Chapter 4: The Receiving Line

The receiving line began at ten, and Briony was already tired.

She stood three steps behind Clem in the Hall of Lanterns with the good gloves in her hands.

A hundred paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and under them the court moved in silk and velvet.

Clem was twenty-one and very tall, with long dark-red curls and ink on her fingertips that no glove could hide.

She was the archivist's copyist, and the whole palace loved her for the way she said what she thought.

In the game she was the heroine.

In this life she was the girl who had been kind to Briony through the first terrible weeks at court.

"You look flushed," Clem murmured, without turning her head.

"It's warm."

"There's flour on your sleeve."

Briony looked.

There was.

She rubbed at it and kept her face blank, and Clem's shoulders shook once, silently.

"I won't ask," Clem said.

"Thank you."

"I'm only curious whether the tea was nice."

"It was fine."

"And the east pantry?"

"Fine.

Quiet."

"It's funny," Clem said, in the same easy murmur.

"They changed the rota at the east gate this week.

Only one guard in the yard at night now, until dawn.

I wonder who thought of that."

Briony turned her head and stared at the side of Clem's face.

Clem's face showed nothing but sweet attention to the room.

Before Briony could think of an answer, the herald struck the floor with his staff.

Prince Anselm came down the hall.

He was twenty-six, in a blue velvet coat, with dark-brown hair that never lay flat and a worried, kind face.

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