Lance stood in front of a cedar door in one of the palace’s upper halls. The door was embellished with a silver knocker in the shape of a raven’s head, a thick ring held in its mouth. All of the nerves he had lost in his talk with Sami and Ariana were back with him, fresh and raw, as he stood there twiddling his thumbs. After several moments of standing there, with servants and the occasional noble passing behind him on their way up the hall, he summoned up the courage to lift it.

  He stood there with the ring in his hand for another several moments, breathing shallowly and casting glances this way and that. The halls of the palace proper were lit with mirrored lamps and chandeliers, all of worked gold, and the walls and floor were white-glazed tile, kept in pristine condition and free of dust. He had toiled away on those walls on too many days, and now the opportunity to escape the humdrum drudgery of making the palace look well was upon him, he wasn’t sure he was ready to let it all go. Porcelain daises sat between cedar doors all down its length, each topped with a vase glazed with cobalt patterns of flowers and vines, and each of those contained a bushel of well-tended snapdragons, the queen’s favorite flowers. Friezes ran the length of the walls at level with Lance’s shoulder, displaying ravens flying over bushes of blackthorn, and smaller creatures—songbirds and rabbits—hiding within them.

  He tapped the knocker against the door three times, and waited.

  “Come,” a woman said from the other side, her voice slightly muffled.

  He turned the knob and pulled the door open.

  Lady Tamalsen sat at her desk—a simple affair, though heavy and made of oak—which was flanked by a pair of mirrored lamps which were her office’s only source of light. Three piles of papers sat to one side on its surface, each arranged just so. An inkwell sat next to them, and she held a thick pen styled after the calligraphy brushes which the nobles had used commonly ten years previous, but with a nib inserted to replace the brush head. She tapped its handle against her lip as she observed a paper half-covered in her cramped, linear hand, ignoring him for the moment as he took the unoccupied chair across from her.

  The office was really more of a cupboard, the walls covered in ancient portraits and landscapes that rose almost to the ceiling’s height. All of those were fine pieces, worthy of a high price at auction, and half of them had been commissioned by the previous lords and ladies of her house. They were a comfort to the lady, nothing more. To another noble, they would be seen as a show of the long-lived wealth of House Tamalsen, the peculiar choice on the part of the lady to take up work, as Mistress of Servants no less.

  Lady Tamalsen was a woman concerned with modesty and tradition above all. Her hair was done in a voluminous coil atop her head—a style that had long gone out of fashion, and her dress was cut high with a closed collar. Her cheeks had begun to sag, and wrinkles creased the corners of her ocean-blue eyes. She had a motherly build, but a stern disposition, which made her seem colder than she was.

  The color of her eyes was a rarity in Shadovane, where most were so deeply brown they appeared black until the sun touched them. It had led to rumors that her family had some of the mirrhvalian blood in them, which might work to her advantage in a society obsessed with posturing. It was said that Lord Haman Bran, who was descended from one of the most powerful women ever to hold the title of Shadow Queen, had been so confused by her appearance he assumed for three years she outranked him. His own family, though certainly not his branch of it, was of a similar disposition, with many lending credence to the rumors that they, too, were descended of Mirrvhale. Unlike Lady Tamalsen, Lord Bran had cultivated some of those rumors himself.

  She looked to Lance, and he held her gaze, wondering what to expect from this meeting, and how many more like it he could anticipate in the near future.

  “It’s almost your time.” She said, stating the thing which had been bothering him without naming it outright.

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  Lance tried on a smile. His stomach did cartwheels inside him, slapping his lungs and making them flutter.

  He had seldom been so nervous around her, as she had always treated him with kindness, but the coming choice changed things. Soon, he would choose a path, and then she would be his master and guide no longer. He would fall under someone else’s care then, and perhaps his new master would be meaner. Most of them were.

  “There are several departments I see as a good fit for you. You have the people skills to be a courier, and your math skills would make you a fine fit for keeping records in the palace treasury. Lady Ethelia would be glad to have you.

  “I understand you have friends there, but I do feel I must warn you against the kitchens. You might like it initially, but you would eventually grow tired of the bating, the flaring tempers…you may even begin to resent the friends you keep down there. I rather feel you might benefit from shadowing Mistress Dina for a shift before you decide to commit.”

  “I…can do that?” he asked, though he had never considered cooking to be the right fit for him.

  “With my approval.” Lady Tamalsen said.

  “Is that the case with other departments?” he asked.

  “It is. Again, with my approval.” She replied, favoring him with a level gaze that suggested he not press his luck too far.

  She set her pen aside, folded her hands together. “You will have to perform a trial in any department you wish to enter before you settle on any one path. It’s called a stage, and you’ll find it provides you with an opportunity to see how you fit into a department without need to commit. These stages also give the heads of department an opportunity to see how well you fit into their teams. They will judge your fitness for the work on the basis of how you perform, and make their decision on whether to extend employment to you on that basis. You will need to be on your best behavior, you understand. You will only have the one shift to prove yourself.

  "When you decide on a path, we will discuss the specific trials you must undergo to get there. As an example, a furnace worker must learn to command and extinguish flames or summon and dispel wind, a bookkeeper must pass an aptitude test, and a courier must run a gauntlet designed to test his time management skills, as well as his attention to detail.”

  “I have thought about the furnaces.” Lance rubbed the back of his neck, tried to break eye contact.

  Lady Tamalsen made it very difficult to. “Most young men do, but you would have to be stone dumb to take that duty on. Unless you were a kitune, and I don’t see fur growing out of your ears.”

  “It sounds like—”

  “Like a great opportunity to learn a very limited bit of magic that, while useful, will eventually lose its novelty. When it does, you’ll come to realize it is sweaty, backbreaking labor in a sweltering pit in the palace’s bowels. It stinks, it’s loud, and your fellows would be most politely described as coarse.”

  “Can I…”

  “I will approve a shift. A night shift, as that is where Master Gregor is most likely to start you.” Lady Tamalsen said. “If learning to do magic is important to you, however minimal your knowledge of the craft is permitted to be, I might suggest you shadow with the couriers. They do make use of a rite in their day to day activities, but their duties require more of an intellect than what you would get in the furnaces.”

  “I would like that.”

  “I have just the one in mind.” She smiled warmly, putting on display a file of small, pearly teeth behind her rouged lips. “He is green, but he is a good role model, and the head of his department quite likes him.”

  He smiled back.

  “Is there anywhere else you may like to shadow?” she asked.

  “No. I think that will do.” This isn’t so bad.

  He had feared he would face a sharper reprimand for his interest in the furnaces, that Lady Tamalsen would not permit him to take up a job there. It was not so much his first choice as it was a choice he had considered in more detail than most others.

  “I’ll schedule you for a shift in Lady Ethelia’s offices as well. We’ll make that one first.”

  “Okay. But I don’t think I’ll like that very much.”

  “You might well be surprised, boy. Many servants come to me with fantasies about one path or another, but they are simply that. Fantasies. You might find you quite like running numbers.”

  “Maybe, but I think sitting in one place all day would bore me. I’d much rather be in a more active position.”

  “You say that now, but time and new experiences will, I think, warm you to some ideas you never thought were for you.”

  “We’ll see, I suppose.” Lance said amenably, though he thought she didn’t know him well if she genuinely believed he would change his mind.

  “I think we are done here for today.” She said, turning back to her letter. “Now go to your other duties. The palace will not clean itself.”

  He rose, and bowed to her, but she did not raise her head to see. He let himself out, and went on with his day with a little more pep in his step.