The proud flag of Hanna flapped in the scorching midday sun. Brightly-coloured banners stretched from surfaces of walls made of blue and yellow bricks. Buildings stood ten storeys high, their glass windows glistening after a recent clean, preening with all the colours of runes. Shopkeepers shouted in hopes of selling their wares, much like the markets of Garlinge, but they boasted delicate jewellery of crimsons and ceruleans, and pottery in all shapes and sizes with colours Seiren had never seen before. The air was even thicker and more humid due to the poor ventilation amidst the tall buildings. Seiren gasped, wiping another sheen of sweat from her forehead when she disembarked. The climate would take a lot of getting used to.

The feast would begin at night, but during late afternoon would be the welcoming ceremony when the important members of society would meet King Fautos and pass on their reverence and wishes for the future. Seiren and Madeleine stopped at a guest house and changed from their commoner's garment into one that would pass them off as Solidors. She pulled on another long, flowing dress made of sheepskin, with a layer of vermilion beneath and long sleeves extending over her forearms, and then two layers of scarlet fell as slits to the hem, followed by a sleeveless overdress that cinched at the navel. A soft black hat with delicate flower patterns stitched at the front sat atop her head, a trail of red tassels dangling down one side. Madeleine helped her throughout it all. Back with Ileida, Seiren had struggled for half an hour just to get her arms into the right sleeves without twisting any of the in-between areas and almost lost her temper.

"I could get used to this Hannan clothing," Seiren said, spinning around in her soft shoes and feeling the layers lift off her legs. The material was light despite the layers, moving smoothly over her skin. Paintings of people in brightly-coloured Hannan garb stared at her with pale eyes that contrasted against tanned skin. "They're so soft and loose you don't have to worry about eating too much or sitting unladylike. And they're actually quite light and not that hot, too. I always found Karman clothing too tight—"

"You just sit like a boy, that's why," said Madeleine, adjusting her own ties and re-plaiting her hair, facing the mirror beside the wooden poster bed. "Okay, so remember our story."

"We're distant cousins of Martel Solidor, from Ettrick, here to pass onto King Fautos well wishes from Martel Solidor himself, who has taken ill from the winter winds." Seiren could recite the story in her sleep after being told the first time. She ran a casual hand over the wooden etchings, painted gold, on the foldable walls used to create an air of privacy between the living and the sleeping areas. "I mean, I doubt we'll actually get to face Fautos himself, considering where we apparently stand on the social hierarchy ladder — we're glorified daughters of city officials, so it doesn't really matter if our story varies a little between each pompous git—"

"If they find out we're fakes, they'll execute us."

"It'll be fine. We just have to hang about, see if we can find out anything from the Daemonium about where they're hiding Kristen — we don't even need to talk to them — and find her. That's all." Seiren gave a confident nod as Madeleine stood up. "Let's go hunt down this palace. I'm sure there aren't that many around here."

"Watch your step. We're in enemy territory now," Madeleine murmured, taking her hand. "Let's hope we don't get into trouble before we start looking for it."

They took to the streets and joined the hustle. The atmosphere remained stifling but the lively air made up for it. People jostled into each other; flesh stuck to sticky, sweaty flesh. A wideset man with a heavy basket of goods bumped into Seiren, almost knocking her over with his frame.

"Hey!" she yelled. The man didn't hear her, ambling on in the rapid flow of humans. Seiren opened her mouth to yell at him again when Madeleine yanked at her arm and jerked her head to the side. Seiren hadn't noticed until now, but armoured guards stood, with swords sheathed at the hips, at the sides of the streets, still as the emerald green lamp posts beside them. Sunlight bounced off their rounded helmets and plates of armour on their chests and waists, throwing off sparks of light similar to Seiren's flash magic. They must be cooking inside.

The nearest ones hadn't caught Seiren's shout, but Madeleine glared at her before Seiren realised what she meant. Her accent would easily give her away, bringing them trouble before they even reached the palace. Swallowing the insults she wanted to throw at the bumbling man, she snorted and crossed her arms, following the flow of the crowd. Madeleine followed closely. Banners advertised the wares of the stores they passed: armoury, weapons, medicines, and books. Each doorway had a guard; security must be extra high due to the feast tonight.

They crossed a footbridge with shining metal barriers on either side. An empty road ran beneath, paved with glistening cerulean stone that reflected the sunlight. Guards stood on either side in perfect symmetry. At the end of the road, the royal palace of Falnash stood in blazing glory. Various flags bearing house crests flapped along the front. Shimmering stained glass windows displayed depictions of important-looking figures who stared haughtily down at Seiren. Roaring statues of ancient daemons with beaks, horns, and claws defended the entrance, the carefully-etched feathers and fur almost rustling with life.

Guards halted the flow of people when they reached a square. People bumped into each other, cheering, yelling, and waving flags. Madeleine snaked her arm around Seiren's, peering on tiptoes above the crowd.

"This way!" Madeleine said, tugging Seiren. They slid through the bumping bodies until they reached a barrier, behind which important-looking, well-dressed people floated by, chins stuck out with dignity. Their headwear had many shapes, sizes, colours, lengths, and intricacies. Some were strings of coloured beads dangling all along the hairline at the front and sides; some had their hair moulded into elaborate horns that twisted down to their shoulders, interwoven with coloured velvet; others had high hats with fascinating convolutions of colours and patterns swirling towards the sky. Long sleeves and robes swishing, each attendee made their way to the front of the gilded double gate where a guard checked their status before allowing them through.

Seiren and Madeleine hopped over and fell into line with the other nobles, trying to mimic their dignified, floating postures. When they reached a guard — Seiren could just about make out narrowed, pale eyes squinting at their obviously-not-Hannan features — he grunted, "Name?"

"Eishet and Takara Solidor," said Seiren with confidence, straightening her back.

To her surprise, the man gave a loud snort of laughter, attracting the attention of the other attendees being seen.

"As if the likes of you would be invited!"

"We are distant cousins of House Solidor," said Seiren indignantly, taking a step forward. The humour in the man's eyes died at once. He laid a hand on the handle of his sword. "The great noble house of which—"

"House Solidor is but a joke after their treasonous stance against our Holiness." His voice became cold. "Play your string-pulling elsewhere. You're wasting our time."

"I have proof!" Seiren whipped out the Solidor house crest and thrust it at the guard, triumphant. The crest bore the same shape as Martel Solidor's daemon, the long silver tail wrapping around the body gleaming in the scorching sunlight.

"I warn you one last time, girl." The man's eyes flashed. He unsheathed part of his sword. Madeleine gasped, her grip on Seiren's arm tightening. "Waste another minute of my time, and I'll ask the captain to execute you two to eradicate the Solidor pestilence to teach the traitor families a lesson!"

Seiren took a step back, her blood running cold. Suddenly the hat on her head weighed too heavy, the pretty robe pulled too tightly around her chest. Madeleine pulled her away, her hands shaking.

"What do we do now?" Seiren hissed. Madeleine didn't say anything, pulling her through the crowd. Soon they lost sight of the horrible soldier at the gate. "We need to get in! Piece of rotten, flaky, lumpy-ass piece of—"

"We can rethink this." Madeleine leant against a pillar to the side of one of the smaller streets, wiping sweat from her brow. Her fringe stuck to the side of her forehead. She took off her hat and fanned herself. Seiren threw herself onto the steps beside her, legs akimbo thanks to the loose garment, and rested her elbows on her knees. "It's just a small setback. We have time."

"We can't get in!"

"They're bound to have external help for an event this big." Madeleine took a deep breath, rubbing the top of her nose in thought. "It'll be like with Bolliver's coronation. There was a big feast, massive celebration, lots of guests from everywhere. The royal kitchen workers didn't have enough hands, so they brought in people from Bicknor and Patrixbourne, remember? The kitchen staff from King's were there, too."

"I remember." It wasn't the most pleasant of reunions, being recognised by the people Seiren worked with to fund her living during her time at the academy and then having to strike up polite conversation.

"And there were dance troupes and performers from all parts of the country, and they had helpers and guides, too. So there were loads of new people moving in and out of the palace. This will be exactly the same. We just need to find a big enough group to blend in and nobody would think us out of the ordinary."

"Our accents give everything away," said Seiren sourly, picking at a loose strand at the hem of her robe. "Both of us have a pair of left feet and, unless you want me to demonstrate how to peel an orange with only my teeth, I'm pretty sure we're out of talent as well."

"I can help you out there."

Seiren froze and looked up. Leaning against Madeleine's pillar only a few centimetres away from Madeleine was a Hannan about Rowan's age, arms crossed over his chest. He wore an inconspicuous dark green robe with a yellow hip sash, but he didn't have a pouch at his waist like Martel. He wasn't a summoner.

"Who are you?" Seiren said, her words coming out sharper than she'd intended. He had chiselled features, with high cheekbones and a neatly-trimmed black beard — reminiscent of Zor Jarsdel. His eyes were wide and sincere, lacking Jarsdel's bloodlust.

"My name is Kaim Rouzarrien. At your service." He inclined his head and bent at the waist before straightening. "I heard you're hoping to get into the palace."

"We're meant to be in the palace," said Madeleine tightly. "We're Solidors. We were invited. And yet—"

"Let's not tell too many lies to each other, shall we?" Kaim said with a smile. Madeleine flushed. "The Solidor family has fallen so far from renown nobody would dare speak that name in the capital now. You must be quite behind the times to think you can masquerade as one of them, especially looking as Karman as you do. You're lucky you didn't get taken and executed for treason, but I guess the guards are too busy vetting their honoured guests for tonight."

"You're quite invested in us," said Seiren with a glare. Kaim chuckled.

"Well, I'm hoping we can help each other out."

"We don't know you from chalk. Why the hell should we trust you?"

"I'm sure two Karmans such as yourselves have nobody to trust in this city." Kaim's eyes twinkled. "And neither do I, being very not welcome at the feast, but I, too, have to get in. So what do you say?"

Seiren exchanged a look with Madeleine. Madeleine's hands twisted the folds of her robe, blinking rapidly. Seiren didn't know if she could trust Kaim, but he had a point. And, alone, the two of them had little chance of getting into the palace any other way.

"Talk."

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