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They occupied their own long table, just a few steps below her own. The Temur men and women were black-haired and bronzed, dressed in rich but functional clothing. Better suited for travel than the feasting hall.

Erida knew the realm as well as any, the maps in her council chamber hard-drilled into her since childhood. She measured the path from Ascal to Korbij, the Emperor’s great seat among the steppes. It lay thousands of miles away, on the banks of the Golba, the River Without End. She suspected the ambassador and his company set sail downriver many months ago, perhaps even half a year, to reach her.

The ambassador himself sat at the high table, to the left of her own chair. A place of great honor and respect.

Salbhai was an older man, with a high-boned face and a keen, ebony-eyed stare. He wore an overcoat of black silk, patterned with rose-gold feathers, bound at the waist with a belt. His own hair had gone to gray, as had his beard. Both were plaited into a braid, held in place by a circle of copper wire.

As a diplomat and politician in his own right, he was skilled enough to serve Emperor Bhur and treat with rulers of the realm. Meticulous in his manners, Salbhai stood to bow as the Queen approached.

She inclined her own head, polite to a fault.

“Ambassador Salbhai,” she said, taking her seat. On her right, Taristan sank into his own chair, glowering in his usual way.

Erida caught a flash of scarlet robes at the corner of her eye and fought back a wince.Too injured to be summoned but not so injured as to miss dinner, she thought, cursing Ronin. The wizard sat on Taristan’s far side, curled in his chair like a goblin.

“Your Majesty,” Salbhai said, sliding back into his seat.

He had a kind look about him, his eyes cheerful and merry. Erida distrusted him immediately.

“Would your companion like a seat?” she said, eyeing the Temur guard behind Salbhai’s chair.

Unlike his compatriots, the Temur soldier was baldheaded and young, his crossed arms bulging beneath his black surcoat.

“The Born Shields do not sit, Your Majesty,” Salbhai said plainly. “I believe your Lionguard are the same.”

Erida blanched. The Born Shields were raised to defend the Emperor himself, born to the saddle, the sword, and the bow. She eyed the guard again, then Salbhai, sizing them up as best she could.

“My Lionguard protects the crown and the prince consort,” Erida said evenly, forcing herself to take a sip of wine.

Salbhai did the same, matching the Queen. He was polite to a fault.

“I am the blood of Emperor Bhur, down the line,” he said, nonchalant. “A Born Shield guards me as he would the Emperor. To spill my blood is to spill his own.”

Erida took another sip to hide her grimace. Her stomach twisted.I have mistaken merriment for amusement,she thought.The ambassador knows he is untouchable in my court. He can do whatever he likes, unless I wish to declare war on the Temurijon.

Again, Salbhai mirrored her, his black eyes bright.

“I am honored by your presence, truly.” Erida forced a graceful, winning smile. “To know that the Emperor holds me in high enough esteem to send someone of your caliber—it is flattering indeed.”

“You are Queen of Four Kingdoms,” he answered. As with all diplomats, Erida listened to more than his words.

“The Empress Rising,” Salbhai continued, his eyes glittering. “You are perhaps more like Emperor Bhur than you know.”

Erida sorely doubted it. Bhur was an old man, gray and fading, with little taste for glory anymore. When he eventually died, his sons would war for his empire, and carve up the once mighty Temurijon.

I will not make the same mistake.

“I should like to meet him one day,” Erida replied, smiling.

On the battlefield, beneath a white flag.

Salbhai grinned too, showing even teeth. The smile did not reach his eyes. “I believe you shall.”

The servants moved the length of the high table, laying down elegant platters of food, each one richer than the last. The kitchens were eager to impress their victorious queen and her guests. Erida indicated a roast swan, skinned for cooking and redressed with its feathers, wings raised as if to take flight.

With a neat slash of her knife, Erida cut the swan meat.

“And to what exactly do I owe the honor of your arrival, Ambassador?” she said. “It cannot be my coronation. You would have to be Spindletouched to foresee such a thing, and journey here in time.”