After two shadow shifts, Lance felt drained and dejected. A newfound pessimism about his future in the palace had crept in and settled in the back of his mind. The Treasury had been a mind numbingly boring experience, and the kitchens were not at all what he wanted for himself. Peter and Ariana may love them, but he saw there an environment of extremes in which little respect was paid to an individual’s well being, emotionally or otherwise, and everyone seemed hellbent on being better than their peers.

  He had begun to dread his stage in Lady Therien’s offices. If Peter was right about the way she operated, working for her would inevitably mean covering up her misdeeds and placing himself in her husband’s warpath should he find out about her extramarital activities. And there was the other problem, as well, which he tried very hard not to think about. There was the elephant in the room, and it had a name now.

  Maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe I won’t see him.

  Entering Lady Therien’s spacious office was a hardship by itself. His experiences thus far did not bode well for his future.

  He passed an hourglass that reached as high as his chest. It was made of gold and glass, and a red, silk sash was tied tight around its bottleneck. The table under it was an ornate piece hewn of chestnut with gold foil depressed into the floral shapes around its feet. Lady Therien’s desk was its match, with a high-backed chair stationed behind it that the woman herself sat in.

  She wore a powder blue dress today, cut low and sheer in the mirrhvalian fashion. Many nobles had taken to the fashions of their cousins in the Bone Sands ahead of the emperor’s arrival. Silver chains glittered in her hair and around her neck, and she had penciled in a mole on her upper lip that, to Lance’s eye, looked ridiculous.

  He bowed low, his hands clasped together behind his back, and said: “The shadow preserve you, Lady Therien.”

  She looked up from the papers she had been reading and set a gilded fountain pen aside.

  “Lady Tamalsen said you chose to shadow here of your own will.” She said, surveying him. “You may rise, now, boy. But keep that etiquette with you today. You will need it if you are going to make it through without embarrassing your mentor.

  “Come, Benjamin.” She barked.

  He stood upright.

  Ben came hustling out of a cupboard holding a thick stack of papers in the crook of his arm.

  “You can set those down.” She said.

  He twisted and dropped the bundle on another table, this one unadorned and loaded down with so many other parcels it was hard to fathom how it didn’t crack in two.

  The stack thudded against the tabletop.

  Lady Therien winced. “A bit more care in the future.”

  “My apologies, Lady Therien.” He bowed in her direction, then turned his gaze on Lance, and froze.

  “You’ll be showing this boy how we do things here.” Lady Therien said. “His name is Lance. He comes with high regard from Lady Tamalsen, but do not let that cloud your judgment. I am counting on you to make an unbiased decision as to his fitness to join us.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Ben said. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

  He favored Lady Therien with a mechanical smile.

  Had he the choice, Lance would have asked Lady Therien for a different mentor on the spot. It did not do to further antagonize Ben. He had made his discomfort clear enough. It didn’t make sense to keep nudging him when he so clearly didn’t want anything to do with him. But what option did he have? He couldn’t exactly demand a high lady suffer more inconvenience than was strictly necessary. She’d throw him out of her department as soon as he did.

  Maybe that’s a good thing.

  Lady Therien selected a paper from the smallest stack on her table and held it for him to take. He plucked it from her grasp and scanned it.

  “Lance will be with you throughout the day. There is a window for your lunch in the itinerary. You will remain with him during that time as well.” She explained. “You are dismissed.”

  Another bow. Lance mirrored him.

  “The shadow preserve you.” He murmured.

  Ben crossed to the door, opened it and gestured Lance through. Grinning, he closed it lightly behind them. “You know I’m not gonna go easy on you, right?”

  “I didn’t expect you to.”

  He scanned the list.

  “First errand is…for Haman Bran. He’ll be intolerable, like he always is.”

  He led Lance away from Lady Therien’s office, into a servant’s staircase that spiraled downward toward the lower levels. “He’s in his study drinkin’ hard liquor with Lady Bethel and Elrin Stormbreaker if I know him at all. They like to get on early. We’ll have to hurry or we’ll catch him when he’s good and sauced. You don’t want to see that.”

  Lance opened his mouth to say something. Shut it again.

  Why hasn’t he mentioned the other morning? He’s acting like nothing happened.

  He decided that if Ben was willing to let it go, he should to. At the very least, it would get them both through this day without things becoming more awkward than they already were. When it was over, he could swear off the Office of the Couriers forever, and then it would be down to the kitchens or the furnaces for him. Lady Tamalsen wouldn’t take it well, but the decision was his at the end of the day, and he could not fathom how he would get through the intervening years between his decision day and the moment of his death with the tension being ratcheted up again and again every time he saw him.

  Ben stepped forward, and as he did, a dull ache formed in Lance’s head, pushing uncomfortably against his temples. He grit his teeth as Ben stepped forward again, and again, his shadow deepening from its organic shade to matte black.

  Ben looked over his shoulder. “Are you comin’?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Into the shadows. How else do you expect us to get anywhere?”

  “By walking?”

  Ben chuckled. “Not so much, no. We’d never get anything done if we did it that way. Here, just step into my shadow. I’ll be right behind you.”

  He moved forward, that ache filling him up like so much hot tea in a clay cup. His leading foot touched the shadow, and he plunged face first into it. He hit hard ground on his hands and knees.

  Darkness swirled around him, an unrelieved black blocking all sight. On the edge of hearing, voices whispered, crooned to him in tens and twenties, all talking over each other so that he couldn’t quite make out what any one of them was saying. The air was cool against his skin in a way it never was in the palace halls, cold and humid, as if they’d stepped into some kind of cave, or maybe a far flung corner of the dungeons.

  Ben thudded aground behind him, and helped him to his feet.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  “Just ignore it. As long as I’m here, you have nothin’ to worry about from them.”

  “Who are they?”

  “No one and nothin’. What you’re hearin’ is the voices of the Dark Heart. People’s insecurities mostly. This place exists within shadow, and a lot of shadows are attached to people. Their negative feelings come with them, and they act kinda like ghosts. They can hurt you, but only if you can’t resist them. If you came here alone somehow, you’d be swallowed up right away, but since you’re with someone who knows how to resist them, you don’t need to worry.”

  “This is how the Wraiths travel.”

  “Well, they’re better at it than I am. They can move in four dimensions here. Couriers are only trained to move in three.” He explained. “Come on. Follow me.”

  He took Lance under the arm and led him off. They traveled a few steps, turned corner and traveled a few more. Ben reached overhead and yanked at something Lance couldn’t see. A veil parted, and blinding light stabbed into the dark, a rounded hole through which an expanse of corridor, the edge of a dais and a cobalt-glazed vase housing snapdragons, was made visible.

  Ben, illuminated in that shaft of light, reached up and touched the image, and they rose rapidly. Rose through it.

  The shadow underfoot eased off from that peculiar, dead black to a more natural shade, and he found the footing under him was quite firm. They stood outside a cedar door with a knocker in the shape of a raven’s head. The raven held a thick ring in its beak, which Ben swung thrice.

  “Enter.” Came Lord Haman Bran’s voice.

  Ben swung the door inward, and ushered Lance through.

  “Ah. You’re late.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Lord Bran. I have someone shadowin’ me today. This is Lance.” He gestured at him. “

  “No excuses. Just take all of that to the armory.” He gestured airily at a rack outfitted with a full suit of armor Lance doubted very much he had earned the right to wear.

  The pauldrons were treated to appear as if smoke was trapped in the metal, a design feature only given to the Bloodless. Those pauldrons were crafted masterfully to look like raven heads, and the heavy plate that accompanied them was embellished with a wide, purple sash around the midriff.

  “They did a piss poor job of polishing it the last time. Just look at the thing!” he grumbled. “How am I to judge it worthy of me when there are so clearly fingerprints all over it!”

  Lance looked the armor over. There were no fingerprints that he could see anywhere on it, but he bit his tongue. It would only worsen Lord Bran’s temper if he commented. He did not want to become his next victim.

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  “I’m sorry on their behalf, Lord Bran.”

  “Well tell them to put someone competent on the job this time! The Emperor’s arrival is coming swiftly, and I will not be caught looking like a common Maul in his presence!”

  “Help me with it?” Ben said.

  Lord Bran marched over to a small table near the windows at the back of his rooms. He snatched up a clay jug and poured its deep, red contents into a crystal glass until the wine was nearly flush with the rim.

  Lance helped Ben dismantle the armor, took the breastplate and greaves in his arms when he handed them to him. Ben took the rest. They hustled out of Lord Bran’s chambers, and once clear, Ben opened his shadow.

  As the shadow went from its usual color to stark black, that headache returned, and more intensely than it had been the last time. It persisted throughout all the time they ventured through that dark other world, and did not fade until they were well within sight of the armory.

  The hall the armory occupied was wider and better lit than most other reaches of the palace, and the walls were unfinished poured stone like any of the servants’ tunnels. The poured stone here was in better repair. What cracks may have been present were mortared closed, and the pipes in this reach did not drip. The military handled its own affairs, allocating its discretionary funds without need for approval by the nobility, for the queen saw fit to ensure they were well cared for. If the servants were disposable cogs in this grand machine, the soldiery could never be that.

  Men clad in gray reliefs marched up and down the long hall, their backs straight and their chins held high. They ignored Lance and Ben for the most part, though an occasional peon soldier spared a grin and a curt hello for the courier.

  “Do you come here a lot?”

  “Not really. Some of the Mauls were born peasants. Most of the Wraiths were, too. We get along fine, I guess. They’re more like us than they are like the nobility, anyway.”

  “The Wraiths kinda scare me.”

  Ben nodded.

  He approached a security checkpoint which was manned by two Mauls, infantry in the ranks of the shadovani armed forces, and the same ritual as had taken place in the Treasury was repeated. They set Lord Bran’s armor on a table, and he was glad to have the burden relieved from him, even if it was only temporary. They then proceeded with a thorough pat down before allowing the servants to retrieve the armor set and pass them by.

  “What happens if you shadow walk into the military compound itself?”

  “Without permission?”

  Lance nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What do you think? They’d kill you.”

  “Noted.”

  They hauled their burdens halfway up the hall. A wide gap in the wall housed the open entrance to the armory, and they dipped into it. The armory was an unfussy carve out with rooms behind vault doors in the back, and all of those doors lay open. Halberds, swords and maces looked back at him from within the nearest one, and several suits of armor decorated the walls in the main chamber, where servants in white uniforms fussed over them with strange tools, or soft cloths and brushes.

  They approached a tall elf whose muscled arms pressed tight against the sleeves of his military reliefs, who was otherwise whip slender. Thin lines spun out from the corners of his eyes, and his hair was cropped short, a departure from the more traditional, flowing cuts most other elves wore.

  Ben deposited his share of the armor pieces on the floor at the elf’s feet, and backed up a step. Lance followed his example, adding the greaves and breastplate to the pile.

  The elf glanced at the pile, at Ben. “Lord Bran again?”

  Ben nodded. “Yep.”

  “How does an early lunch sound?” he said. “I’ll give you permission to eat in our canteen. The food is better there anyway.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Is Sami here?” Lance asked.

  The elf chuckled. “You a friend of hers? She’s here.” He twisted around, shouted to the back. “Hey Sami! Your lover boy is here!”

  “You know I don’t like boys!” she shouted back, emerging from one of the vaults. She saw Lance then. “Oh shit!” she rushed over and launched herself at Lance, took him in a tight hug. “What are you doing here?” she said after she released him.

  “I’m on a stage.”

  She glanced in Ben’s direction. “With the couriers today. They set you up good. Ben’s good people.”

  Ben furrowed his brow. “You’re friends?”

  “Of course. Lance is the best. He hasn’t been giving you trouble, has he?”

  “Not yet.”

  “So…how long will it take?” Lance asked.

  The three of them exchanged a look.

  “Sami snickered. “Fuck off, Duriel! You’re gonna make me lose it.”

  That’s Lord Halan to you, miss.” He chided, but he spoiled it by smiling.

  “What’s uh…what’s going on here? I feel like I’m missing something.”

  “Oh, we’re not going to touch it.” He said. Haman does this twice a week. You’re going to give us an hour to look pensively at it and pretend we care, and then you’re going to take it back and tell him Lord Halan polished it himself—

  “And he’s going to gasp like a girl who just had her first orgasm.” Sami said.

  “Something like that.” Lord Halan flushed. “But you two enjoy your lunch. Maybe I’ll let Sami off early today since you’ll have so much to talk about.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Ben said. “We have orders for Lord Aren today, too.”

  “What’s that old cunt want?”

  “Is that any way to talk about—

  “Relax. He’s an old friend.” Lord Halan said, cutting Sami off. “In any case, if you say so, I suppose I can use Sami a little longer. We can knock out that order for Lord Elise.”

  “UGH!”

  “Why the melodrama? He just wants a sword sharpened. And you don’t have to deliver it.”

  “Who drew the short straw on that one?” Ben asked.

  “I did, actually. I wouldn’t send a servant up to his office under any circumstances. He’s too volatile.”

  “And yet he’s sitting on the Council of Liam.” Sami grumbled.

  “A seat he has more than earned.” He said, his grin falling away. He produced a scratch pad and a pen from his shirt pocket, wrote out a note for them and signed it. “You two better get going. He’ll be drunk as a fish by the time you get back to him anyway, but at least he’ll be awake.”

  “We’ll be back in an hour, then.” Ben said. He led Lance out into the hall, turned west. They marched up the way, deeper into the military complex.

  Lunch was a quiet affair. The food was far better than what they served in the servant’s canteen, and the cooks were all military men, as best Lance could tell. Most of them were of an age with him, were likely assigned these duties to keep them humble, and they treated him kindly as he took his plate from them, and brought it back to the table in the corner Ben had chosen.

  “It’s not bad, you know.” Ben said as he tucked into his meal. “Being a courier. You could do worse.”

  “I guess.” Lance said.

  “I mean, it comes with its drawbacks. Lady Therien isn’t easy to work for, but she’s not as bad as some of the others. I’ve seen Lady Jain throttle a servant for asking a simple question before. Mistress Dina threw a plate at someone once, too.”

  Lance grimaced.

  “Does she really make you guys cover for her affairs?”

  Ben shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s a fun game I like to play sometimes, though. Who’s she fucking? Where is she fucking them? If she’s being a bitch to us, sometimes one of us will leave a clue about where she is with her husband. But I wouldn’t do that with the current guy.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s military. Imagine what would happen if Lord Therien got a hold of him. Best case, they walk away after a shouting match. Worst case, her side piece beats him half to death and gets demoted.”

  “Hmm.”

  They spent the rest of their lunch in silence, returned their empty plates to the disposal window and then made their way back to the armory, where Lord Halan returned the disarticulated armor to them and sent them on their way.

  When they arrived at Lord Bran’s rooms again, he was indeed so drunk he could barely stand up, and Lady Bethel and Elrin Stormbreaker—a man who’s father had purchased a seat as captain in the military for him, who hadn’t so much as held a sword since—were seated in a pair of cozy, wing backed chairs near a burning hearth with him.

  He was snatching up a jug of wine when they entered, and two more were arranged behind it. Both, he assumed, were empty.

  “Oh, you’ve finally arrived!” Haman slurred.

  “Yes, Lord Bran. Lord Halan tells us to let you know he took on this task himself. He did not trust his charges to perform the job to your high standard.” Ben said.

  Together, they arranged the various pieces on Lord Bran’s armor stand.

  Just as Sami and Lord Halan predicted, he was all glowing praise. He gushed over every detail of the armor plating, and encouraged Lady Bethel and Elrin Stormbreaker to join in. They bowed when he dismissed them, and returned to the hall outside. Ben did not open his shadow this time, but set off down the corridor with Lance trailing him.

  “Are we not going to take use that shadow place?” Lance asked him.

  “I need a break. Traveling that way starts to wear on you after a while. We’ll have to eventually. I just need a few minutes.”

  “Alright.”

  They followed the hall almost to its end, then turned corner and traveled down another which followed the western side of the palace. Down two staircases, they went, and then followed yet one more back the way they had come.

  Ben froze.

  Lance followed his gaze to an ornate gate. Bars of a silvery metal, the same as was on all the vault doors he had seen in the last days, were framed by a thick border bearing designs that imitated honeysuckle and hyacinth, the remains of another queen’s sensibilities. Beyond was a wide stair that descended into impenetrable darkness, beyond which lay something that drove fear like a sword deep into Lance’s heart.

  On impulse, he reached out and snatched up Ben’s hand.

  Ben’s gaze snapped onto him. What are you doing?”

  Lance pulled away. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the other man. To see him risked redoubling his embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I just…I usually avoid this place. It gives me the creeps.”

  Ben nodded, but something in his gaze was off when Lance finally found the courage to look at him. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  Ben took him by the shoulders and kissed him. He retreated, leaving Lance with a vibrating sensation on his lips, which was quickly spreading to encompass the rest of him. His cheeks burned, and though he tried to say something the words wouldn’t pass his throat.

  “I thought that might be it.” Ben said. “Do you want to get out of here.”

  “I’d…I’d like that.”

  “Good. Me, too.” Ben opened his shadow.

  Matte darkness loomed under his feet and he took Lance’s hand in his. They plunged in together, and though pain blossomed in his head as the magic stole away his sight, he would not let go. He could not let go.

  The Mauls at the checkpoint called for a Wraith when they arrived, and they were taken into the shadows by him. Lance’s headache intensified, and vibrant auras marred the darkness at the edges of his vision. The pain thrashed through him, a cold sweat breaking over his body as he followed the Wraith with Ben holding onto him. They emerged in a far removed hall in the military complex, outside the open door into a cramped office.

  A silver-haired elf with crystal blue eyes sat behind a writing desk at its heart. A wardrobe stood against the right hand wall, and a lock had been fitted around its handles. Above and behind the desk was hung a staff like a shepherd’s hook with a snowflake pendant attached by a fine chain to the tip of the hook at its head. A pair of younger elves dressed in black tunics that hugged their necks, and slacks entirely free of wrinkles stood at attention next to the desk, and Lord Aren passed orders to them before dismissing them. The Wraith took his leave after them, and as soon as they were gone, Lance collapsed.

  Lord Aren rounded his desk, ducked low over Lance’s prone form. He laid hands on him, searching for some injury he would not find, and Ben knelt with him.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Some people are more sensitive to the Dark Heart than others.” Lord Aren said. “Give me a moment.”

  Ben backed off a short way.

  Lord Aren’s wide palm settled on Lance’s forehead. He whispered words in a language Lance could not understand. As he looked into the general’s wizened face, watched as words spilled from his lips, the pain began to fade.

  Lord Aren uttered a word he could not hear. His lips framed the syllables in a way he could not quite read, and he was left with the impression of something missing, something that in its absence held true power. The pain faded at last, leaving him feeling mollified.

  “He should be fine now.”

  He climbed to his feet, and helped Lance to sit up.

  “I’d recommend you not join the couriers if this continues. It will be dangerous for you.” He turned to Ben. “Don’t speak to anyone of what happened here. The healing has been done, but it will do your friend no favors to alert anyone of what afflicted him. Especially the nobility.”

  “I understand.” Ben said, though it was clear he was shaken by what had just transpired. “I won’t say a word.”

  “Good.” He said. “Now, while I have mended him, he will not tolerate shadow walking better than he has. I have only given him temporary relief.

  You should go about the remainder of your shift by more conventional avenues. You may count yourself lucky that my needs of you are not demanding.”

  “What can we do for you, my lord.” Ben asked.

  Lord Aren rounded his desk. He took up an envelope, heated a daub of bright blue wax and dropped it onto the fold. He impressed it with his seal, a circlet of blackthorn, and waited for the wax to set, then handed it to Ben.

  “Take this to Lord Tarkenta, then return to Lady Therien. I assume I am your last errand for the day.”

  “You are.”

  “Then may you both have a bright evening.” He said. “And sir?”

  “Lance.” Ben supplied.

  “Yes, Lance. I assume you have not chosen a path.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Then let me be clear. This is not the right one for you, but there is a department which takes on people like you, where you will not encounter much interference from the Dark Heart. If you have not been granted the opportunity, I will ask that Lady Tamalsen schedule you for a stage in the furnaces.”

  “That is my last stage, Lord Aren.”

  Lord Aren nodded. “Choose that path, then. Tell Master Gregor I have given you my recommendation.”

  He offered the letter to Ben.

  Ben took it, and placed it in his pocket.“May the shadow preserve you, Lord Aren.” He said, his gaze fixed on Lance.

  He bowed, and helped Lance out of the office.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine now. I don’t know what he did, but it took the pain away.”

  Ben nodded shakily. “Okay. Good. Let’s just finish this up then. Lord Tarkenta’s office is close.”