feelings.”
As Amber sat with Katerina, she saw movement on a distant third-story balcony. Sergei Rugar stepped out dressed in somber dark clothing with orange trim. Another man in uniform was at his side, and they were deep in conversation.
Spying Amber, Sergei waved, and Amber waved back.
Katerina soon forgot about her ring and went back to her weeding .
“Katerina? Where are you my love?”
High Lord Grigori appeared from behind a wall, his boots and hands dirty from spending time with his plants. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Amber with his daughter. “My Lady,” Grigori said, nodding.
“High Lord.” Amber returned his nod, feeling foolish at the mud on her knees, but realizing the Veznan high lord was just as dir ty.
“Look, Papa!” Katerina cried. “Amber gave me a gift.” She displayed the ring proudly.
“I hope you thanked the lady,” Grigori said.
Katerina’s mouth popped open, and she turned. “Thank you, Lady Amber,” she said earnestly.
“You’re welcome, Princess,” Amber said. “I should be going now. I’ve had a lot of fun playing with you.”
“See you at dinner!” Katerina called, turning back to her weeds.
Amber stood and walked back toward the palace, feeling the high lord’s eyes on her back.
10
“Someone to see you, Your Imperial Majesty,” Lord Osker intoned as if speaking a eulogy.
Killian took his eyes off the rows and columns of carefully written figures and closed the book, thankful for the interruption. When he saw who it was, he rose to his feet, grinning.
“Carla. How are you?”
“I am well, Your Imperial Majesty,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Lord Osker frowned; she hadn’t hidden the mockery in her tone.
“Please leave us,” Killian said to Osker.
He waited until Osker had left the room. “Not you too.” He sighed in exasperation. “Call me Killian, Carla. I’ll have you on charges if you don’t.”
Carla came forward and they awkwardly embraced. She held his palm a little longer than was necessary, squeezing it as their hands parted.
“Please sit down,” Killian said, indicating the cushioned sofa across from his own. “How did you get past Osker? You haven’t lost your charm. He normally doesn’t let anyone past.”
“Brrr,” Carla said, ignoring Killian’s question. She looked at the cold hearth, occupying an entire wall of the cavernous sitting roo m. “It’s warm outside. Why is it always cold in your palace?”
“It’s big,” Killian said with a grin.
“If you can’t afford heating stones, surely you can afford a fire?”
“Budget cuts.” Killian laughed.
“You look weary. You need to relax. What are you reading?” She picked up the book and flicked through the pages. “‘Province of Aspar,’” she read, “‘granary stores at seven thousand imperial drams.’ Exciting.”
“Terribly,” Killian said. “How goes the search?”
Carla’s expression grew pained. “A drinking house in the Tenamet is looking for waitresses.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Required skills are dancing, long legs, easy morals, and”—she tapped her long nose—“a pretty face.”
“Don’t say your face isn’t pretty,” Killian said. “I like it just the way it is.”
“I’m not doing that kind of work.” Carla laughed. “Still, I need to do something.”
He was surprised at how easily they’d fallen back into the old repartee. Since her arrival at the palace, their friendship had resumed something of its former shape. Killian had told Carla his story—somewhat abbreviated, with his involvement with the primate left out —and Carla had told him hers.
After her father’s death, she’d finally joined another troupe, but had to leave when the troupe leader’s attentions became . . . forced. She didn’t elaborate much, and Killian didn’t ask her to. He’d kept his secrets, and he couldn’t blame her for keeping hers. The world was a harsh place for someone on her own, and Tingara
As Amber sat with Katerina, she saw movement on a distant third-story balcony. Sergei Rugar stepped out dressed in somber dark clothing with orange trim. Another man in uniform was at his side, and they were deep in conversation.
Spying Amber, Sergei waved, and Amber waved back.
Katerina soon forgot about her ring and went back to her weeding .
“Katerina? Where are you my love?”
High Lord Grigori appeared from behind a wall, his boots and hands dirty from spending time with his plants. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Amber with his daughter. “My Lady,” Grigori said, nodding.
“High Lord.” Amber returned his nod, feeling foolish at the mud on her knees, but realizing the Veznan high lord was just as dir ty.
“Look, Papa!” Katerina cried. “Amber gave me a gift.” She displayed the ring proudly.
“I hope you thanked the lady,” Grigori said.
Katerina’s mouth popped open, and she turned. “Thank you, Lady Amber,” she said earnestly.
“You’re welcome, Princess,” Amber said. “I should be going now. I’ve had a lot of fun playing with you.”
“See you at dinner!” Katerina called, turning back to her weeds.
Amber stood and walked back toward the palace, feeling the high lord’s eyes on her back.
10
“Someone to see you, Your Imperial Majesty,” Lord Osker intoned as if speaking a eulogy.
Killian took his eyes off the rows and columns of carefully written figures and closed the book, thankful for the interruption. When he saw who it was, he rose to his feet, grinning.
“Carla. How are you?”
“I am well, Your Imperial Majesty,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Lord Osker frowned; she hadn’t hidden the mockery in her tone.
“Please leave us,” Killian said to Osker.
He waited until Osker had left the room. “Not you too.” He sighed in exasperation. “Call me Killian, Carla. I’ll have you on charges if you don’t.”
Carla came forward and they awkwardly embraced. She held his palm a little longer than was necessary, squeezing it as their hands parted.
“Please sit down,” Killian said, indicating the cushioned sofa across from his own. “How did you get past Osker? You haven’t lost your charm. He normally doesn’t let anyone past.”
“Brrr,” Carla said, ignoring Killian’s question. She looked at the cold hearth, occupying an entire wall of the cavernous sitting roo m. “It’s warm outside. Why is it always cold in your palace?”
“It’s big,” Killian said with a grin.
“If you can’t afford heating stones, surely you can afford a fire?”
“Budget cuts.” Killian laughed.
“You look weary. You need to relax. What are you reading?” She picked up the book and flicked through the pages. “‘Province of Aspar,’” she read, “‘granary stores at seven thousand imperial drams.’ Exciting.”
“Terribly,” Killian said. “How goes the search?”
Carla’s expression grew pained. “A drinking house in the Tenamet is looking for waitresses.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Required skills are dancing, long legs, easy morals, and”—she tapped her long nose—“a pretty face.”
“Don’t say your face isn’t pretty,” Killian said. “I like it just the way it is.”
“I’m not doing that kind of work.” Carla laughed. “Still, I need to do something.”
He was surprised at how easily they’d fallen back into the old repartee. Since her arrival at the palace, their friendship had resumed something of its former shape. Killian had told Carla his story—somewhat abbreviated, with his involvement with the primate left out —and Carla had told him hers.
After her father’s death, she’d finally joined another troupe, but had to leave when the troupe leader’s attentions became . . . forced. She didn’t elaborate much, and Killian didn’t ask her to. He’d kept his secrets, and he couldn’t blame her for keeping hers. The world was a harsh place for someone on her own, and Tingara
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