“Looking proper, Master Sergeant,” Lily said with a hint of teasing in her voice as Alarion finally joined her in the hallway. “And you even remembered how to tie it correctly at the side.”

  “It still feels like a bad costume,” Alarion complained as he fought, unsuccessfully, with one of his cufflinks. “Can you?”

  Lily rolled her eyes, even as she set to work. She pushed the metal stud through the buttonhole then frowned and pulled it loose again. She swatted Alarion’s shoulder when he pulled away, and the two bickered under their breath as she removed it entirely, turned it around, and reinstalled it with the proper facing.

  “Thank the Mothers I had this tailored,” she murmured, cognizant of the others in the crowded hallway as she studied him. “I do not like that we’re nearly eye to eye now.”

  “You used to wear taller heels,” he pointed out. He’d grown, but not that much.

  “I still would if I did not think someone would bowl me over and break my ankle,” she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the masses pressing around them.

  Some were soldiers under Alarion’s command, others bodyguards or VIPs hailing from Ashad, Imuria, Vitria, or even further abroad. All were here for one thing, the Formation Ceremony that would mark the formal organization of the 238th, but many—perhaps most—had ulterior motives. Some were spies under the cover of diplomacy, others merchants assessing the province’s state, and still others power brokers seeking a new angle.

  The fortress had grown eyes in the few days since he finished Isha’s reconstruction; its population had grown so rapidly that Alarion could hardly keep track of the various names and faces to whom Lily had introduced him. One pompous Vitrian hardly looked different from another, so he’d fallen back on Lily’s best advice. Smile and say as little as possible.

  “You also missed...” Lily sighed and plucked the leather inserts from his collar rather than trying to explain the mistake to him. “Honestly, what would you do without me?”

  “Something to get me court-martialled, no doubt,” he said, trailing behind her as she brazenly pushed through the busy hallways toward their destination.

  “Do not even joke,” Lily scolded him. “This is important. To you, and to me.”

  A bell tolled as they walked, stirring the crowd to action and slowing Alarion’s progress to a crawl. Hundreds broke off their existing pursuits and began a slow, shoulder-to-shoulder shamble toward the yard.

  “You have memorized the speech?” she asked quietly, keeping close to his side to be heard over the low din of conversation, laughter, and general humanity.

  “I did.”

  “You have practiced it?”

  “I did,” Alarion reiterated, biting down on his annoyance. “I have done everything you asked, I promise.”

  She had every right to be concerned, and perhaps even a little angry. He’d not intended to ignore her when they’d come to Ilvan-Trai, but the all-consuming nature of his training had left little time for her lessons and plans. It was only in the last few days, once all his work was done and the preparations for the Formation entered their final phase, that he’d been able to give her the time she needed.

  “I know. I just wish we had more time to train your…” She sighed and left her complaints unfinished. The die was cast, and there was no use in thinking about what could have been. “You will do great.”

  “I had a good instructor,” Alarion told her as they filed into the officer’s mess hall, just off to the side of the keep’s main exit.

  Everyone who really mattered was waiting for them there. Two representatives from the Ordinate were chatting with high-ranking Ashadi officials at one table, while three others were filled by a collection of uniformed and plain-clothed Vitrians. Judging by the marks on their uniform pauldrons, at least three of the uniformed group were seated members of Curia, the closest thing Vitrians had to nobility.

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  A small gaggle of journalists took up space in one corner of the room, their cameras clattering and flashing as Alarion entered, momentarily blinding him.

  “Remember to smile,” Lily reminded him.

  Alarion did just that. It was a fake smile, but a practiced one. As a man with a dour natural expression, his earliest attempts had been, uncanny, at least according to Lily. But practice made perfect, and Alarion almost looked like he wanted to be there as he started shaking hands and greeting strangers.

  Some were here for their strong connections to Ashad, be they financial or political, eager to be seen as friends of Ashad’s national hero. Others, mostly the Vitrians, saw the same opportunity as William. Even latecomers stood to gain by aligning themselves with a celebrity figure, provided they were positioned correctly. It was no secret that the Trinity Massacre had tainted him in the eyes of several houses, most notably the House of Sorrow, which meant most of the men who greeted him came from other political factions. Reformers, Abstractists, Continentalists.

  Vitrian politics were a mess, but it was always nice to know that he had allies. If only allies of convenience.

  Which made it all the stranger that one was missing.

  “Where is he?” Alarion whispered the moment he got Lily alone.

  He’d spent the last hour making the same inquiry, if phrased far more casually, of his guests. None of them had the slightest inkling. And neither did Lily.

  “I do not know,” she hissed, just as upset as he was—if not more so. “He arrived last night, but no one has seen him since this morning. I sent a runner to check, and she told me that he is occupied.”

  “With what?!” A sharp look from Lily reminded him to lower his tone and reapply his smile, though it was more fragile than before. “This is all scheduled to the hour. His staff were the ones who gave us the schedule.”

  “And he gets to change them,” she brushed back a few strands of black hair. Then added. “Someone else arrived this morning, but I have not been able to find out who.”

  “Ruin?” Alarion asked, his pulse in his throat. There had been talks about it for weeks, as it would be strange for a Patron to miss such a momentous event, but Alarion had doubted he would show. One of the perks of being powerful was that you were allowed to be strange if you wanted to be. The walking disaster had shown little interest in him since their meeting on the Trinity Isles, and Alarion had not expected that to change.

  “That would explain why some of the seated are nervous,” Lily replied. “But he is usually more bombastic.”

  “Then send someone for Kali,” Alarion suggested. “He’d know who was on guard last night.”

  “What do you think I did twenty-“ Her eyes flicked past him, her pleasant fa?ade dropping entirely as she finished her thought in a decidedly un-Lily way. “-shit.”

  Alarion turned, following her wide-eyed gaze to see an unfamiliar man framed in the doorway.

  He wasn’t an imposing man, but his presence demanded attention. Cameras flashed, and the assembled dignitaries rose to greet him, halted only by an upraised hand.

  He was slim and short, almost wiry in that way Alarion had been in his youth, though much older. Fifty, perhaps sixty, fit but not strong. His black hair was streaked with silver, giving him a patrician air that matched his sharp features. Dressed in a long suit jacket that evoked the Vitrian dress uniform, the man was smiling broadly, but it never reached his eyes.

  “Friends, please, do not hop to your feet on my account. I have already kept you waiting.”

  “Alarion,” Lily whispered harshly from his side. There was fear in her voice, and that put him on edge more than the man did.

  No, if anything, the Vitrian looked familiar. His was a comfortable, almost familial presence, like seeing an old friend or a forgotten neighbor. It was so out of sorts with Lily’s reaction that he delved deeper with his [Unraveller’s Sense], looking for some enchantment or manipulation. But all he felt was a bond, a strong and complicated sympathetic tie between them.

  “I must apologize further, as Governor Williams will not be joining us for the Formation Ceremony. I was tasked with delivering a message from the Imperator, and it seems that the contents require the Governor’s full attention.” The man’s eyes searched the crowd as he spoke, moving from face to face until they located Alarion, almost hidden at the far end of the room. “I hope that I will be an acceptable substitute, Two-Thirty-Eight?”

  Alarion’s eyes narrowed at the name, then widened as the man walked toward him with purpose, rolling up his sleeve as he walked.

  How had Alarion not recognized him on the spot? The resemblance was obvious once it clicked.

  The man stopped in front of Alarion, his left arm outstretched, palm in. The Vitrian Tuluus that his daughter had shown him years earlier. A formal reintroduction to end a feud without either side losing face. “Syrus Feln.”

  Alarion swallowed hard,pulse pounding in his ears as he offered his wrist. “Alarion.”