded. “Surely my lord has noticed how many Deeplanders are among us?”

“It has not escaped my notice.”

“It’s winter now. The Tuskar are raiding,” Mydea said.

“You’re well-informed,” Vivyan said sarcastically.

“I make it my business to know,” Mydea answered. “I’ve kin within the Order of the Stone Shield.” She spotted some frowns among her audience.

“What of them? There’s not been a muster called,” said a woman who’d turned her eyes purple with a glamour.

“There hasn’t,” Mydea agreed. “It’s a real shame too.”

“And why is that?” Purple Eyes asked.

Mydea sipped at her wine to keep them in suspense a while longer. “You really haven’t heard? It’s the largest raid in years. Even mythuselah are leading the warbands, or so I’ve been told. A lost opportunity for the Order to be sure.”

“If that’s the case, why hasn’t Lord External Yberia called the Stone Shield to war?” asked Purple Eyes angrily. “It’s a rare chance to face a mythuselah.”

“It may have something to do with where the Stone Shield would be sent,” Mydea said.

“House Kolchis asked for aid at Pleopolis recently, didn’t they?” whispered one man to another. “Are the Tuskar directing their attacks through the Pass of Perasma?”

“Lord External Yberia can hardly claim ignorance,” answered his friend. “His aunt married into House Kolchis.”

“I’ve a cousin in the order. She says they’ve hardly had a challenge in half a decade.”

The word was out now, and it could not be kept quiet. Mydea stepped back, and let the rumors spread themselves.