Kimia put it on again. Buttoned it. Adjusted collar. Cuffs. Hair again. Tail again.
There.
The actress returned.
Not fully.
Enough.
She checked her pocket watch.
Seven twenty-two.
Outside the windows, the sun remained above the horizon.
Summer evening.
The light entering the room had become dark orange, almost copper. Furniture cast long shadows. The edges of objects appeared sharpened while their interiors disappeared.
Kimia unlocked the door.
Opened it.
No Tarkhe. No indrel.
She stood there.
A small blessing. Unexpected.
She entered the corridor. The palace seemed quieter than before.
Dinner had drawn people elsewhere.
Kimia walked without destination for a few moments before hunger identified one.
Kitchen.
The palace kitchen at this hour remained active but no longer frantic. Most formal dinners had already been sent out. Servants cleaned work surfaces. Pots soaked. One cook was carving something while another counted remaining portions.
Kimia entered through the side door.
Several people looked up.
“Your Grace.”
Kimia raised one hand.
“Don't.”
They understood.
Mostly.
She found water first. A large glass.
Drank.
Another.
Slower.
Her body accepted both greedily.
Then fruit. Pendelfruit slices, something tart she could not identify, and a handful of chilled berries.
She ate standing beside the preparation table.
One of the cooks watched discreetly.
Kimia noticed.
“I’m hungry.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Zhat is all.”
“Yes.”
She found shellfish packed in a shallow tray of ice.
Better.
Kimia took several.
Salt. Meat. Mineral taste.
Her body approved with primitive enthusiasm.
More water.
The dizziness receded.
The whiteblood remained as a warmth behind everything.
Not pushing. Not asking. Simply present.
Kimia left the kitchen carrying a glass.
She found a window overlooking the western gardens.
There was a broad stone ledge beneath it and a cushioned seat someone had placed there generations ago.
Kimia sat.
Outside, the grounds glowed orange.
Trees became black shapes against the low sun.
The roofs beyond them were copper.
Farther still lay the city.
Chimneys. Towers. Televox masts. The distant geometry of streets. Osmeryzhsa. Peshtul. The Heart.
Her thoughts wandered.
Slowly. Harmlessly.
At least for now.
Kalgkur. Corsairs. The strange computer lapse. Tilmuhl. Vehm. Whiteblood.
The sequence contained no hierarchy.
Everything floated.
Kimia drank water. The sun lowered. The room darkened.
For several minutes she forgot that anyone else existed.
Then: click.
Kimia's ears moved.
The sound came from behind her.
Another soft mechanical click.
Pheromone regulator.
She turned. The indrel stood in the doorway.
It had found her.
No herald. No servant. No Tarkhe. Just the soldier.
Its enormous robed body filled part of the entrance. Small mechanisms along the collar adjusted themselves with quiet precision.
Kimia looked at it. The indrel looked back, or she assumed it did.
“Hello.”
No answer.
Of course.
Kimia returned her gaze to the window.
The bodyguard entered and stopped behind and to her right.
Usual position.
Duty resumed.