As they waited for Bastyen to arrive, the population in the rotunda swelled to a chaos of courtiers. The palace guard had their hands full keeping the doorways clear. Too many people packed in, trying to get the first view of what had been, for most, a faceless enemy for more lifetimes than she could count. Chandra and Jephan kept to the sides, and even frittering nobles knew well enough to keep clear of them, but it was all Chandra could do to keep from pushing her way to the front. Despite her rank, she’d never been out on the fighting lines, had never seen Kardenel soldiers—much less dignitaries—up close.

It wouldn’t be long now. About an hour ago, Zairr and Genoff had popped back into the conversation as they’d come back into the mindshare. The first chance Chandra’s Guard had to really test how far their minds could stretch, and Zairr had reported a range of about ten miles. It wasn’t bad. Jephan’s Guard could reach further, but they’d had years and years to learn how to focus and make the most of their boosted minds. Before the mindshare, Chandra and Sestian had been the Guard’s strongest senders, and they hadn’t been able to beat three miles. Most of the people in this room couldn’t send to each other from the rotunda to halfway up the tower. So ten miles was nothing to feel bad about.

Except that Kacia was a big world and Chandra’s royal charges liked to roam, and in the mere two weeks since she’d gone into the mindshare, Chandra had grown to rely on the easy, instant communication.

Through the gates, Genoff reported. Chandra relayed the information to Jephan. They both straightened, sharpened their attention around the room.

A knot of black to Chandra’s left—Aravene soldiers in full dress coming out the star door. A sharp voice raised at the north lift—Marqine Veryt, impatient—but she was a problem for the blues. Chandra sent Jephan a mental tap as her eyes picked out Teyn Barathe’s brat and his cadre of drooling sycophants coming off the west lift. She scanned the lines of his pants, his jacket—two weeks ago he’d gotten into a knife-brawl with one of Veryt’s courtiers, and he was just dumb enough to try to sneak in a weapon to continue the argument.

Chandra felt other minds pushing close—the rest of the Guard, taking advantage of her view. Four were still on sentry duty in the high tower, but the rest had filtered down to the balconies over the rotunda. Chandra spotted them on the floors above, among other palace inhabitants packed tight against the railings. Rain and Achenon. Shvenon and Krell. Margen and Olonst.

The north lift descended, its colorful cargo of nobles visible through its transparent enclosure. How many more could they pack into the rotunda? And shouldn’t Bastyen be here already?

Zairr caught her stray question. We’ve stopped a ways out from the door. The prince’s entourage is prettying him up.

Laughter rippled through the mindshare. Jephan must have caught the edge of it. He smiled, then sighed. I try not to think about how young you all are.

Chandra bristled. “They’re just blowing off tension. And you have to admit, Yinicof would never—“

“No, Yinicof would never.” I meant no insult, Captain, only that you’re too young to remember…, he shifted to speech, “to remember the days before Yinicof, when the royal family of Aravene would have been just as loathe to let the assembled nobility see them at less than their best, even after two months on the road.”

A cluster of green came in the front door and snagged Chandra’s focus. Bastyen’s guard. “Now it begins,” Jephan muttered.

Chandra and Jephan worked their way closer as a dozen members of the Kardenel royal guard moved into the crowd, clearing space for the prince. Quantity over quality—the KRG numbered three hundred strong, and Genoff had reported fifty of them had accompanied Bastyen to Aravene. Chandra gave them points for looks and points for courtesy—not a single noble smile faltered as the soldiers politely asked them to move back—but for people who weren’t boosted like her Guard, they seemed awfully careless about letting themselves be surrounded by the enemy.

Next came the prince himself, flanked by more guards. After him, Guelida and The General walked side-by-side with Zairr and Genoff right behind. Bastyen stopped in the doorway and smiled and waved at all those assembled. The crowd cheered and clapped. Chandra made a gagging noise only Jephan would hear.

The Kardenel attendants knew their job. Bastyen bore no evidence he’d been on the road for weeks. Jonnah had been grimy. Bastyen was immaculate, from his fashionably short auburn hair to his spotless golden jacket to his perfect-trimmed nails, lacquered and glinting against his olive-skinned hand as he waved. He glittered, adorned with golden rings on his fingers and small silver hoops through his ears, dotted with tiny black stones that flashed with their own internal light.

Spark jewelry. Yinicof would explode if any of her children ever made themselves up like that.

The Aravene nobility were eating it up. They adore him. Chandra’s sending was tight, meant only for Jephan. He’s all style and sparkle—everything Yinicof took away from them.

Whatever Jephan’s opinion, he kept to himself, as only a three hundred year veteran of the mindshare could do. He stepped away from the wall, moved back into the crowd, towards the east lift. He’d seen what he came to see. Stay alert, came his parting thought.

As if Chandra needed to be told.