Humming to himself, he exited his suite, nodded politely to the guards, and progressed to the Court of Statues, where the elite liked to amuse themselves with petty gossip. He graced several courtiers with friendly smiles before inserting himself into a conversation near a platter of honey-drenched pastries.
It was there he realized all his careful plans were on the verge of falling apart. A noble with a high-pitched voice was talking about those barbaric races and how there were rumors that the emperor-to-be was contemplating reopening the royal stables. Word had come to him from his contacts who worked the river that an augur, a highly respected one, was soon arriving with a recently purchased kehok that would be Prince Dar’s prize racer.
“An augur is bringing one of the desert abominations to the palace?” Usan asked, as if this were of only mild interest to him. His mind raced through all potential consequences. “How unusual.”
“Indeed! The royal stables have been closed for decades,” the noble said. “I do not understand what could have prompted Prince Dar to prioritize restarting the royal racing program during such a time of need.”
“Perhaps that’s exactly why—it’s a time of need, and the people need hope,” said another noble, a woman with a bit of honey smeared on her cheek that blurred her carefully applied makeup. She shoved another pastry into her mouth after her statement.
The others nodded in agreement.
“When is this ‘prize kehok’ due to arrive?” Usan asked. He hid his alarm under a veneer of casual charm, smiling at a server who delivered a flute of amethyst-colored liquid. He’d given up trying to identify the various fruity drinks Becarans liked to serve. All of them tasted sickly sweet to him. He sipped this one and schooled his face to hide a grimace.
“Imminently!” the first noble said, warming to the topic. “Prince Dar can’t expect to solve any of Becar’s problems with this distraction. Surely the people won’t forget his failures merely because he chooses to participate in the races!”
“It is a clever move,” the woman said around the pastry she had stuffed in her cheek in order to speak. “He’ll win over the populace if his racer performs well.”
The man snorted. “Foolishness.”
“Popular foolishness,” the woman corrected.
Potential disaster, Usan thought, downing the rest of his unpleasant drink and discarding the glass.
The woman with the pastry was correct. The mood of a nation was a fickle, variable thing. A freshly placated populace wouldn’t riot as quickly or as expansively as he needed them to. It was his job to ensure that the Becarans ran out of patience with their darling emperor-to-be on a very specific schedule, so that when the time was right, the city would explode. Then, before a new emperor could be selected and crowned, King Hamra of Ranir would sweep into the city to restore peace and order. This new stunt by Prince Dar could jeopardize that dream.
He scanned the Court of Statues until his gaze landed on one of its most important members: Lady Nori. She was gracefully weaving between other nobles, gifting them with a smile or a light laugh. Young and beautiful, she was a natural jewel in a river full of artificial ones. It was no wonder Prince Dar was reputed to favor her. Everyone did.
Usan angled his path through the crowd to intersect hers, watching her without seeming to. She was truly skilled at the art of delighting everyone while favoring no one. If he were advising Prince Dar, he would tell him to secure her allegiance as quickly and permanently as possible—she would be a valuable asset to a new emperor. But since he was, by definition, on the opposite side, he was not rooting for the couple to, well, couple.
“Ah, Lady Nori, a pleasure to see you,” he said. He smoothed his expression into one of gentle surprise at their encounter. It didn’t much matter if she saw through that—the appearance of casual conversation was all he needed.
She inclined her lovely head. “Ambassador Usan. You look well.”
“I am sunburned in places that haven’t even seen the sun, and when I look in the mirror, I see a parched skeleton.” He liberated a flute of mango wine from the tray of a nearby server. “I fear I will never not be thirsty again. How do you Becarans do it?”
Lady Nori laughed, a sound that reminded him of bubbles. “Didn’t you know? We were all sand beetles in our past lives. The desert is