Since leaving the cages, Niquel had received the smallest of reprieves: the short, sheer garment they’d given her to wear—a toga, if her memory served her—allowed her body at least partial relief from the unending lowland heat.

   None of the other palace servants Niquel had seen wore anything as transparent as this, and she wondered if it denoted something different about her and Bellora that they were dressed this way. Perhaps something to do with the pardon?

   Half a weak smile formed on her lips as she smoothed the filmy linen over her thighs. If they’d thought to humble her by leaving her body exposed this way, it only served to show how little these lowlanders knew about the Taunai. The people on the mountain covered their bodies, to be sure, but only out of necessity against the year-round cold. No one in Jeqnamset was any more ashamed to walk in their skin than the nearest fox or roundhorn sheep. Bellora had appeared far less comfortable, tugging at the material, keeping her arms crossed in front of her breasts. Wherever the woman was now, Niquel hoped she fared well.

   There was a clanking sound and her drifting attention snapped to the doors. The latch turned and she heard men talking on the other side. Her heart sped up.

   The Pattern. Calm.

   She took a deep breath and let it out. Again. In and out. Again.

   The door opened and a foot stepped through, followed by half of the emperor.

   Calm.

   “Just don’t let anyone in here unless the palace is on fire, will you?” he said to someone in the hall.

   “Your Grace,” came the affirmative.

   The man who was also a horse and also a lizard came all the way into the room. He shut the door behind him, looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes, and exhaled. Then he turned to Niquel.