The soldier turned its head toward her. The movement was immediate and exact. One moment it regarded the opposite wall. The next all of its visible eyes rested upon Kimia.

She wondered what it saw.

Not a duchess, surely. Not lineage or authority. Perhaps heat distributed beneath fur. A slight tremor in the hands. Dilated vessels. The chemical remainder of last night escaping through the skin.

Tarkhe looked at her over his spectacles.

“You look...” He allowed the word to remain unfinished long enough that its intended conclusion became doubtful. “Better, Kimia. Did you sleep well?”

“No,” she said. “But I’ll be fine.”

It was half a lie. She believed the other half with sufficient belief to keep herself afloat upon it.

Tarkhe did not answer at once. He knew not to press until the time was right.

Kimia stepped into the corridor and pulled the chamber door shut behind her. The latch caught.

Tarkhe continued looking at her.

“What?”

“You have not asked what is scheduled.” 

“I know what is scheduled.”
 
“Do you?”
 
“A revenue consultation at nine. Zhe baxxid delegation at.. eleven. Council after zhe midday recess.” 

“And before those?” 

She looked upwards and stared at him, quietly fuming but rapidly rearranging her thoughts for the sake of not being overly dramatic.

He tipped his head toward the far end of the corridor. 

“Breakfast.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You were not hungry yesterday.” 

“I ate yesterday.”

“You moved food around a plate yesterday.”

“I was under zhe impression zhat counted.”

“It does for the plate.”

Kimia began walking. 

The indrel fell in behind her without audible footfall. This seemed impossible given its mass, but the soldier had mastered the corridors of the residence as thoroughly as any domestic animal. Its garment passed close to the walls without brushing them. Tarkhe walked beside Kimia with the hurried dignity of a man whose legs had been designed for a smaller world. 

The residence had begun to wake around them. Servants moved through the intersecting halls with folded linens, breakfast trays, correspondence cases. Each person who saw Kimia straightened. Some bowed. Others merely lowered their eyes according to rank and familiarity. She acknowledged them with minute movements of the head. 

The duchess had risen. The duchess was dressed. The duchess was walking to breakfast. Thus, the world received proof that everything was in order. 

At the first stair, Tarkhe touched her sleeve. She stopped so abruptly that the indrel behind them became still in the same instant. 

“What is it?”

“The stair,” he said.

“I can see it.”

“I know.”

She looked down. The first step waited where it had always waited, pale stone worn slightly hollow in the center by generations of feet. For one brief moment its edge appeared farther away than it was. Not moving. Not changing. Merely uncertain in the manner of an object seen in a dream and recognized only after waking.

Kimia placed one foot upon it. Nothing happened. She descended. Tarkhe followed.

“You are watching me walk now?” she asked.

“I have watched you walk for years.”

“Professionally?”

“Mostly with concern.”

“Zhat sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

They reached the lower landing. A tall window filtered the diluted blue of morning. Beyond the glass, roofs and towers lay beneath the Heavenly Veil, still present, their surfaces silvered by its distant brilliance. The city seemed clean at this hour. Distance had removed refuse, motion, noise, and all other proof of habitation. 

Kimia paused before the window. 

Her reflection hovered faintly over the city. Small, red-furred, dressed. Her eyes appeared almost black in the glass. The figure stood firmly. For a second she thought it smiled. 

She did not.

Kimia turned away before the question could become interesting. Tarkhe had seen her stop.

“Something wrong?” 

“No.”

The physician glanced at the window but found only himself there, thin, pale, and waiting. The indrel remained motionless. One of the mask valves clicked. Kimia resumed walking.

“You have taken nothing this morning?” Tarkhe asked.

“No.”

“Last night?”

She did not answer.

“Kimia.”

“I slept poorly.”

“That was not my question.”

“It is zhe answer you are receiving.”