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unese brothel, but more than ten welders. Do you think that fair, Amel? That you earn less than whore, but more than welder?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” If the Pink is nervous, he doesn’t let on. I, on the other hand, notice the shadows moving in the wings of the stage. Skuggi. Freihild seems surprised by their presence.

“Do you miss being a whore?” Sefi asks Amel.

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Good. I am happy you are happy, Amel.” She smiles at him. “There are some who believe Pinks cannot be trusted. My people believe that the spirit rots when the body is weak.” Her eyes are on Valdir, not Amel. “It rots and rots until the rot turns to poison. Do you believe this to be true, Mr. Horn?”

“I know a few who live up to that,” I reply carefully.

“What do you believe, children?” she asks, taking her eyes from Valdir.

“Spirits are imaginary constructs derived from human fear of mortality,” Pax replies.

Electra shrugs. “You heard him.”

“Amel?” Sefi asks. “Are you rotten inside?”

“No, Your Majesty. The rot my Gold master put upon my spirit was cleansed when you bathed his dining table with his blood and set his children to the knife. You are my Deliverer.”

Sefi sighs. “Finish the song for me, Amel.”

The Pink blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Finish the song. I know you can.”

Amel flinches as the skuggi step from the shadowed wings of the stage. Gudkind leads them. Freihild glances at Valdir for explanation. Amel’s shoulders sag, and slowly he begins to sing. His voice is not that of the Violet’s but has a purity of its own. The skuggi slip onto the stage and begin to light a fire in the refuse of the set design. Flames lick over wooden boulders and trees as the Pink’s voice breaks from fear.

He glares at Ozgard. “I do not know what the madman has told you, my Queen, but you have cleansed me. I serve only you.”

“Amel is loyal,” Valdir protests to his mate. “Do not be misled by the madman.” He glares at Ozgard as if this were all his doing.

Fear has taken Amel. “I did not betray you, my Queen. On my honor!”

“A man has little, a whore has none,” Sefi replies.

He stands there trembling. The soprano hologram sputters back to life, echoing the Pink’s song as Gudkind and the skuggi descend on Amel and hack him to pieces with cleavers. I watch in horror as they toss the pieces of the beautiful man into the flames.

Black smoke swirls.

I grow very still inside as the scent of burning flesh hunches through the opera house. I don’t know who this was for. A warning for Valdir and Freihild, or for me. And neither do they. Is their secret known? Will they join Amel? Is Sefi proving her skuggi are loyal to her, and not Freihild? The children watch this in dead silence. If Sefi wants them to learn about Obsidian virtues, she’s doing a fine job of it.

“My people have a word,” Sefi murmurs to me, “rahgschni. There is no translation in the Common tongue. As close as can be said is: the sorrow one feels in seeing fresh morning snow, knowing its beauty cannot last.” She looks back at the fire. The flames saw her black eyes. “The Sovereign is dead.”

I grow cold, realizing why the city of Olympia was lit up with candles and Eagle Rest went on lockdown. Pax does not move. “What?” Electra bolts to her feet.

“She was butchered in the Senate by a mob along with my senators,” Sefi says as she stares into the flames. “It was the signal to begin a general coup. The ArchGovernor of Mars was shot in the head by his butler within his sanctum in Agea. Sevro was captured on Earth, Howlers slaughtered. More than a dozen others were killed. Valdir, heat of my heart, you say Amel here was loyal. But he received coded message from deepspace relay station home to Gold intelligence. I was to be assassinated with the rest.”

“Amel is loyal,” Valdir says.

“I sensed a quavering of his spirit long ago,” Ozgard confirms.

“You fat devil!” Valdir bellows. “You will be the death of us all. Maybe you sense a quavering of mine next. I know your game, serpent. I know how you coil close to heat, for the cold blood in your own veins.”

“Am I stupid, heat of my heart?” Sefi says to Valdir. “To act only on the senses of shaman? To be guided like puppet? It was Xenophon who brought this to me, not Ozgard.” Valdir’s anger cools somewhat as he spares a look at the trusted White. “For some time, Amel has been passing information to this relay station, to his Gold overlords. Including my diet, and list of preferred vintages. A poisoned bottle was found in his possession. He served me many years. But was rotten in the end.”

Valdir grows quiet. To him, Xenophon’s word is worth far more than Ozgard’s hunches. Yet he cannot accept it.