The Palace belongs to the people. Except the people with no rank. Or on days the emperor closes it. Or if a prince tilts his head just right and flashes a few shiny coins. Other than those tiny, minor exceptions, anyone can enter whenever they like.

- In Critique of the Revolution by Master Manahsai,
servant of Emperor Jurian

The silver marble steps of the palace are awash with nobles. They scatter the space like little sea creatures scatter the beach after the tide. Some even, like sea lions, lounge on the stone. The day is pleasantly warm, allowing them to bask as they wait.

On Counting Day, no one is permitted past the main entry until all the princes and their families arrive; then the dukes and their parties may go in; and then the house lords and their wives. Whoever is left after that, those rulers of nothing, enter last.

Father strides straight up the steps as if they are a hill he must conquer. Mother rides his left arm, and I follow close behind at his right. I am glad for a second time that I brought Keighlia; Serran, who would normally lend me some stateliness with his arm, will offer me nothing anymore. At least with my attendant at my heels, I don't look like a woman adrift.

The sun abandons us as we step into the palace, leaving me with a chill and a thrill. The midnight floor welcomes us, and we glide across it like the stars we are. The palace guards lining the walls salute in respect of Father. The palace attendants, clothed in the customary black, bow.

"Your Grace," a man with a writing board greets as he straightens. His many pieces of jewelry mark his high rank among the palace servants—either a highly esteemed peasant or a noble working off some debt to the emperor. "Princess Anyastiya, Lady Sylnavi." He nods at the boys behind me. "My lords. If you will all follow me, you may be registered right away."

He guides us to a gilded table where a noble scribe sits—Serran's tutor, in fact, for this is the profession he aspires to. The scribe nods at Serran in greeting briefly before opening the Emeriald record book before him.

"I'm normally assigned to Sapphria, Your Grace," the scribe says with a thin smile, "so you'll forgive my double checking."

Father waves his hand, and the scribe flips through the pages. Behind us, another prince enters with his entourage, and they're guided to a separate registration table. Our scribe flattens out his pages and nods to himself. "h'Lann, as I thought." He picks up a stamp and dips it in an orange-brown dye. Father presents his hand without being asked, and the scribe stamps the swirling H onto his skin. Then he brushes a lemon-sugar mixture over the dye, to help it set. This afternoon, when we all leave, the scribes will clean the mixture off, but the dye will remain all week.

It'd best remain, at least, or else we won't be allowed to vote.

"Princess Anyastiya d'Reiv," the scribe reads off before stamping Mother's hand with a D. My hand receives the same stamp.

"Lord Serran d'Reiv," the scribe reads off with his thin smile, "age sixteen two years ago. Congratulations on your first Census. This will be the first and last year you'll get this particular stamp, I imagine." He marks Serran with the same D that mother and I got, since that's what's recorded in the book. Counting Day marks the previous reality, one of the last days before everything changes.

The Twins, only thirteen, both get marked with an X: permitted entry but not a vote. Keighlia, not in any record book, receives the same.

While the scribe marks down four tallies on his official count, a new attendant guides us past the registration table. "The first floor is open to you as you please, your Grace, though His Eminence the Emperor wished me to tell you he quite liked your suggestion. He has reserved the Garden for the princes and their families only." He opens two large doors.

Fountains chirp and gurgle: one large sculpted one in the center and, along the edges of the courtyard, a dozen walls of water. They are like curtains, especially since they stand on either side of lightly frosted windows. Trees and flowers grow lush and thick, the Garden's glass dome helping them stay in bloom even when transplanted and out of season. Orange blossoms and gardenias waft through the air, and I inhale deeply.

Multiple paths wind through it all, leading to half-hidden benches and foliage-ensconced Crests-and-Banners tables. It's a delightfully constructed maze, balancing semi-private spaces with larger open ground.

Just ahead, the Princess of the Sapphrian Crest, her dress as watery blue as her personality, sighs and picks an apple. Her husband, beyond her, engages the Prince of the Rubian Crest with a surprising amount of bravado for a man who is likely to lose everything in less than a week. Other voices prick the air, their speakers hidden by the trees.

"Tag," one of the Twins says and takes off, the other chasing close behind.

Mother's aura frets like two birds squabbling, and Father beckons to Serran. "Make sure they don't get into trouble," he murmurs. "Send them home if you must."

Serran bows and slips through the trees, probably just as glad to help Father as he is to get away from me.

We make our greetings to the other princes and their families as we pass, slowly progressing toward the center fountain and more open ground. Just as Mother and I lean against the fountain's tall wall, Veidan's aura hits my Ear. I stiffen, and Mother glances over at me sharply. I relax against the wall and pull my fan out. He must be on the other side of the fountain—but how? He's only a duke.

His aura grows closer step by step, and I beat the heat of the Garden from my cheeks with lazy flaps of my fan. He rounds the fountain at the side of Princess Rasiya of Topazia—the woman I tried to steal the dressmaker from, the wife of Veidan's local prince. They share an easy laugh. And you called him a hatchling, Father. Why would Rasiya give him the time of day?

Mother's summer aura goes silent as stone as she follows my gaze. It's as if she were a bird, hiding in the bushes, holding its breath, begging for the snake to pass her by. However, though my plans didn't factor in talking to him today—or in front of my parents—I don't want him to pass us by. I want answers.

So I Sing at him. An intricate, luxurious melody, like a harp beyond a wavering curtain, a woman's fingers caressing the strings as the sun sets. Mother will Hear it too, better than anyone else, but hopefully she'll think it's to calm her. Hopefully she won't think it's to prick the man's sixth sense. Hopefully she won't know it's to make him want something, for him to perk up and search for it, for his roving eyes to land on me while my lips curve into a sly smile.

His steps draw short. "Lady Sylnavi. What a fortuitous meeting." His eyes linger on my face for a fraction of a second too long before he bows to my father, and a thrill of success runs through me. "Your Grace. A pleasure to finally meet you."

Father stares at him, brows raised mildly. "Who are you?"

The disinterested dismissal would cause most men to stammer, especially in this place where he is most certainly not supposed to be. But Veidan simply offers an amicable smile and bows more formally, sweeping off his hat. "Duke Veidan h'Dairr, your Grace, of the Banner Red." He straightens. "I had the pleasure of meeting your daughter yesterday."

"Yes, I'm sure the pleasure was all yours," he says and turns to the princess. "Rasiya, is this boy somehow part of your party, or should I call the guards to see him out to one of the public spaces?"

"So uptight," Rasiya teases, though her dark eyes sparkle with mischief. The Princess of the Topazian Crest loves nothing more than a bit of drama, and I'm half convinced her husband rose to prominence on the turmoil she creates in her wake. "Veidan is my great-nephew. Now I never got on with his father, rest his soul"—pouting, she puts a dainty hand over her heart—"but Veidan is close family."

Her aura whistles like an arrow seeking its target, and she sneaks a glimpse over my shoulder, at my mother behind me. Whatever she sees there sets a smug smile to her lips. I'm hoping a dig at my mother is all this is. After all, if Veidan truly has the support of the Topazian Crest, my offer becomes slightly less valuable.

All the reason to make it more appealing, I reason, eyeing him over my fan.

"I'm not sure the law would agree," Father demurs, but tips his chin respectfully at Rasiya. "Good day."

Retaking Mother's arm, they set off around the fountain the opposite way. I curtsey to Rasiya, then dip my chin to Veidan. With no further ado, I abandon the pair as well—but still I Sing, just more quietly now, that same hidden-harp song. And I swear I feel Veidan's eyes tingling on my back all the way around the corner.

Father escorts Mother to a bench surrounded by curtains of weeping willows. Disgustingly, her hands shake. Keighlia keeps my train from snagging on the undergrowth as we step inside the semi-private space with them.

Back to me, Father's voice grates level and dark. "Did you arrange this?"

I draw up. "No, Father." I would be flattered that he would think so, except he only seems to believe in me when it's things he doesn't like. "I told you all my conversation with him."

"And you didn't run into Rasiya in the Ladies' Court yesterday?"

"No, Father," I say, pushing every ounce of my patience into my voice. Let him think me the good daughter; let him think me obedient, like he wants. Now is not the time for fits of emotion.

Unlike my frail mother, still shaking. Father sits beside her and takes her hands. No words pass between them, but she offers him a small, timid smile, and his hand squeezes back reassuringly.

This, I think, lips tight, is what he's busy doing on Counting Day. He coddles Mother when he should be courting votes.

"Let me take her to the Ladies' Court," I offer. "This place obviously isn't as sacrosanct as we'd hoped." Father's eyes narrow at me, and I spread my hands. "I swear, I'm just as surprised he's here as you are."

Father frowns, but the weight of his glare lifts. He looks to Mother and raises a gentle, questioning brow. She nods and stands, the entirety of their agreement taking place as wordlessly as usual.

He rises too and places a chaste kiss on her cheek before turning to me. His eyes are dark, voice uncompromising. "You two take care of each other."

"Of course, Father." I curtsey to him and link arms with Mother. "We always take care."

Keighlia follows along behind as Mother and I wind through the Garden trails. Listening for auras, I lead us out without crossing paths with another soul, and Mother's shoulders start to ease. Which is exactly what I want, for Mother pays far too much attention when she frets.

We glide into the cushioned seats and cozy chocolate pots of the Ladies' Court, and she relaxes further. Women aren't harmless by any means, but she's always more comfortable here than in mixed company. Duchesses have begun filtering in, but the room is far from full. I settle Mother onto a loveseat and gesture for Keighlia to pour us both a cup. The drink warms her aura as much as it does our fingers, and I hide my smile behind my hot chocolate.

Sending Mother and myself to the Ladies' Court is a win-win for my Father: it keeps both me and her away from the Banner Red. Little does he know I never planned on saying a single word to Veidan today.

I'm much more effective here with people I can manipulate.

Arranging what I want is exquisitely simple. I don't even have to move from my cushioned seat. The women I want to talk to, by and large, find pretexts to come see me on their own initiative. I have, after all, been prepping my playing field for years. Perhaps not for this exact purpose, but a good strategist is flexible.

Women I'd planned on persuading to join our House by appealing to Mother, or me, or someone further down our tree, I now suggest a different purpose to. Not in clear terms; no one ever does anything you directly ask them to. But we gossip: don't they just hate their current affiliations; isn't Lady Ariasi such a strange, interesting bird; do they know anyone looking into buying a house in Imperium lately? Oh, Duke Veidan is? My, isn't his immediate family small? I wonder who he's looking to fill the rooms with.

And women look at each other and wonder the same, wonder if their stations might be improved by joining his and his sister's side. We talk of their dreams, and I Sing songs of staleness, of discontentment, of that itch for change.

Meanwhile, I keep Mother occupied with some of her friends from Emeriald, who have been forced to travel down for the Census. Like Mother, they are not city-women in the least, so when they inevitably suggest moving the conversation to the Garden, I Sing of the heat and someone else suggests the view from the balcony instead. Mother shoots me a grateful glance.

"I'll be just down here," I promise. Within eyesight, if she cares to turn and look, and within Singing-range if she needs to call for help. I Sing a bit of encouragement at her, not that it convinces her any more than a reassuring pat on the hand would. But this is common practice between the two of us when I escort her, and these are people we've had over to our house before, people she's comfortable with. She frowns mildly, as if trying to calculate how much Father would be upset about us splitting up.

But I turn to one of the other women around me, chatting lightly as if the decision is already made, and Mother's friends whisk her away.

What women I won't come to me directly, I manipulate one of my other pawns into fetching. Never, never directly asking of course; that would be too needy. But a 'wouldn't So-And-So know more about that?' usually prompts them to go, 'Oh, there she is now!' And when that doesn't work, talking about someone long enough usually prompts that someone to start eavesdropping and then infiltrate the conversation when they don't like what they hear.

Before lunch, I've woven a tapestry of over a hundred, interconnected threads. Invisible to the common eye, but to a good artist, unmistakable.

I see Ariasi across the sea of updos and cups of hot chocolate, but regard her with the same disinterest she regards me. It's good enough for me to know she's here, collecting information. If she's half the spy I am, Veidan will have plenty of interesting tidbits to make his decision with.

As black-clad women stream into the room taking orders for lunch and bringing in trays, I nod at Keighlia. She curtsies and slips out among the other attendants. In her pocket rides my letter: unsigned, on standard stationary, written in a practiced, alternate hand I use for all my anonymous notes. She'll deliver it to the palace mailbox, which castle attendants will be delivering from all day. And even if it falls into nimble hands and prying eyes between now and then, only Veidan will know who it's from.

Duke Veidan,

You asked yesterday what I wanted. Do you like Crests and Banners? I should like a game with someone who knows how to play.

The duels of the Liberty Parade bore me, though I'm sure you'll want to see them. Let's meet instead during the processional. Who is in charge now is much less important than who will be. I'm sure you agree.

Only a fool closes a book, because the future is fourth-coming on the pages of history.

Regards,

And if he can't decode that message, I don't want to play Crests and Banners with him anyway—the board game or the true one. "Only a fool closes a book" was from the Dahliana d'Brae piece we discussed yesterday, the fourth chapter of which is entitled 'A Garden of Thoughts.'

If he doesn't meet me in the palace Garden tomorrow, either he isn't worthy or he doesn't think I am. I doubt either are true.