No black void. No second Kimia. No corpse. No stranger.
Just her.
Distorted because water distorted things.
This seemed like a revelation too obvious to deserve one.
Kimia touched the edge of the sink.
Warm metal.
The reflection moved.
She smiled faintly.
It smiled too.
“Good.”
One of the kitchen workers looked over. Kimia walked away before she needed to explain herself.
The foyer waited in evening shadow.
Most of the upper lamps had been lit, but the high windows still held the final blue-orange remnants of daylight. The palace guards at the doors stood in formal uniform.
Kimia descended the last few steps.
Her group was already assembled.
The indrel first. Immovable.
Beside it stood Vehm. He looked better.
Not sober. Better.
Someone had apparently convinced him to straighten his waistcoat and refasten the buttons. His hat now sat properly. His fur had been combed around the cheeks. Whatever he had consumed earlier remained evident in the faint redness around his eyes and the residual smell of fruit spirit, but the outward form had recovered.
Vehm saw Kimia.
His ears rose.
“Ah.”
The two personal guards stood several paces behind.
One human. One yinglet. Both looked like civilians, but that was the point.
The human wore a dark workman's coat, ordinary trousers, and brown dress shoes. Nothing obvious marked him as palace security. He was broad without being conspicuous and had the hands of someone who had broken fingers before, possibly his own and certainly others'.
The yinglet beside him was smaller than Kimia and dressed in a plain jacket and scarf. One ear carried an old notch. His fur had been cut short around the forearms.
Neither displayed a weapon.
Kimia knew better.
Armor beneath clothing: synthbone armor, worn in a vest, that emulated the structure and protective properties of a baxxid's exoskeleton, but far more stronger. It could redistribute the impact of a rifle round over a wide area several times before being rendered useless.
Sidearms somewhere accessible.
Blades.
Her personal guard specialized in appearing like people who could be safely ignored until that became a fatal misunderstanding.
Bodies told stories. Theirs contained entire libraries.
Vehm looked from Kimia to the guards, then to the indrel.
“Are we invading somezhing?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
“Vehm.”
“Yes, Miss Kimia?”
“Don't call me zhat in front of zhe guards.”
Vehm looked toward them.
“Do zhey not know your name?”
Kimia stared.
Vehm smiled.
He had recovered enough to be irritating.
Good.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Ghi'cha's.”
Vehm's expression transformed.
“Oh.”
His ears rose higher.
“I like zhat idea.”
“I zhought you might.”
“Zhen why are we standing here?”
Kimia glanced toward the door.
“Let's go.”
The palace guards opened it.
Evening entered.
Cooler air. Street noise. The smell of the city.
A motorized carriage had been brought around without Kimia ordering one. Someone in the household had anticipated that five people, including an indrel, were unlikely to walk unnoticed through the capital.
Vehm looked at it. It looked like an unassuming, mass-made civilian vehicle, but obviously different if one knew what to look for.
“Very clandestine.”
“We are not being clandestine.”
“Excellent.”
They boarded.
The indrel required the larger rear compartment. The two guards divided themselves naturally between positions offering the best view of street and entrance. Kimia sat opposite Vehm.
The motorized carriage moved.
For several minutes neither spoke.
The city passed outside.
The Heart at night was becoming itself.
Shops closing. Other shops opening. Street stalls moving from bread and produce toward fried food and alcohol. Workers going home. Clerks going somewhere they would later deny. Televox light behind apartment windows. Electric signs beginning to flicker into color.
Vehm looked at Kimia.
“You look better.”
“I am drugged.”
“Ah.”
“Medically.”
“Less exciting.”
“Whiteblood earlier.”
Vehm nodded.
No shock. No disappointment.
This was part of why Kimia trusted him and part of why she should not.