The guards along the quay were strangely shaky. They seemed withered in their cloaks. Eslaehn Who Counts by Twos was there, but he seemed to barely notice us as we turned to walk along the path. Other guards stood atop the wall to our left. They were stoic, silent, less like living people than statues. And the White Cat who greeted us didn’t say a thing. He simply loped along beside us, as a real cat would, inscrutable in his desires and mildly hostile.

  I carried the women’s packs, as Vaenahma needed their hands to be free. But I felt very defenseless as I clutched those sodden packs to my chest. We left the quay and went through the customs gate. The Quay Road ran at an incline up Arahabast Hill. The houses of the wealthy loomed up around us in the rain. Twenty minutes of walking, the road steep and winding, the White Cat a smear of presence at our heels. We reached the palace gate and went through it without anyone opposing us. There were guards there, but they looked down at the water puddling on the cobblestones, unseeing. One of them had turned his face to the tunnel wall.

  We emerged into the palace compound and Vaenahma glanced a question back at me. I shrugged. “Slaedrin’s chambers, I suppose. We need to report.”

  I said it softly, but they heard me. We were walking close together. We passed a guard who was actively weeping. I’m sure of it. It wasn’t just the rain. Then we passed a guard with a trembling lip. The White Cat dropped back and followed us with his head lifted, the rain dripping off of his long mustaches.

  He wasn’t allowed inside Slaedrin’s chambers. There were two guards standing at the door. I addressed one of them and she stared at me with far-away eyes, then seemed to shake herself back into awareness. But she didn’t make us wait and she didn’t ask Slaedrin if he would receive us. She simply let us pass, as if it didn’t matter.

  His chambers were as delicate and dainty as ever. I could tell that neither Iyedraeka nor Martiveht had ever been inside of them, as they looked around with surprise at the thin-legged tables and fragile porcelain and the painted window glass. Rain drubbed against it. At first, it seemed as if the chambers were empty. Then I saw that Slaedrin was standing in a corner. Just standing there, looking down at his hands.

  “Captain?” I asked, and he lifted his head.

  “Haendil,” he whispered, after a long pause.

  “Captain, what has happened?”

  His look of annoyance was oddly reassuring. “A revolt, Haendil. You were there for part of it.”

  “I mean, what has happened to the King’s Guard? You all seem…strangely affected.”

  Slaedrin sighed. He slipped a dainty handkerchief from his sleeve pocket and dabbed at his face. “It was the shrine, Haendil. We were in it for…” It was dark and shadowy in the room, yet the look of confusion in his eyes was undisguised.

  “It’s been five days since the revolt,” I said. “But you didn’t spend all of that time in the shrine.”

  “Five days,” he whispered. “It seemed like longer. Much longer.” A spasm of annoyance almost brought back his old self. “Where were you?”

  “He was with us, Captain,” Iyedraeka said, and Slaedrin noticed her, and straightened.

  “Princess,” he said. Then he took a step forward to stand by his desk, as if he were resuming the mantle of officialdom. But once there, he didn’t know what to do. He picked up his little brush and put it down again.

  “Captain, tell us of the king,” Martiveht said. “Is he affected in the same way?”

  Slaedrin lifted his face, and there were tears in his eyes. “He hasn’t spoken. Not since that first day in the shrine.” He said it wistfully, as if the first day were a distant memory.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  “And Prince Chahsaeda?” Iyedraeka asked.

  A look of confusion. “He wasn’t there.”

  “Where is he now?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head. “It’s been hard,” he said. “I can’t keep the guards at their posts for more than four hours. They collapse, you see. They sit down and refuse to stand back up. I have to rotate them quickly. And the barracks are silent. Full of soldiers, but silent. They lie on their cots and turn their bodies to face the walls.” He seemed to notice Martiveht’s white robes. “You’re Sasturi?” he asked.

  “Yes, Captain,” she said patiently. Surely they knew each other. Slaedrin had to know everyone in the court, to keep track of their little jealousies and plots. But he stared at her as if he’d never seen her before.

  “How do you…how do you live?” he asked.

  Iyedraeka was exasperated. She turned to Martiveht. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Her mosaic-like face had rearranged itself into a grim expression. “I don’t know. It isn’t usual for a shrine to affect people in this way. I’ve been in a shrine for five days, as part of my initiation. Unless…” She frowned and her expression turned inward. “Some of these early shrines were lace holes. Time can act differently in a lace hole.”

  I studied Slaedrin carefully. He looked thinner. Not emaciated, but thinner. “Do you mean that they could have been in Rahasabahst Shrine for longer than five days?”

  “Yes. It’s possible. They wouldn’t know how much time was passing in the darkness,” Martiveht said.

  “Captain, can you bring yourself back?” I asked.

  He turned peevish. “I’m trying, Haendil. What do you think I’m doing, standing here in the darkness? I’m trying.”

  “Who’s guarding the king?”

  His mouth quivered. “The White Cats.”

  I stared at him. “Where is Duke Khuldara?”

  “He’s here. He doesn’t like it. They’re going to start killing each other.”

  I was appalled. “A second insurrection?”

  He lifted his face and it quaked with rage. “You did this, Haendil. You sent the White Cats to the Shrine.”

  “Not me,” I protested. “Yaendrid.”

  He held my gaze, his jaw quivering, as if he wanted to start biting the air. Then he nodded and sighed and looked down. “So he said.”

  “Who said?” Iyedraeka asked.

  “Prince Chahsaeda.”

  “Where is he, Captain?”

  “They have him. The White Cats. He’s in the throne room with his father, and that Oesair. Or he was.” A look of confusion. “When was that? Yesterday?”

  I stepped close and spoke very gently. “Who’s guarding him, Captain?”

  He turned peevish again. He had become quite an old man. “You should be, Haendil. You and your troops. If you have any troops left. But no, they mutinied. You’re the captain of no one.”

  “He’s my captain,” Vaenahma said softly.

  Slaedrin looked at them. Then he gave a little laugh. “Yours, and that Andraescav. And the night guard. But they can’t be trusted.”

  I found that my breath had left my body, so it fell to Vaenahma to ask, “Is Andraescav still alive? And Fritkaemar and Boebdan?”

  “Oh, yes, they’re still alive. Andraescav was captured by the rangers, but he escaped. He led a revolt from inside the palace when the Army of the Two Dukes approached. He’s a hero now, and Duke Khuldara has offered him a place in his household. But your other lieutenants, Haendil, are going about with the White Cats.” With that pronouncement, he sat down heavily in his little gilt chair. He placed his head in his hands. “Enough,” he said. “I am sorry, Princess. I…words are hard to say. I must see to the changing of the guard and then…then I must lie down myself.”

  “Where are Duke Khuldara and Duke Ibansarjae?” I asked.

  He raised his head with a visible effort and looked at me. “In their usual chambers. In the east facings.”

  The other side of the palace, then. Which meant we would either have to skirt the east pinnacle to get to them, or go right through the throne room. Right through the mob of White Cats.