“I am aware.”

“You have said that before.”

“I was aware zhen as well.”

“That has not helped you.”

“Knowledge rarely does.”

“It can, when obeyed.”

She put the fruit into her mouth. Its sweetness was intense and remote, a report delivered from some distant part of her body.

“I have obligations today,” she said after swallowing.

“You have obligations tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is not presently asking anyzhing of me.”

“It will.”

“That is its vice.”

Tarkhe replaced his spectacles.

“I can cancel the council.”

“No.”

“The delegation.”

“No. Don't do anyzhing for me on my behalf.”

“The revenue consultation.”

“Especially no. I have to be accountable.”

“You cannot govern while doing this.”

Kimia looked at him.

“I have been governing while doing zhis.”

The answer silenced him, not because it was persuasive but because it was true.

Behind Tarkhe, the indrel bodyguard shifted its weight. The floorboards gave a low complaint beneath the garment. Kimia wondered again what the soldier saw when it looked at her. Perhaps it saw the false calm moving over her skin like oil upon water. Perhaps it smelled every lie before she spoke.

She wondered whether it possessed a concept of despair.

She wondered whether it would be better not to.

Tarkhe closed his medical case more firmly beneath his arm, though it had never been open.

“You look better,” he said.

“You already told me.”

“I was attempting kindness.”

“You should avoid unfamiliar procedures.”

He bowed his head with weary formality. Kimia selected another piece of fruit.

Outside, somewhere in the residence, a clock began to strike the hour. With each measured note the day assembled itself around her. Revenue. Delegation. Council. Signatures. Decisions. The duchess would move through all of it and leave the proper expressions behind.

Kimia chewed and swallowed.

The performance had begun.