Chapter Eight

  Of Celebration and Mourning

  “Following the annual gladiatorial contest, the Emperor’s Ball remains the crown’s most anticipated tradition. Each year, royalty from across the Empire gather to celebrate the passing of the old and to usher in the new. Curiously, the event is almost always followed by an economic surge—an inevitable consequence of so many powerful and wealthy nobles gathered in one place to toast, posture, and negotiate.”

  — David Jult, “The Watcher,” excerpt from Modern Observations of Empire, 566 I.C.

  Part One: Of Threats Within

  “If the enemy of my enemy is my friend, what does that make the enemy of my enemies’ mother?”

  “That would be your mother-in-law, if you were already promised, Your Grace. But I would not say that where anyone else can hear us, Lordship.”

  — Tongue-in-cheek exchange between Prince Talose Ozewrath and his ever-exasperated tutor, Dane Filguard II.

  Rushing servants buzzed through the narrow corridors of the Obsidian Palace like bees in a hive. The Emperor’s Ball was upon them, and the final preparations were reaching a fever pitch. Everything had to be perfect.

  In the kitchens, cooks practically flew from oven to counter and back again. Towering trays of exotic vegetables—vibrant reds, greens, and yellows—lay stacked on platters the size of wagon wheels. The scent of buttered roots and roasted herbs mingled with spiced meats, creating an intoxicating fog. Serving wenches polished silverware until it gleamed like fresh-minted coins.

  In the next chamber over, a final keg of rich, dark ale was heaved into place by a team of weary porters, their red faces and stout bellies betraying a long, foamy day of work—and perhaps frequent sampling.

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  But the kitchens were not the only part of the palace astir.

  In the grand ballroom, servants flitted between tables, setting each with pristine white cloth, shining plates, and chilled pitchers of wine. Platters of roast mutton, beef, and pork were hauled toward the center dais, where expert carvers dragged their blades across leather straps in long, confident pulls until the edges gleamed.

  Amid all the dizzying motion and noise, no one noticed the pair of wide, shining eyes peering from the shadowed corner of a lesser-used corridor, nor did they hear the low, mournful growl of a cavernous stomach. That section of the palace, long ago sealed off to prevent accidents around a deep well, was now an overlooked dead-end—an alcove forgotten by most, save for the occasional secret tryst or smoke break. But today, with the entire palace whirring like clockwork, the cove had become the perfect den for two conspirators.

  Hours passed. They waited, biding their time.

  And then—chaos.

  With a thunderous crash, a serving platter the size of a shield hit the black stone floor. A dozen voices shrieked as the quarter beef it carried slid gracelessly down the corridor. Seltzer was the first to pounce, leaping into the fray with all the subtlety of a cannon blast. The servants shrieked again, scattering at the sight of the massive tiger and abandoning the prized meat without a second thought.

  Moments later, a hulking shadow erupted from the alcove with a series of grunting roars. Draefus, the mighty cave bear, thundered forth with faux fury, swiping the air and snorting like a bull.

  The corridor cleared in an instant, leaving only the two conspirators and their spoils. But as the echo of fleeing footsteps faded, so too did their fragile truce.

  The meat lay between them.

  They eyed each other suspiciously, circling the fallen roast like rival generals. Seltzer crept in first, his shoulders low, eyes locked on the feast. He sank his teeth into a juicy flank—

  WHAM! A massive paw sent him skidding sideways with a startled yowl.

  Draefus reared up with a triumphant bawl, towering high, fur bristling. But Seltzer was not so easily cowed. With a hiss of wounded pride, he coiled and sprang, slamming into the bear’s bulk. The two crashed together in a chaotic knot of fur, claws, teeth, and meat.

  They rolled, they snarled, they slipped in a smear of dripping juices. Draefus bellowed as Seltzer raked his flank, and Seltzer gave a surprised yelp as the bear’s weight pinned him briefly against the wall. The platter spun out from beneath them, bouncing off the stone with a metallic clang.

  The cove erupted in a cacophony of roars and growls, punctuated by the occasional wet squelch of food underfoot. No servant dared investigate until a breathless group of guards finally arrived, blades drawn and faces pale.

  They found only a dented silver platter on the floor—polished to perfection.

  Licked clean.