Meralda heard footfalls in the hall, perhaps upon the stair. She turned for the water closet, then stopped and turned again. “I must have missed the last few reports from the park,” she said.

“Kervis took them while I slept, ma’am,” replied Tervis. “Same as the others last night. No lights, no sounds, nothing. He said he didn’t want to wake you to tell you that.”

No lights. Meralda frowned, recalling her fear that her latch might have affected an ancient structural spell and wondering whether the sudden cessation of luminous activity was perhaps proof of this.

“Is that a bad thing, ma’am?” asked Tervis.

Meralda shook her head and forced a smile. “Not at all,” she said. “Thank you.” Boots sounded again, nearer this time, and Meralda raced for the water closet door. “Tell them to wait,” she said, and she shut the door firmly behind her.

Chapter Ten

“Well, there she is,” said Shingvere, rising to his feet and wiping biscuit crumbs from his loose brown shirt front. “Fresh as a daisy, and twice as fair.”

Beside him, seated in one of the folding-chairs from which the Bellringers had kept watch, was Fromarch. He chewed, swallowed and wiped his lips. “Leave her alone,” he said, gruffly. “I’ve slept in that chair, too, and it doesn’t leave one well disposed toward chirpy early morning Eryan nonsense.”

The laboratory, windowless and lit only by her spark lamps, still seemed dark, as though night hung just beyond the walls. Indeed, Meralda realized the palace was oddly quiet, still gripped in a midnight hush despite the sunrise.

Coffee, thought Meralda. I smell coffee, and if those aging gluttons have left me the dregs I’ll turn them both into toads. She picked up her stride, boots making loud stamps on the cold stone floor.

She emerged from the ranks of shelves, and saw that Tervis was gone, as was Mug, and that the captain was nowhere in sight.

“Your guardsman took the houseplant outside for some sun,” said Fromarch. “And the captain received a message on the stair, and said he’d join us in a moment.”

“Aye, he has stomping to do, people to shout at,” said Shingvere. “Can’t have enough bellowing, you know.”

Meralda stepped around the glittering, moving levers of Phillitrep’s Engine, and smelled the plate of hot pancakes and sausages steaming on her desk. Beside it sat a silver pot of coffee, twin to the one resting on the floor by Shingvere’s right foot. And, Meralda noted with mild chagrin, a single red rose in a fluted crystal vase.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, pulling back her chair, but not sitting, suddenly thankful for the absence of windows and bright morning sun. She’d done what she could with water, soap, and a tattered washing cloth, but she still felt as if she’d slept in a ditch.

The mages nodded. Shingvere sat, smiled, stabbed a sausage with his fork, and waved it toward Meralda. “Eat, before it gets cold,” he said. “We’ll talk after.”

Meralda sat. Her stomach grumbled, and she realized she’d missed supper, in all the excitement over the Tears.

She frowned and bit her lower lip. Missed supper, I did. Supper at the Hang’s table. Supper with Donchen.

“Lass, I thought you liked pancakes,” said Shingvere, his tone injured.

“Oh, I do,” said Meralda, quickly. “I just remembered something I forgot to do yesterday.”

“Anyone who got old Goboy’s glass to do as it was asked deserves a few omissions of memory,” said Fromarch. He stared hard at the mirror, which displayed the same dark room as before, and then shook his head and looked back at Meralda. “I gave up on that thing my first year.”

Meralda ate. A fine ambassador I am, she thought. First I stare at the Hang, then I give insult by not coming to dinner or sending word. She thought of Donchen seated by an empty chair, and her frown deepened. Blast it all, she groaned inwardly. And I can hardly explain my absence with the truth, either.

“You could have called us, you know,” said Fromarch. “We can watch the glass as well as anyone, and we’re not likely to burn down the palace trifling with the trinkets.”

Meralda swallowed a forkful of pancakes and reached for the syrup flask beside the coffee. “It was quite late,” she said. “But now that you’ve volunteered, I thank you.” She lifted her coffee cup, found that it still contained half a cup of yesterday’s brew, and, after an instant of hesitation, she poured it in the half-filled waste basket by her desk.

Shingvere guffawed. “You used to scold me for doing that,” he said.

“You hadn’t been up all night watching scrying glasses,” said Meralda, as she poured a fresh cup and savored the aroma. “Now then,” she said, after her first sip. “Aside from the free breakfast, what brings you gentlemen here this morning?”

The mages exchanged a brief glance Shingvere poked Fromarch in the ribs with his elbow, and Fromarch glared and hissed. “You tell her, you confounded hedge mage, even though she’s already figured it out.”

“Tell me what?” said Meralda, warily.

“We think we might know where the Tears are,” said Shingvere, nodding at Goboy’s Glass. “’Tis clear you do as well.”

Meralda lifted an eyebrow, and carefully kept her face blank. “They’re in the safe room, of course,” she said. “Right where they’ve been since this small calamity began.”

Fromarch smiled, if only for a moment.

“Well done, Thaumaturge,” he said. “Well done.”

Shingvere slapped his knee. “Rake me with a cat’s claws,” he said. “I knew we wouldn’t surprise you, lass.”

Meralda sipped her coffee, and kept her expression serene.

“We think someone wants to break up the Accords,” said Fromarch. “We don’t think it’s the Hang.”

“Neither do I,” said Meralda. “Though Mug has raised some good points against such a surmise.”

“It’s the Vonats, of course,” said Shingvere. “They’ve got people here, in the palace, and they’ve intentionally delayed their arrival to remove their entourage from suspicion,” he added. “Deplorable condition of the roads in Fonth. What nonsense.”

Meralda took another bite of a sausage. “The Hang,” she said, after a moment. “Why don’t you suspect them?”

“We’ve been keeping company with their wizard nearly the whole time,” said Fromarch.

“He means we’ve been drinking,” added Shingvere, with a wink.

“He’s a talkative fellow, once you get to know him,” said Fromarch. Then he snorted and lifted his hands. “Harmless, really. Not that he can’t do a bit of magic. He can, and don’t be fooled. But stealing jewelry and interrupting trade talks? Ridiculous.”

“Mug reminded me that good manners don’t necessarily reflect good intentions,” said Meralda. “What do we really know about these people?”

The mages, as one, took a deep breath and exchanged a sidelong glance. “Well,” said Fromarch, “this is just speculation, mind you. But we think that the Hang may have opened diplomatic channels with Tirlin ten or more years ago.”

Meralda swallowed, kept her face blank, and carefully put down her fork.

“We think Yvin may have even invited them to the Accords,” said Shingvere. “We think the Hang may be here to join the Five Realms as a trading partner,” he said. “That’s what we think.” He smiled, set his empty plate down on the floor, and lifted his coffee cup to rest on the arm of his chair. “We think the Great Sea is about to be crossed, Meralda. After all these years of wondering, or trying and failing and trying again, we’re about to see the whole wide world, Great Sea and Hang and who knows what else. Marvelous, isn’t it?”

Meralda was silent, sorting out Shingvere’s words. It does make sense, she thought. The king’s nonchalance concerning the Hang’s arrival. His instructions to consider the Hang above suspicion. The Hang’s flawless command of New Kingdom. She suspected Yvin knew things he wasn’t sharing with the full court, but nothing like this.