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scarcely large enough to turn around in, with wares of mediocre quality and execrable taste. Outside in the expanse of the plaza itself, portable stalls were set up in haphazard fashion. The hucksters running such places were mostly Kelths—cringing, fawning creatures in brindled fur. Their upright ears twitched nervously at every sound. Their keen eyes watched the Kaa’s movements as though he would order them slain on the spot. Garbed plainly in colors of dust and muted greens, they seemed too awed by the Kaa’s august presence to even call out their wares. One male Kelth, bolder than the rest, held out a cheap trinket as though expecting the Kaa to purchase it. One of the guards glared at him, and the Kelth hastily withdrew with an awkward bow.
    The crowd behind the patroller barricades consisted mostly of the mingled abiru races, with a scattering of lower-class Viis among them. A few Rejects, cloaked and hooded, skulked on the fringes. Gripping Israi’s small hand tightly, the Kaa averted his gaze from these, his basest subjects.
    Sighing, the Kaa paused halfway across the plaza, ready to retreat from this ill-considered expedition. At once his clowns raced ahead of him to tumble and flip in a display of acrobatics that made the abiru folk stare in astonishment. Israi laughed aloud, defying etiquette, and the Kaa smiled at the simple innocence of chunenhal.
    She tilted her head back to gaze up at him with sparkling green eyes. “Isn’t this fun? I am fascinated.”
    He sighed again, and had not the heart to drag her away just yet. Turning from the acrobatics of his clowns, he strolled to the booth of a short Myal. Of all the slave races, Myals were the most civilized. The Kaa appreciated their intelligence and undertanding of art and history. This particular Myal was old and stunted, barely reaching to the Kaa’s waist. His mane of reddish-gold hair was scraggly and sparse, but his dark liquid eyes held an expression of refinement. He dealt in handcrafted lamps.
    Pausing at the booth, the Kaa allowed a guard to select one of the lamps and hold it up for his inspection. The workmanship was surprisingly good; clearly the maker possessed familiarity with historical artifacts. The Kaa found himself almost interested enough to forget how thirsty, hot, and uncomfortable he was. Almost. He longed for the cool, scented shade of his garden, and turned away from the Myal without asking the question he had intended.
    The guard put down the lamp, and the little Myal crafter curled his prehensile tail around one leg and sank down on his haunches in visible disappointment.
    “What?” asked a cultured voice from behind the Kaa. “Is the Imperial Father uninterested in these humble wares?”
    Recognizing that voice, the Kaa stiffened slightly, but masked his reaction by turning around. “Lord Telvrahd,” he said without enthusiasm.
    Telvrahd bowed low with dramatic flourishes of his green-skinned hands, displaying wide, fashionable cuffs sprinkled with pavé jewels that glittered in the relentless sunshine. His brow ridge and rill gleamed with oil. “A bountiful Festival to the Imperial Father,” he said formally.
    “A bountiful Festival to you,” the Kaa replied. Inwardly he was fuming. Which fool in his entourage had allowed Telvrahd access to him like this? Egg-brother or not, Telvrahd was a pest with ambitions that outstripped his importance. Yet because he had made himself a leader of the Progressionist Party, it was unwise to dismiss him publicly. After all, there was the cheering crowd beyond the patroller barricades to consider.
    When the Kaa acknowledged him, Telvrahd smirked. His ruby-colored eyes gleamed with mischief as he bowed somewhat less grandly to the sri-Kaa. “Greetings to the Imperial Daughter of Sahmrahd Kaa.”
    Although she had been tugging impatiently at the Kaa’s hand, Israi now looked up at her uncle and gave him the correct half obeisance for someone of his rank and standing at court. She