Night had already fallen when I returned home. Not a bad night to be outside, unless you tired of the bugs and frogs deafening you. I went to check in on Suri—heavens only knew how busy I’d be in the next days—but I'd barely entered the manor before Berganza drifted up to me and informed me Little Master was dining at a friend's place.

I dropped myself on the nearest living room chair. Comfortable enough, but what I truly wanted was the armchair in my study, the one that held me like a cupped hand. As if I had time to settle and rest.

“What is she even doing, anyway?” I mused.

Berganza was pretty sure she enjoyed her friend’s company.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Believe it or not, I understand that part. At her age, I wouldn’t have missed dinner at home even if I could, though. Did she sent word early, at least?”

She had, it seemed, dropped by in the early evening to shower and change. The house staff lacked the authority to forbid her to leave again, but I doubted they would’ve forbidden her anything even if they could.

After all, they’d been equally lenient with me.

“As for myself, I’ve already dined. I’ll be leaving again soon, but I’ll have a sandwich or something when I return. Tell Little Master she should ask my permission before dining out.” Was that too soft? Too harsh, even? Whatever. I'd talk to her next day. Or rather, whenever I was rested and found some free time. With a sigh, I forced myself on my feet. “Don't know what I'd do without you.”

Berganza allowed for this to be true, though it had to be said I faced significant complications. Hadn’t I had only a few hours of sleep? Wasn’t it safer for me to take the trolley? Where was I headed for this time?

I sighed. “If that’ll make you rest easier. I’m going to the Starry.”

Berganza offered to check the trolley schedules while I rested.

“You do that. I’ll shower.”

He glided away, surely feeling very pleased with himself.

Though I have to admit I felt very much the same as I stepped on the shower. After all, I’d gotten what I’d wanted. Azul Mamani wasn’t deferring to me anymore. He felt so much more at ease, too. I could swear I’d seen a hint of a true smile from him, too. I knew, though I’d never gotten the knack of it myself, that people smile mostly out of politeness; but even a polite smile doesn’t feel hollow.

I could’ve been ready earlier if I didn’t care about the way I looked, or later if I cared about looking in the societally-appointed way for someone of my station. High society frowned upon noticeable makeup in those days; the style for the last three decades or so had been what they called “natural”. I disliked the idea of spending time and effort on pretending I wasn’t spending time and effort, and I was lucky enough to rank highly enough to get away with it. Besides—and this could be my own pride talking—I thought the King of the Dying Sun should stand out.

Berganza came in and gave me a notepad with the entire railway timetable for the night; unnecessarily detailed, but that makes him happy. If I hurried I could catch the 11:15 train, he said. I scribbled Karolina Leni’s name on another page and requested whatever information the staff could find on her.

With a court meeting scheduled for next week, I had pretty good chances of finding Perpetuo Melibe in the Starry; if not him, surely someone who’d know where to steer me to.

The trolley stop was only a couple blocks away; its magical lights glowed all night, and on pleasant nights like this one, a small crowd would gather around it. Living in a historical building so near by, we get a steady stream of people leaving the stop and “casually” walking past the gates, attempting to peer inside. Some of the staff—not, naturally, Berganza—will reply rather rudely. I can’t be bothered to acknowledge any of it.

Leaning my head on a trolley window, I watched the streets pass me by: they widened as they went, their buildings rising higher, their gates wider. None as lofty as mine, or as old-fashioned. In the dark, I thought of Azul and the satin glow of his skin in the sunlight, where he belonged. It was so unfair that I could stand by his side but I couldn’t bite him. He was too cute not to bite. I couldn’t decide if it was better to leave marks where they wouldn’t be easily seen, or where they would, so I should try both.

We came to meet the North Quarter as it rose above us, hundreds of tons of stone held aloft by the power of the Imperium. After winning a war singlehandedly, Letheia I wanted to build herself a permanent monument; something that’d tell you at a single glance who ruled the world and why. She died before she could bring this ambition to fruition, and so did the unfortunate Letheia II. It was Letheia III who split up one of the most glorious cities the world has ever known, tossing the pieces into the air like confetti. There they still remained, delicately suspended in the aether like soap bubbles. Something that had never been attempted before, much less achieved. Who would defy the Megarchon, who held the greatest city in the world aloft in the skies?

When you lived there, you did eventually get used to it. It’s inevitable. And yet, every time I crossed from one Quarter to another, as the gigantic stone bridges locked into place with a rumble like the earth splitting open, I remembered how high I was, and how I and every single cyclist and trolley passenger and stray dog was alive, and not ground into the dust like an insect, because the Megarchon willed it so.

You get used to it.

Now we rushed past the Theater Pigiol’s columned façade; for the briefest of moments, our train was chased by stirring brass notes like dogs chasing after a carriage. (Kádar’s Fourth?) Summer abounded with concerts. I should bring Azul to one or two—perhaps in the open air, in some scenic location? He might enjoy that. I should’ve asked about his musical tastes during lunch. Well, perhaps next time. Or perhaps I could make sure he wasn’t thinking of the music.

The trolley shuddered and stopped one block from my ultimate destination, distracting me from more pleasant thoughts.

A woman seated across me clutched her purse harder, clearly unsure of what to make out of me, but deciding herself for suspicion nevertheless. My picture rarely shows on the papers, and apparently it’s unbelievable that I’d take the trolley. I don’t know why; carriages are cumbersome and inconvenient, and trolleys will keep running no matter what, so I might as well take one.

In the daylight, the Starry River was an unremarkable block of grey stone. It was transformed after night fell, showing why it’d earned it its name: an illusion spell of a stately stream of stars flowing down like a waterfall. A virtuoso illusion indeed: the work of the Sani sisters, who never made any others.

Carriages lined up five deep out of the coach house. Next night the line would be longer. I walked past them and slipped the grooms a few bills, for no reason other than building good relationships. Those can’t be conjured out of thin air in a moment, and you never know when you’ll need them.

The Starry was a hotel before its owners bankrupted and the sisters bought it; you can see this in its wide staircase and floors of private rooms. One could argue it still is, but I'd argue it’s more appropiate to consider it the court kennel. There governors and ministers and a few select Lemarezins meet their sycophants, strike alliances, share meals in the luxurious dining room, dance with diplomats from across the sea in the vast ballroom, and plan how to double-cross each other. As court stands for the eternal golden day of the Megarchon, the Starry is its inevitable night.

The concierge approached me at the right speed; not too fast, so that he wouldn't seem to be rushing a guest, and not too slow, which would look like dawdling and could allow me to get away. His look of interest may or may not be a pretense. He hadn’t changed during the last decade or so: always the sparse hair rising up around his skull like a laurel crown, always suited in shades of grey.

After his bow I gave him a hundred nureals, unhurried and openly, for neither of us had anything to hide. “Is Mr Melibe in?”

“Certainly, Your Illustrious Highness. Do you wish to be announced?”

“No, thanks. Care to refresh my memory?”

“Room 547, Your Illustrious Highness.”

“Till next time, then.”

Visits to the Starry were never cheap, but almost always worth it. Hands on my jacket pockets, I walked to the nearest elevator, blackening the gleaming floor tiles and mirrored ceiling with many iterations of my reflection. If I received any stares, they were surreptitious ones. I went to stand at the elevator's back, a habit ingrained by years of being one of the tallest people in the room. The mechanisms whirred into motion beneath my feet and we were elevated.

Once the Starry’s magic had been powered by a small army of workers. Then batteries were invented, which can trap the strong winds beyond the city barriers and translate them into powering an impressive array of things. Just as they free you from needing people standing by to pour their magic into the works, they caused a surge in unemployment. I’d earned myself a number of courtly enemies by helping fund a group of attorneys and activists who held the energy-selling companies responsible for easing us out of the crisis. They’d achieved a reasonable success, but my part in the matter hadn’t gone unnoticed. At first I’d dropped a few public insults to make sure I’d attract animosity, as I was in a better position to withstand it than the others. But that was before I became involved with Azul Mamani.

If anybody thought they could harm him to get back at me—well, you can find a loophole in every oath. It’s simply a matter of how far you’re willing to reach for it.

Over the door, a sharp arrow pointed at the fifth floor. I cleared my throat; the handful of people ahead of me quickly stepped aside. The hallway was softly lit in blue, its walls green. An atmosphere reminiscent of a forest, with a scent of pine needles and the soft babble of a creek. Thankfully, not one of those tacky spells that shove chirping birds and falling leaves on your face, not in an establishment of this quality. An entire army could've marched through and have their steps swallowed by the thick carpeting. I knocked at the door of room 547.

“Fuck off,” Melibe said.

“Open up, it’s Umbra.”

Barefoot steps scampered closer. The door opened. It was a young woman with unnaturally red hair; the bedsheet she’d wrapped herself on trailed after her like a peacock tail. I bowed my head in recognition of her help. She retreated to the bed just as silently.

I like dealing with prostitutes because they usually lack nonsense.

The room’s tasteful simplicity was lost under the reek of sex and the litter of the night—dirty shot glasses, a greasy tray, and a barely noticeable woodsy smell that had to be the latest vintage from the Yamalian hills.

People joked Melibe’d been named Perpetuo in honor of his family’s hold on the governancy. After all, it had reached its eleventh generation with him; far longer than the runs of families with lucrative—and therefore highly contested—provinces. Unsurprisingly, he was a coward. He jumped at the sight of me, I think in part because he was also naked.

“Your Illustrious Highness! For a second there I thought my wife had sent someone after me.”

“I don't know why she'd bother.” I stayed as close to the door as possible. 

“Yeah, me neither.” Melibe shrugged good-naturedly, taking his seat on a corner of the bed. Rather noticeably, he tried to walk the tightrope between looking in good shape for a sixty-something-year-old and making clear he'd never done anything resembling manual labor in his life. The woman behind him pulled her legs up and watched me. She didn't make any attempt to put on any clothes, either.

“Still a law-abiding subject of Her Magnificence, I hope.”

Melibe bristled. “And what have I done now? Did you come to bark at me about some proposal you want sunk, too? Again with the self-righteousness! You’re only a glorified coach driver.”

I stood there with my hands on my pockets and waited for him to stop dripping bitterness all over the carpeting. “Does the name Azul Mamani ring any bells?”

“Oh, I get it now, Umbra.” That was perhaps the third time he’d used my name in the last decade. He seemed to think it gave his words the feeling of an ultimatum.

“Well, will you enlighten me?”

Any secrecy that remained about Azul’s summoning would be lost the moment he arrived on Vorsa. I wouldn't miss anything by revealing what little I knew. It was the principle of the matter that made me push Melibe to show his cards first. You can't make these vermin any concessions. All they know is the art of taking.

“This has nothing to do with me.”

“He’s under your management.”

“No. I mean, yes. I couldn’t possibly have met every single person up there, don’t be ridiculous. Her Magnificence's free to summon any of her great-grandchildren whenever it pleases her, anyway.”

“Naturally. And you believe this to be a coincidence?”

“Mmm, what?” You could almost buy his look of confusion. “She wants to see her great-grandson before something—of course I'm not implying anything! Her Magnificence has no reason not to enjoy good health for many more years. You’re the one casting senseless aspersions!"

Court sludge. Adept at nothing but twisting the subject into something barely recognizable.

“You touch Mamani,” I said, “you're dead.”

“Oh, of fucking course!”