Shrouded in the grainy darkness of the abandoned staircase, Ederra fidgeted with the slip of paper she had snatched while hauling Tahni away. It was a Prescribed Questionnaire, as expected in such situations, the sort that imposed a rigid manner of response and evasion, one that she would have passed with flying colors any day of the week. Her tutors hadn't been shy in their praise whenever she finished one of these, but it was all the same to her father, who could only see an expected return on investment and not the molding of his daughter into an unnatural puppet of a society that certainly didn't have her best interests at heart. Now, it was up to her to look out for herself, and from her current vantage point, everything seemed bleak and hopeless.

She was livid at how badly her plan had backfired. While Tahni had theoretically gotten what she'd wanted, Ederra doubted she could salvage this mess and make sure her friend wouldn't be thrown out of the palace for good. Their initial plan having called for separation, she'd made her excuses and left Tahni alone with the palace attendants. Next, she was supposed to do some reconnaissance and scout possible avenues of escape, but all she felt inclined to do at the moment was mope. That, and hear the other candidates, assessing how she herself would have stood up to them had she competed for the throne.

So far, she was thoroughly impressed. She had missed the speech of one Haian Dobrek, daughter of the Foreign Affairs Minister, had arrived in the middle of Ozarella Amster's perfectly adequate presentation, and was now listening intently to Reyoma Tersi. The woman was insufferable in the conviction of her answers, studied inflections of voice even Ederra would have had a hard time emulating. Hers was a well-practiced speech, emphasizing her unique qualifications at steering a household in the absence of her mother who had died years ago. Still, from the muffled giggles of the attendants, Ederra was convinced there was more to that story.

When the time came for Reyoma to conclude her speech, Ederra leaned forward eagerly, as if that could make her hear any better. The woman's words drifted up to her enough to be understood, but she still had to strain her ears and pay attention. She was happy in her chosen hiding spot, content with listening for now, though she would have loved to put faces to the disembodied voices, especially to the formidable Reyoma.

Ederra had had quite the conundrum when walking away from the small bedchamber they'd placed Tahni in, because she could hardly head back to the galleries now that everyone knew who she was supposed to serve. It had been at Susa's suggestion that she'd crept to the old abandoned box in the corner no one else even dared to approach. Of course, she hadn't asked the palace attendant for directions to conceal herself while still being able to hear the candidates - that had been a happy side effect. Instead, she had inquired after Tahni's story of the old king's ghost, and had received distracted answers as they both dragged Tahni away. For her part, her friend had still been pretending to be unconscious, so she could hardly ask her, but Susa had been surprisingly forthcoming. Any mention of Essar's ghost was not to be taken lightly, as the old king had cast a mighty influence that hadn't subsided even after his death.

The stairs she was now huddling on led up to a locked door, but down to King Essar's veiled gallery box, separated from the rest by thick layers of burgundy brocaded curtains. His enemies had claimed that he'd made a deal with Mogara to summon her legions during battle, frightening his enemies. It was for this reason that his eyes were supposed to have shined bright green when the blood frenzy reached its peak, and the specter of his gaze was said to loom over certain areas of the palace, including his box overlooking the Queen's receiving room, where entertainers of all manners arrived to perform before the court. Now, the dancers, acrobats, and various animal tamers had been replaced with the women coveting the right to call the small throne room beyond the locked doors their own, a competition which was sure to provide a different type of entertainment.

Ederra's begrudging admiration for those women was only rivaled by her increasing worry for Tahni, and to a lesser extent, herself. She'd figured that if it came to the worst possible outcome, if Tahni were to be thrown out and Meyo's disappearance discovered, she could point Tahni to her dowry chest and then they could both make a run for it. Her uncle had elected to stay at an inn downtown, but he hadn't taken the ornate chest with him, depositing it instead in the Sebek treasury hall, where it was to be displayed until a wedding which Ederra knew was never to arrive.

"The admirable product of our forefather's teachings is never meant to emulate its own intelligence, rather learn to accommodate that which came before and become it instead."

"Yet the mind seeps through and soon that which has been is renewed beyond recognition and salvation. Foredoomed are we, cry for the world."

Ederra's breath caught and her eyes bulged as an icy shudder traveled down her spine. No matter how much she'd strained to hear what was happening outside her narrow confines, she had somehow still missed the approach of two men now whispering nonsensical platitudes in the haunted box below, one of whom had an eerily familiar voice.

Holding herself as still as possible, barely even daring to blink, she overheard more than she was ever supposed to.

**

The annoying uncle chuckled, a softly grating sound that made Hanadan want to break the courtier's code of conduct and strike him senseless with one of his water gourds. He would have had no other choice given that he did not carry a sword and Karuss was well out of hollering range.

"Are you crying for the world, nephew?"

Hanadan sometimes felt like crying for himself, but he could never admit it. Right then, his attention was honed in on the young woman who had just begun speaking, her graceful figure, delicate yet confident cadence, sure answers and oh-so-familiar face. Hanadan felt like throwing something really heavy at someone he really didn't like, so he considered Tohab's approach a timely accident, which might end in tragedy should the old man fail to back down.

"She makes the perfect candidate, doesn't she?" he said, marveling at his own composure given that his blood had almost reached its boiling point.

His uncle approached the railing gingerly, peering through the gap in the drapes revealing the floor below.

"Are you having second thoughts?" Tohab asked solicitously, as if they hadn't all gone to pains to hide this from him.

Hanadan felt dangerously close to grinding his teeth, but his rigid self composure had rarely betrayed him in the past.

"I trust your strategy. You are the experienced courtiers, after all."

This had certainly been his father's idea. Nothing even moved in these exalted spheres without his express consent, especially the Jebrils' bid for the Queen's throne, which had unfortunately taken the form of his dear, innocent sister.

Hanadan wanted to rail at himself for not seeing this coming. They'd kept her away from the capital for weeks on the made up excuse of recovering from the seven-day-fever, a disease which was almost harmless to adults, and Hedina's constitution was nowhere near as frail as everybody made it out to be. His sister had the resilience, sharpness, and occasional ruthlessness, but not a trace of the family's lawless spirit. Hers was a quiet disposition, inclined to meditation, reading and the occasional discrete tea party with her mother and their handful of friends. She abhorred the traditional Jebril machinations as much as Hanadan himself, perhaps even more so, and he'd vowed that he'd find a way to save her from it all.

But his Father and dear Uncle Tohab had foiled him once again. It was one thing to sabotage the enemy, but ruining the chances of his own side? Hanadan had considered trying for a long time, but had never had sufficient reason to actually go through with it. Now, things were different, and he'd have to think hard on what he was to do if he wanted to get Hedina out of this unharmed.

"Your father was an ambitious man. He always had the family's best interests at heart."

Was. Had. 

So much said in so few words.

Any other considerations fled Hanadan's mind as he became primed for the sole purpose of preserving himself. Alarm swiftly permeated every part of his body, and he felt the trap set at his feet. The smallest wrong movement would see him locked away forever, at the mercy of unkindly fates, if not outright dead. The thought of losing this game so early on, while failing the people he'd sworn to protect was unbearable.

Summoning his full concentration, Hanadan made his gamble.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, a note of distraction in his voice. He craned his neck as if he wanted a better look of the room below, eyes trained on Hedina as she spoke, her words drifting away before the pounding in his ears. Gathering every slither of courage, he made himself continue. "He's just gone, not dead. And he mistakes the family interests for his own. Granted, he's usually right, but that doesn't mean he's as selfless as all that."

"He may no longer have a choice in the matter," replied his uncle coldly.

Hanadan half turned to face him, though he could only distinguish blurry outlines in the darkness of the box.

"What do you know?"

"Not more than you, I'm sure."

He frowned, working disbelief into his tone, topped with the slightest tinge of outrage.

"What?"

He was close to failing now, and could almost feel himself begin to fall.

"It is good form to admit a mistake once you have been exposed, my nephew," chided his uncle.

"And in what manner have I been exposed?"

"Why, Hanadan dear, how could you ask me that?" The mock incredulity in Tohab's voice almost put his own efforts to shame, but he had to see the charade through to the best of his abilities. His mind whirred through the possibilities as his uncle went on. "Everybody knows you're not one for the library, my young impulsive would-be heir. Especially not after paying a visit to a certain liaison florist."

So, that was it. Hanadan briefly thought back to his frantic search of the secret compartment in his father's desk, the short coded note recounting the time of the meeting, and his own conversation with Quack. He doubted Quack himself had betrayed him, not with all the workers who'd seen him and Karuss going about their business in the dockside warehouse. Still, it was good that the porridge stains hadn't come into the mix and there was nothing else tying him to his father's actual death.

An overwhelming sense of calm washed over him as the best ploy came to mind, which was perhaps a bit inconvenient since he now had to feign irritation.

"Uncle," he said carefully, "as much as I respect your input on occasion, I am not having this conversation with you."

"But you are," said the old man resolutely. "We are talking right now."

"I'd rather not be talking right now, not about this. You have all the facts and I need not elaborate."

"You do not have that choice, nephew. I am not giving it to you."

"You misunderstand me," hissed Hanadan, whirling back and fixing the man with a stubborn gaze. "You know everything. You know I went to see Quack, and then I saw a woman at the library. I need not add anything and I already told you I am not having this conversation with you!"

Tohab was rendered silent for a full ten seconds, his shock palpable.

"A woman?" he whispered at last. "You?"

"Yes, uncle. And you should not feel insulted at being excluded from my confessions of my personal life. Despite all appearances, I do have one. And I wasn't going to bother father about it, though like you, he probably knows already."

He made out Tohab's incredulous head shake and he held his breath, willing the old crab to take the bait.

He did.

"Of all the times you could have picked..."

Hanadan was assaulted by a sudden jolt of euphoria at the prospect of nearly getting away with it. Philandering was far better than murder, though now the complications would have to set in.

"You know one doesn't exactly pick the time," he said, slightly embarrassed.

"So I've heard," grumbled Tohab. Hanadan was willing to bet that the displeasure in the old man's voice had more to do with failing to tie him to his father's disappearance than any indiscretion involving this mysterious woman.

"Is she down there?"

Hanadan started, then turned back towards the balcony, for the first time confronted with the necessity of producing this elusive lover.

"Of course she is," continued Tohab. "You wouldn't be hanging about like a lost calf for your sister alone. And I suppose you went to see that idiot for sage advice you couldn't get from anywhere else? Tell me, does he still claim to make love potions?"

Hanadan was scowling, fixated on Tohab's dismissive comment about Hedina, but he forced himself to play the part until the end.

"He does. And he's recently started dabbling in rat poison. Should I tell him you're interested?"

"Attira preserve us," muttered Tohab. "No, thank you."

And just like that, the old bastard whirled around and disappeared in the folds at the back of the box, leading to the secret entrance not even the spies in the palace cleaning staff knew about. Supposedly.

Hanadan had barely had time to congratulate himself for having narrowly escaped with his hide unscathed, when problem number two presented itself and he sighed in exhaustion. The main challenge with this one lay in its unpredictability.

"You'd better come out now," he called as loudly as he dared.

To the intruder's credit, he started descending the stairs almost immediately, not bothering to mask his presence anymore.

Hanadan briefly wondered at his uncle's diminishing perception. Was he simply getting old or was he playing at something entirely different? Hanadan himself had been aware of the spy ever since entering the box, though once the conversation began, no more revealing sounds could be made out.

And now, as the interloper emerged into King Essar's forbidden box, the "he" transformed into a "she", with an elegant contour and soft steps. She wore no perfume, a fact which must have contributed to his uncle's failure to sense her. Hanadan tried to better make out her features in the gloom, but apart from a stern glitter in her eyes, he couldn't be sure of any.

"Not superstitious, I take it," he commented, waiting to see how best to play his hand. The fact of the matter was that she'd heard too much and would have to be dealt with accordingly. How forcefully depended entirely on her attitude.

"I don't see the point to it," came the smooth reply, and her voice pulled sharply at his memory, though he couldn't yet place it. Apart from that, he noticed her unfeigned coolness, as if she hadn't just been caught eavesdropping by a man who could easily make her disappear from the face of the earth.

"What about the point in being where you should not be? Does that not bother you?"

She regarded him silently for a few seconds, and he had the vague impression that she'd just raised her eyebrows at him.

"I was not aware that King Essar still lay claim to his box even beyond the grave. I apologize profusely if I have inconvenienced his Majesty."

It was Hanadan's turn to stare, while she went on as unruffled as before.

"But you're not a King, are you, Hanadan? Tell me, what is your last name?"

"That is not how this works," he hissed. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pulled her closer to the sliver of light by the balcony. As her face became clearer, he fixed her in his mind, and his suspicions were confirmed.

She didn't protest at his rough handling, and was in fact looking away from him, down towards the floor where Hedina was just finishing her speech.

"Your sister... She's good, but not as good as the one that came before her."

"There's far more to these trials than just talking," grated Hanadan, naturally offended on Hedina's behalf. In truth, when it came to behind-the-scenes machinations - which was how these things were truly won - no one could match his sister. The fact that he did not want her to win was a different matter entirely.

"So I gather. Is the woman you met in the library down there as well?"

Hanadan scowled, increasingly irritated by her refusal to remain perfectly composed.

"No. In fact, she's right here."

That caught her attention. She turned back to regard him questioningly. All things aside, she was quite pretty, but Hanadan was too wrapped up in his miserable situation to truly take that fact to heart.

"Pardon?"

"I met you at the library. Remember?"

It was her, of course. She'd asked after his water gourds, of all things. He should have known there was more to her right then, since no one was that desperate about gourds - apart from Eker. So, how long had she truly been following him, and how could he make use of this new information?

"My dear Hanadan, how is that possible?"

He started, then immediately froze as her hands came up to wrap themselves around his own and gently pry them away from her arms. He hadn't even been aware that he was still holding on to her.

"Don't frown at me," she laughed gingerly. "That is how your uncle called you. And how could you have met me at the library while I was not aware of it?"

A straight-faced liar, that's what she was.

"That is the truth, my dear," he said at last.

His voice had started trembling and there was no more disguising his annoyance. If she was playing hard to get, she had certainly failed at doing her research regarding him and his family. He opened his mouth to inform her of just how little choice she truly had in the matter, but then she spoke again and he couldn't find it in him to interrupt.

"It seems to me that you're trying to work some sort of deal for me to lie on your behalf. Or rather, corroborate your idea of what the truth is. If that is the case, you must offer your own contribution to the bargain."

He peeled back his lips in a silent snarl. Now was the time to disabuse her of her notions of getting anything out of him, but she cut him off again.

"Hanadan," she went on, pretending not to notice his obvious displeasure at having his name spoken out loud, "you must know that I am a nobody. I have no standing, no money, and no relations. You have nothing to threaten me with because I have nothing to lose. But there is something I stand to gain and if you help me, I will help you as well. My preliminary conditions are as follows..."

Hanadan's eyes widened in disbelief. Preliminary? Surely this was nothing more than empty bravado.

"The lady I serve has been removed from this trial due to a medical emergency, and it is uncertain that she will make it to the next stage. Unless I have severely misjudged your influence, I want you to make sure that she moves forward. Then we may meet again and continue our negotiations. Now, kindly show me how to exit this place. I must go back to her."

"Exit?" muttered Hanadan, unwilling to admit his relief at finally being allowed to speak. "How did you get in?"

"Through the curtains, of course."

After seeing him struggle to form a reply, she shifted around uncomfortably.

"Is there another way?" she guessed, sounding meeker than she had before.

Hanadan huffed out a mirthless laughter.

"How in Lenga's way did you manage that?"

She shrugged, as if getting through layers upon layers of thick brocade was a child's play, especially when wearing an evening dress and having to mind one's coiffure.

"This box is not walled in on the right side, so I just pushed through."

"And no one saw you?"

"I was careful. Though not careful enough, since you knew I was here."

Sighing, Hanadan gave up on trying to understand what was happening, so he brushed past her, lifting the velvet wrapped around a thin pillar by the staircase enclosure. He fiddled with the hidden switch and pushed back the tapestry on the back wall, revealing the narrow opening beyond.

She felt her way along the wall and stepped into the passageway. When he made to close the door behind her, since she clearly did not want him to follow, she pushed it back and turned to look at him.

"That nonsense you and your uncle were spewing at the beginning - was it a code or did you actually believe it?"

He smiled despite himself and shook his head.

"It's from The Folly of the Mid-Kings, a book of expired aphorisms masquerading as a war chronicle."

If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that she was smiling back at him.

"Folly indeed," she whispered, and then she was gone.