When he passed through the holding chamber, it was to find it empty. The servants who had been there, awaiting their turns to pass heur douvres into the waiting hands of the nobility and soldiers gathered ahead of the reception, had been cleared away, leaving not a trace to remember them by.

  He passed out of the chamber and into a hall which was alive with chatter and banter, as the gathered nobility of little consequence passed rumors back and forth, and some of those in attendance recounted the events just transpired to peers who clung to their every word.

  He navigated the hall to its end, being careful to avoid bumping into any which one of those people, thinking of Ben and the conversation to be had between them. He was excited to tell Ben all he knew of the emperor, and anxious to recount the strange fshes as of resentment that had passed between their queen, and him.

  He followed an adjoining hall away. The nobility were sparser here, so many of them choking the hall he had just been down, but a few of those Mirrhvalians also lingered in this hall, evidently catching up with old friends among the Shadovani.

  He slipped past them and down the first hall he could find, intent on getting away from them, taking the shortest way to the Servants’ Tower he could find. Ben would be waiting for him there in the canteen, and if he wasn’t, Ariana and Peter should be finding their way out of the kitchens soon, a brief reprieve before preparations for this ball the queen had announced were needed. They would want to hear his tale, too, though he suspected they would not believe him.

  He thought of Sami then. For all the pomp and spectacle, of rushing through a hectic morning, he had not thought much for her. He was alone now, following a hall with a familiar fvor, which bred an itch into the joint between his shoulders.

  Is she avoiding me, or has something happened to her?

  There was that chance he could find her, given his recent discovery of the shadow spirit’s name, his nature, the sudden shift toward comaraderie between them. He decided to call on him.

  “Lothor?” He whispered.

  “Careful, now. You are exposed.” The spirit said.

  He looked around, found the familiar spider crawling down a nearby door frame.

  “I just wondered…have you found her?”

  “Your friend is hiding. No, not from you. She is nonetheless dealing with complicated designs, and is only half aware of the weight they carry. She will, I think, resurface soon enough. Though she will not be welcomed back among you. She has been gone too long.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She moves, yet she is always within the pace. Always inside the tunnels your kind use for transit. She is nonetheless unharmed.”

  “T-thank you.” He said. “It doesn’t do much to put my mind at ease, but at least she is safe. Wherever she’s been.”

  “As you say.”

  “Zente, Lothor.”

  He pressed on, and within a few steps found himself standing before a familiar gate, one crafted of bronze and embellished with flowers, behind which descended a staircase, into deep shadow.

  He reeled back reflexively, a bitter dream of darkness and grease and rank odors surging forth, freezing him in pce.

  A hand settled on his shoulder, and he spun into its owner’s grip. Lord Aren consumed all of his vision, and the look on his face was like fire.

  “Where did you learn that skill?” he demanded.

  “Learn…what? Learn what, my lord?” he said.

  “You know precisely of what I speak. Where did you learn to call him?”

  “Am I…am I in…are you going to—“

  The fire left Lord Aren’s face, and he settled a cold regard on him. He could not read what y behind that expression as the old general knelt. “Do not ever show what you have done to anyone. Do you understand me. It is a rare talent. Particurly now, it will see you into difficult circumstances, and I cannot protect you.”

  “Protect…you’re not going to have me executed?”

  Lord Aren shook his head. “Have you taken up with Master Gregor?”

  “We’ve talked. I accepted his offer.”

  “Good. He alone may know of what you’ve stumbled onto, you understand?” Lord Aren said. “No one else. Not even your friends.”

  More secrets. Lance thought. What’s going on with him?

  Lord Aren released his grip. “As long as we understand each other. Your talents are uncommon and dangerous. Not dangerous by themselves, but dangerous if others find out about them.”

  He climbed to his feet, turned to leave.

  “I can see them.” He said.

  Lord Aren froze in mid step. “A spider. And a weasel once. They are all in silhouette, with white eyes. They come to me.”

  “Tell no one of this.” He marched away.