The great doors of the palace led through to a wide entrance corridor, almost a great hall in its own right. It was an entrance foyer from which doors opened into corridors leading to other parts of the palace. The inside of the palace was similar in style to the outside, with a minimum of fancy decoration and relying on size to make an impression on visitors. The floor across which the palace guards led the Princess was polished granite, with grains of lighter stone embedded in a matrix of dark, brick red. Pillars stood against the walls spreading out at the ceiling in a tracery of vaulting, as if the architects had rebelled at leaving the palace entirely without any gothic ornamentation.

     The feet of the Princess and her two escorts echoed like gunshots as they walked along the hall to the doorway, scarcely smaller than the great external doors, that led through into the Great Hall. The huge chamber was lit only by six chandeliers of electric candles that hung from the ceiling on stout iron chains, but even they lacked the power to illuminate the whole of the room and the corners were hidden in darkness. Deep shadows were cast by the two rows of doric pillars that ran along the room, separating the central walkway from the tiered rows of seating that ran along the walls. At the end of the hall was a raised platform, accessed by three steps, on which the throne itself stood, and behind the throne was a door leading to the King’s private chambers.

     The throne was empty, and Ardria had to wait many long minutes before the King appeared, as Silva had promised. As she and the two guardsmen escorting her waited, the Princess amused herself by imagining what this chamber must be like on state occasions. King Nilon sitting on the throne in all his finery with Prince George, looking little less splendid, standing to one side and Queen Matilda, wearing one of her trademark silver gowns with its long train, on the other. All three wearing crowns or tiaras and with spotlights hidden in the ceiling aimed at them so that they shone like gods in the otherwise gloomy room. The great ministers of state would be arrayed on either side of them, and the seats would be occupied by the aristocrats and the wealthy commoners of the Kingdom; a faint susurration filling the air as they whispered to each other and waited for the ceremony to begin, whichever ceremony it was. A birthday blessing for the King, perhaps, delivered by the archpriest to Those Above, or the issuing of a new proclamation, for which the King would stand and advance to the edge of the platform, his great voice aided by the acoustics of the room which were said to be superb.

     Right now, though, the huge chamber was empty and silent, with only the soft breathing of its three occupants to fill the air. The manacles bit painfully into the Princess's wrists. She moved her hands in an attempt to ease the pain, without success. Her hair tickled her nose as it fell across her face. She tossed her head in an attempt to throw it back.

     Eventually, though, there was the sound of a door opening, echoing across the chamber so that it was difficult to tell from which direction it came. Then they heard footsteps and the Princess turned her head to see a man in a highly stylised, over elaborate military uniform crossing the room towards them. The two guards fell to their knees before him.

     “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Your Highness,” said King Nilon. “Matters of state, you understand. They crop up at the most inconvenient times.”

     “Of course,” said the Princess. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

     The King smiled wolfishly, then gestured for the guards to go. They rose to their feet, nodded their heads at him, and scurried off. King Nilon waited until they'd closed the door behind them before speaking again. “I'm afraid your mission has become superfluous, Your Highness. There is no longer any need to negotiate a surrender. Helberion is conquered. I await only confirmation from my Generals.”

     “That is not the reason I came, as you no doubt already know,” replied Ardria.

     “Ah yes,” said Nilon, his smile widening. “You want to warn me about the Radiants. You want to tell me that they wish only to destroy Carrow. Did you think I didn't already know? Did you think I was a fool, that I was duped by the creatures?”

     “They tried to kill me on the way here,” replied Ardria, frowning in confusion. “Why would they do that unless they were scared of what I might say to you?”

     “There are those in my administration who don't know the truth. People who are too useful to be easily replaced. If you were to speak to them, it could cause problems for me. That is why you were attacked. Now that you are here, though, that danger is ended. You will speak only to those to whom I wish you to speak. Our little secret is safe.”

     “Darniss? Silva?”

     “I ordered them to be killed. A pity. They both performed their duties admirably, but I just couldn’t take the risk.”

     Ardria felt a stab of anger and grief. Darniss she had mixed feelings for. She remembered a time when she'd burned with the need to see her executed, but she'd come to regain some fondness for the woman over the course of their journey and she was surprised to feel some sorrow at the news of her death. Silva had become a real friend, though, and she silently vowed that she would see him avenged if the chance ever came. “But why?” she asked. “Why would a King be complicit in the destruction of his own kingdom?”

     “Because I have been promised something greater.” He took a step closer to her. “Look closely, Princess, although I'm sure you've already guessed.”

     She knew what to look for, and so she saw it straight away. There was powder on his skin. A thick layer that completely hid its natural colour. All her self control couldn’t keep her from taking a half step back in fear. “You've been adopted!” she hissed.

     “I will be a Radiant one day,” he agreed. “A higher being. Something as far above human as a human is above a cow or a dog.”

     “An ordinary Radiant! The Radiant equivalent of a commoner! But here you're a King with the power of life and death over millions!”

     “Radiants have leaders too, and I will be one of them. My natural authority, my ability to sway the minds of others, these qualities will be carried on to my next incarnation. The one who adopted me told me that Radiants assume similar roles of their society as those of the humans from which they were raised. Human farmers become Radiant farmers. Human scholars become Radiant scholars, and human Kings...”

     “You idiot!” spat the Princess, stepping forward to glare into his face. He took a step back in astonishment. “You are a fool! You have been duped! They will use you and they will cast you aside...”

     Nilon slapped her hard across the face. She spun around, crying out in shock, and fell to the ground. The granite floor was cold against her bare arms.

     “One does not speak so to a King in his own palace!” he roared, his voice echoing around the huge chamber. “Remember your place! You are no longer a Princess! You are my prisoner and you will speak to me with respect!”

     Ardria climbed back to her feet. It was hard with her hands manacled behind her back, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of making any concession to the fact. She tossed her head to throw the hair out of her face. There was the taste of blood in her mouth. “And what about Prince George?” she asked. “Will he also be adopted, or is he still expecting to inherit a kingdom?”

     “George is not your concern. Your only concern will be to persuade your father to surrender himself.”

     “He will never do that!”

      “I think he will. He knows that I am fond of falconry, and that I am always looking for new birds to add to my collection. I have wizard powers now. You were a Kestrel once. If your father does not surrender himself, you will be a Kestrel again.” He reached out towards her face. She backed away in sudden fear, but he gripped her by the arm and drew her back to him. Then he touched her face, running his fingers across her cheek and under her chin. Her skin crawled, but she forced herself to stand steady. She was a Princess! She would not show fear!

     “The telegraph connection to my army in Helberion has been interrupted for now,” he said. “A lucky strike by a Helberion shell, no doubt, but it won't take long to fix. When communications have been restored, you will speak to your father and you will tell him to surrender himself.”

     A door opened and two palace servants appeared. They both with powdered skins, she noticed. “They will take you to your rooms,” said the King. “Everyone you interact with from now on will be an adoptee. Your maid, Your guards, everyone. Say whatever you like to them. They will all join me as Radiants when the war is over.”

     “Do they know that they’ll still be your servants when they're Radiants?”

     Nilon glared at her, then gestured for the servants to take her away.

☆☆☆

     Soonia Darniss followed the house guard as he led her down through the servants areas of the palace to the kitchens. Servants and maids bustled everywhere, barely glancing at the two new arrivals. “Are you sure Lord Krell is down here?” asked Darniss doubtfully.

     “His presence in the capital at the moment cannot be known, for political reasons,” replied the house guard. “He arrived incognito and, when he has completed his business here, he will leave the same way.”

     Rot, thought Darniss. She knew bullshit when she heard it. So what was going on? There was a saying, that no-one fears theft like a thief. In the same way, no-one fears treachery like a traitor. Is he taking me somewhere to kill me? she thought, and as soon as the idea passed through her head she was certain of it. He was taking her to a place where there were no witnesses. Probably the furnace room, where her body could be disposed off, and as soon as they got there he would kill her with the ceremonial but perfectly deadly sword he was wearing at his belt. Or maybe he would just snap her neck like a twig. Less blood that way. Less messy, and he certainly looked strong enough to do it.

     Once, she would have quailed with fear, but she had a weapon now. The dagger she'd taken from one of the other passengers on the train. While changing clothes in Tarchem she'd found a better place to hide it, inside the bodice of her dress, against her chest, and she had fashioned a makeshift sheath for it out of a leather comb holder. She reached a hand inside her dress, pretending to be scratching an itch, and when she saw the guard glancing into a room they were passing she gripped it by the hilt and drew it free. She then hung her hand down by her waist, the blade up against her wrist where the kitchen staff, hopefully, wouldn’t be able to see it.

     “Lord Krell is waiting for you in the furnace room,” said the guard, looking sideways at her.

     Darniss nodded, trying to look confident and at ease. I believe this man completely, she said to herself. I believe he is taking me to meet Lord Krell. It was an old trick she'd used back in Paisley Palace, when she'd been playing the part of a loyal member of King Leothan's staff. She would tell herself what she wanted other people to believe. It helped her facial expression and body language match the lie. She would make a part of herself believe it, to make her reactions easy and natural. It had always worked in the past, and it seemed to work again as the guard studied her face, looking for any trace of suspicion. After a moment he looked away, returning his attention to the way ahead, his body completely relaxed and at ease. Totally unsuspecting.

     They passed the kitchens and continued on, deeper into the bowels of the palace where few people ever came. It was dark and gloomy, lit only by the occasional oil lamp, half of which had gone out leaving long stretches of corridor in darkness. It grew warmer as they approached the huge boilers that warmed the palace, and the guard led the way into a large room from which a red glow came. Half the room was filled with a great pile of coal, and one entire wall was made of sooty black iron in which were large doors and small murky windows. Tongues of fire leaped and danced behind the glass.

     The guard indicated the chute in the ceiling down which deliveries of coal were dropped. “That way,” he said. There was nothing in that direction. He only wanted her to turn her back to him. She nodded, gullible and innocent, and took one step, but then she paused as if one of her boots was troubling her. She bent over to adjust the laces.

     The guard came closer, frowning with impatience, and as he came within reach Darniss lashed out with the dagger, slicing across his throat. He staggered back in surprise, blood spraying everywhere, and Darniss jumped back before she was covered with it. The man's hands flew to his throat and squeezed, as if he could hold the blood in. For a moment it looked as if he might succeed, as if Darniss hadn't cut deeply enough, and she tensed herself for another attack.

     One of his hands left his throat for a moment to reach for his sword, but blood sprayed again and he returned his hand to his neck, squeezing even tighter. He staggered towards the door, looking for help, but the strength left his legs before he could make it and he leaned against the door frame for support. He turned to look at her again, and this time there was a look of desperate fear on his face. He reached a bloody hand out towards her, as if begging her for help, then slid slowly down the wall. He died sitting with his back against it and his hands dropped to his sides, his eyes still open.

     Darniss waited long enough to make sure he was really dead, and then stepped carefully over him and back out into the corridor. For a moment she thought about trying to get him into the furnace, to hide the evidence, but he was much too heavy. Also, there was much too much blood all over the place. No matter what she did, the caretaker would know what had happened the moment he returned. No, she just had to get away while she could. Get out of the palace and hide in the city.

     And then what? Spend the rest of her life on the run? They would search for her, she knew, and one day they would find her. And even if they didn't, she knew she couldn't live in a world ruled by the Radiants. A farm animal in a cage. She was too used to her comforts. Money, jewellery. People to obey her commands. That would never be if Carrow won the war, but if Helberion won...

     If she somehow helped Helberion win the war, perhaps Leothan would be grateful enough to commute her death sentence and allow her to live with her family, in exile. And so long as she was alive, there was still hope for a return to power, even if it was for her children rather than herself. She knew things about powerful people in Helberion. Guilty secrets gathered over decades, not all of which she'd passed on to her masters in Carrow. It was always prudent to keep an Emperor in the hole, after all, as the card players liked to say. Powerful people would do things for her in return for keeping their secrets. Give her time, and she could build a new power base. A chance for power, riches, influence. If Helberion won the war.

     “Dammit!” she muttered as she scurried along the corridor, looking for the way out. “Looks like I've got to help rescue that little twit!”