Chapter 4: The Court

The palace stood on the highest hill in the capital, and at dawn its white halls were already full of Warborn.

They lined both sides of the throne room with their wings folded behind them, and every one of them turned to watch the Marshal's husband walk in.

Linus kept his chin level.

He wore a plain black coat Wystan had found for him in the dark, and his bare right wrist showed below the cuff on purpose.

Ambrose Roark walked beside him, one pace ahead, and did not look at anyone.

Under the Marshal's collar, a few black plates still stood against his skin. They had not gone fully down since the hall.

"If anyone speaks to you," the Marshal said, very low, "say nothing. I'll answer."

"I'd rather answer myself."

"I know," the Marshal said. "I was hoping."

At the far end of the room the Empress sat on a plain white chair.

She was past sixty, small and straight, in a robe of pale gold, with white hair pinned flat.

She watched them come the whole length of the room, and her eyes went to the Marshal's left glove and stayed there a moment too long.

Then they went to Linus.

"Marshal Roark. This is the drone."

"This is my husband, Majesty," the Marshal said.

A lord in blue velvet stood up from the front rank.

He was young and heavy-shouldered, with a chest full of medals, and he laughed through his nose.

"Majesty, forgive me. A drone in the throne room. We'll all be bringing our pets next."

A few courtiers laughed with him, softly.

Linus felt the Marshal's hand flex at his side, and he stepped in before it could close.

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