The grand ballroom of the royal palace in Freeport was decked with alternating banners in the colors of House Loredan, and House Howe: purple and gold, in the first case, and blue and gold, in the second. Wreaths of fresh purple bellflowers, intertwined with roses cast of sparkling gold, set upon stems of gold wire, hung to either side of the high table. At each of the lesser tables, bouquets of more bellflowers, blue flax flowers to represent the Howes, and brilliant yellow roses took center place.

Scores of footmen delivered platters of food in an unending display of wealth: a stew of hare, slow cooked in red wine from the hills around Bexbury along with fresh mushrooms, cream, duck lard and herbs; quarters of salted stag from the king’s private hunting preserve; loins of veal in fennel-flower sauce; and a chicken for every table, each stuffed with a mixture of hyssop, parsley, sage, bacon, boiled eggs and pork meat.

At the tables below, a hundred and forty barons drank wine from the royal cellars until their faces flushed red - a hundred and thirty-nine, Millie corrected herself, recalling Galleron Erksine’s current mission. They spoke of taxes and trade, marriage alliances, and rumors of Eldish war-bands on the march in Varuna across the sea. Most of all, they spoke of Milisant and her new husband, and the prospect of securing the succession for another generation.

They studiously avoided speaking of the war that would come with the spring thaw in the north of their own kingdom, against the two rebellious houses that were flagrantly absent from the wedding feast.

The fact that out of one hundred and forty remaining great families, only ten had committed to supporting the crown against that bastard Julianne and her crippled husband, was like a sliver wedged into Millie’s finger. A constant irritant, and one she intended to flush out. Beginning with the Baron Banks, a bandy-legged, salty old sailor by the name of Castor, and his daughter Cassandra. The girl practically looked a commoner, with her sun-bleached hair and skin tan as any field laborer, but Millie did them the kindness of not pointing it out.

“-it was your father the king’s edict that lifted the requirement for barons to supply service at arms upon request,” Castor Banks blathered on, but Millie had heard enough of it.

“There is no requirement, of course,” she interrupted. “But I, personally, find it surprising that your family wouldn’t leap enthusiastically at the opportunity to prove your loyalty to the crown, like so many others are doing. After all, if I were in your place, I wouldn’t want there to be even the whisper of a question as to where your family’s loyalties lie.”

“Our military strength is sea-based, Your Highness,” Cassandra protested. “The Duchy of Whitehill-”

At Millie’s side, her new husband, Bennet, made a sharp cutting gesture with his hand. “There is no Duchy of Whitehill, merely an open rebellion. Traitors do not hold titles from the crown.”

The sun-burnt girl swallowed any objection at the interruption, and then began again, clearly choosing her words carefully. “The Aspen Valley is land-locked, Your Highnesses. We can’t very well sail our galleons up the river.”

“You have knights sworn to your house, do you not?” Millie asked. She didn’t bother to restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

Cassandra and her father exchanged glances. “Technically, we do,” the baron admitted. “But we make a practice of knighting our captains when they are victorious in battle - generally against pirates. I doubt half of them even own a horse, nevermind a set of plate. They would be wasted in the saddle.”

Millie decided to change tactics. “Lady Cassandra, I’m told you were in the same combat class as Julianne’s Eldish witch. Tell me, were you close friends with Liv Brodbeck? Were there any signs that she was a cold-hearted murderess, before she killed your professor?”

The girl’s eyes widened, and Millie knew her arrow had struck true. That’s right, girl, she thought; remember to be afraid of me.

“She was a year behind me, and roomed at High Hall,” Cassandra Banks demurred. “I only saw her occasionally during class, and we never really spoke.”

“Still, that’s the sort of connection that might set tongues to wagging,” Millie pressed. “Best to nip any unkind rumors now, I should think. Sending those knights north to Courland would do it nicely, though if you want to be particularly certain, Lady Cassandra, you should come along as well.”

“My daughter hasn’t yet finished her time at Coral Bay,” Baron Banks protested.

“If she hasn’t found a husband there by now, she isn’t likely to,” Millie shot back. “But there will be plenty of fighting men with the army, and it may be they will suit her tastes better. I’m sure we can find some sort of use for your word of power, even if it's on the weaker side.”

“Ved, is it?” Bennet mused, and took a sip of his wine. “If you can purify water on the march, Lady Cassandra, that would go a long way to preventing the flux. That alone would be invaluable.”

Millie clapped her hands and put on her brightest smile. “Wonderful! I’m so glad we’ll have a use for you. It’s decided, then. Send Lady Cassandra and whatever knights you can gather up to Courland, and we’ll see if we can find her a strapping husband.”

The Banks baron and his heir beat a retreat from the high table, leaving Millie and Bennet a moment to themselves before the next set of well-wishers approached. Most of the chairs to either side of them were empty, and her ladies in waiting stood behind them, against the wall. Her grandmother was speaking with her Sherard relations, while Queen Artemesia was shoring up the support of her own family, the Wards. Millie’s father had stepped out of the feast a half a bell ago, but that was expected: the king always had pressing demands on his time, and Millie knew that Benedict would be back when she needed him.

“It is truly a joy to watch you work,” Bennet Howe murmured, leaning in from his place at Millie’s side, close enough that the breath of his words tickled her neck. “There was never a chance of those jumped up sailors refusing you, was there?”

“Not if they want to preserve their own skins,” Millie assured him, feeling a bit like a cat must under the hand of her favorite person. If she hadn’t been a princess, she would have already dragged her handsome new husband out of the feast and up to the bedroom, though perhaps that was the wine doing her thinking for her. As it was, she couldn’t afford to pass up the political opportunities afforded her by having the width and breadth of Lucania’s barons all present in a single room.

They all came, one after the next.

“I’m told your sister has resigned from Coral Bay,” Millie questioned Baron Every. “I do hope the murder of her colleague wasn’t too difficult for her.”

The baron, a sharp-featured man by the name of Gilbert, simply inclined his head, eyes as cold as a fish. “Lia has always had an instinctive revulsion for the slightest injustice,” he said. “What happened at Coral Bay has upset her greatly, as it has upset us all. Once I’d spoken to her, I could see no choice but to summon my knights to service and raise levies from the common folk. It is a slow process, but I have no doubt we will reach the north in time to see action.”

“Excellent,” Millie said, with a grin. “Your words relieve me greatly, Baron Every.” That made twelve.

Not every House, of course, was so easy as to come to her trussed and dressed on a serving plate. Millie’s efforts to pressure the Ryders and Ridley met with less success, for instance.

“I met Jurian of Carinthia thirty-two years ago, when my cousin Lorelie brought their culling party to guest with us,” Ingram Ryder scoffed. He hadn’t, Millie observed, brought either of his sons. “That young man was a force of nature - his whole team was! They delved Godsgrave, for the Trinity’s sake, and came back with a new word of power. Despite the cost.” A shadow passed over his eyes, but was quickly gone, replaced by more scorn. “This story that both he and Genevieve lost to some half-trained girl? Only a rusted fool would believe it. What really happened at Coral Bay, Your Highness?”

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“Precisely what has been reported,” Bennet said, leaning in to intercede on Millie’s behalf. “And if you don’t believe it, you can ask Archmagus Arundell herself later this evening, when she arrives.”

“You may be certain I will,” Baron Ryder declared, before turning his back rudely on them.

The Ridleys’ objection was different, but no less political.

“It is nearly a century now since my Great Aunt Edythe and her husband founded the mage’s guild,” Baroness Amelina continued, her words erupting with such pace and ferocity that Millie could hardly get a sentence in edgewise.

“In that time, the guild never once failed to uphold their obligations to the crown,” Amelina Ridley continued. “We’ve produced half a dozen master mages and two professors, nevermind the first archmage in the kingdom. And I never thought that it would be the royal family who ground that charter underfoot as if it was worthless.”

“The guild accepted the appointment of Genevieve Arundell at a legitimate conclave,” Millie began, but found herself cut off once again.

“Legitimate, with the rank bribery that woman put on display?” The baroness looked as if she’d caught the scent of rotting garbage from the distant slums of Freeport. “There is a limit, Princess Milisant. A limit to what people will stand for. I pray your father does not reach it.”

“The King is well within his legal rights,” Bennet said, using the voice with which he issued orders to his troops. “And your warning about limits goes both ways, Baroness Ridley.”

Still, for every House that proved recalcitrant, there were those who’d been quite thoroughly cowed. When Cade Talbot and his father Gerold approached to give their congratulations, Millie was pleased to see that the young man did so with a young woman on his arm who had the coloring of one of Boyle girls, though Millie couldn’t for the life of her have said which one.

“We wanted to thank you, Your Highness, for permitting Cade to come south from Courland for the wedding,” the silly little thing gushed.

“Of course,” Bennet said, from Millie’s side. “Loyal service to the crown is rewarded, and we have every confidence in your betrothed's commitment to the kingdom of Lucania.”

That was utter bunk, of course, and everyone within earshot knew it. “Yes,” Millie said, leaning forward to examine the Talbot boy. Not a boy any longer, of course: he’d grown quite a bit since that duel on the beach, when he’d first attached himself to the Brodbeck girl. “It’s truly heartbreaking how you were treated by that low-born half-breed, Cade. But now we see it was a kindness; as they say, the Trinity works in mysterious ways. Still, there might be some who say House Talbot was only a hair’s width away from treason. It’s good that you’re riding north with my husband, to put any such rumor to rest.”

Cade Talbot’s face had the set of a slab of granite: there was no life there, neither motion nor emotion. “My family has always been loyal to the crown,” he said, dark eyes meeting Millie’s gaze without a trace of hesitation. “And we always will.”

A stir from the tables near the doorway caught Millie’s eye, and she smiled. Genevieve Arundell had arrived precisely at the ninth bell of the evening, as scheduled. And her father should be returning to the room shortly.

Gerold Talbot had not failed to notice the arrival of the archmage, either, and took it as his opportunity to extricate his family from the conversation. “I’m certain you will wish to speak with the Archmagia,” he said. “We will leave you to do so, Your Highnesses. Once again, you have our congratulations and best wishes -”

“No, stay,” Millie commanded. “You should see this. Step off to the side.” It satisfied her to see that this turn of events had finally broken through Cade’s cold veneer, that his eyes widened in surprise before he escorted his new bride-to-be off to the left.

Genevieve Arundell, though she had not appeared in public since the death of Archmagus Jurian, strode up the center aisle with a pace that ate up the floor. As she had before the incident at Coral Bay, she wore richly embroidered robes and carried a sigil-carved staff in her left hand.

Now, however, the woman who had once been known across every court and hall of Lucania as much for her beauty as for her magical skill wore a leather mask that completely concealed her face. It was stained a rich, deep brown, and worked with Vædic sigils so closely and cunningly wrought, and in such a small size, that Millie could only get a glimpse of them, nevermind guess their function. The hood of her travelling cloak was pulled up, as well, and her hair must have been pulled back, for not a wisp or strand of it escaped to fall around her shoulders.

Millie stood, and Bennet rose at her side. “Archmagia,” she said, loud enough that her voice broke across the hall, and conversations quieted, then stilled at the lower tables. “I’m so pleased that you would be able to come from Coral Bay to attend our wedding. Thank you.”

“It is my privilege to serve the crown.” Genevieve’s voice, when it emerged, was raspy, as if her lungs had been ruined by smoke - nothing like the smooth, pleasant tones Millie remembered. Whispers began to spread from table to table.

“And serve you have,” King Benedict declared, re-entering the room with two royal guards, who each took up a place to either side of the door. “In fact, Archmagia Arundell arrived nearly a full bell ago, and has been assisting me since. She has been assisting me.” A chair scraped at one of the tables, and the sound was loud as a trumpet in the silent hall.

Millie couldn’t help but grin in glee: everything was going according to the plan they had arranged.

“Isaac Grenfell, Baron Ashford,” Millie called out to the lower tables. “I don’t believe I’ve had the chance to greet you yet, this evening. Please step forward.”

To Grenfell’s credit, he showed not an ounce of fear when he rose and strode up the center aisle to bow before the high table. “I hope I have not offended Your Royal Highnesses," he declared evenly. “I thought that I would wait until the first rush of well-wishers had died down a bit.”

“Of course,” Millie said, giving him a sugar-sweet smile. “More than reasonable. I see that you haven’t brought any of your family this evening? What a pity, I’d been hoping to get to know that pretty younger cousin of yours, now she’s withdrawn from Coral Bay.”

“I’m certain that Bryn would be honored to make your acquaintance,” Grenfell said, bowing his head. “I’ll be certain to bring her to court the next time I come.”

“Your uncle Kazimir is court mage to the cripple and the bastard, is he not?” Millie asked.

Isaac was well practiced at controlling his impressions; his polite smile did not slide from his face, though it did freeze in place. “A regrettable circumstance,” he declared. “But yes, my uncle has been in the employ of the Summerset family for many years now. It is our hope that when the passes melt, he may be able to escape rebel territory and return safely to us.”

“That is your hope, is it?” Millie asked him, raising her eyebrows.

“Perhaps you’ve used this to invite him south, then?” Benedict said, from his place by the doors. The king withdrew a broken white stone from his sleeve, and raised it so that everyone in the hall could see. “A most curious piece, found in your own rooms at your manor in the city not an hour past. In fact, determining the precise function of the enchantments was what kept Archmagia Arundell occupied until just now.”

“A stone that connects the dreams of two people,” Genevieve rasped from behind her mask. “Very clever.”

“Is that how you’ve been passing information to your uncle?” Bennet asked from Millie’s side.

Isaac Grenfell opened his mouth, scanned the room, and then stopped. Finally, the mask of court slipped from his face. He glanced down to the floor, shook his head, and then smiled genuinely for the first time, as if a friend had just told him a bad jest.

“I suppose it won’t matter if I point out that any servant could have placed that in my rooms,” the baron of Ashford said. “The truth is, of course, what the crown declares it to be, now - regardless of actual events.”

“Any servant could have,” Arundell declared. “But they didn’t. It was used last evening. I felt it from outside your estates, Grenfell.”

Isaac raised his arms wide, palms out, and took a bow. “It appears you’ve well and truly caught me, then,” he admitted. “You’re a lost cause already, Arundell - and we can all see who the Howes and the Sherards and the Wards have chained themselves to. But I would beg the rest of you to reconsider,” he said, turning away from Millie to face the crowd of barons.

“If Benedict can oust a Duchess, he can oust any of you from your lands,” he declared, pointing his finger and sweeping it around the room. “Let this pass once, and there is nothing standing between you and a false accusation but the king’s pleasure.”

“The Summersets are traitors to the crown,” King Benedict declared. “They are in open rebellion, and sheltering a criminal - a bastard girl of foreign blood who murdered one of our own archmages and nearly destroyed the college at Coral Bay. By aligning with them, Grenfell, you and your family have betrayed Lucania as well. I hereby strip your family of their lands and titles, and sentence you to death.”

“It was a mistake to come and say it yourself, Benedict,” Isaac Grenfell growled. He whipped a wand from his side and levelled it at the king. “Æteret Aiveh Fleia o’Mae!”

A plume of fire burst from Grenfell’s wand, boiling across the room from the very foot of the high table toward the doors where Millie’s father stood holding the enchanted stone. Barons and their families dove out of the way, throwing aside chairs, tables, and platters of food in their desperation.

Genevieve Arundell waved her hand, and a golden-blue pane of mana solidified between the king and the flame. A moment later, a great weight pressed down upon Millie’s shoulders, and the fire died.

Isaac Grenfell turned from the king to the archmagia, his jaw set. “At least I’ll die on my feet, then,” he began.

Whatever he might have said next, he never finished. A swirling wind of golden light spun out from Genevieve Arundell, passed over the former Baron of Ashford, and sent a spray of blood into the faces of the barons who hadn’t already thrown themselves on the floor.