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Cammon hastily shut his mind, not wanting to eavesdrop on her thoughts, but he felt sorry for her all the same. He liked Wen a great deal, and he knew Justin considered her an excellent comrade. Clearly, that wasn’t enough for Wen.
    “I’m here to see Senneth,” he said.
    “At the palace,” Wen replied. “Go on in.”
    It was still another twenty minutes before he tracked down Senneth. First he had to traverse the wide lawn from the gates to the palace doors, pass another checkpoint there, and then be escorted through the large, sumptuous building. The footman took him to a sunny room decorated in yellow and blue, where Senneth was writing someone a letter. Her brother, Cammon guessed, since she didn’t seem to feel especially warm toward the recipient.
    She laid aside her pen with alacrity, and greeted him with a smile that turned quickly to a frown. “Is that the best you have to wear?” she asked. She was most unusually dressed—for her—in a long-sleeved blue gown with bits of lace at the throat and cuffs. Her white-blond hair was almost styled, pinned in place with a clip that sported a row of Brassenthwaite sapphires.
    He glanced down at his clothes. “This is the sort of thing I always wear,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
    “You look like a street urchin, that’s what’s wrong.”
    “I always look like a street urchin, according to you and Kirra.”
    “And when’s the last time someone actually trimmed your hair ?”
    “Maybe you should have cut it yourself last night.”
    She sighed. “Come on. Let’s see if I can find any clothes that make you look more respectable.”
    They both knew it was a hopeless task—no matter what he was wearing, Cammon always managed to look like he’d just come back from the ragpicker’s shop. He just didn’t care enough about things to figure out how to wear clothing. He was too focused on people.
    But they hunted up Milo, the king’s steward, who took them to a huge and starchy-smelling room filled with hundreds of uniforms hanging from two levels of rods. Cammon wandered between the rows of jackets and trousers, fingering the woven cloth and elegant braid, and wondered what Areel would make of all these discards from previous fashions for royal servants. Between them, Milo and Senneth quickly culled out a half dozen outfits that they thought would be suitable, and then insisted that Cammon try them all on, one right after the other. He didn’t mind the part about getting half naked, but he was just a little annoyed about all the bother over outward appearances. As if that were what mattered.
    They picked one, black with gold trim, and handed it back to Cammon. “We’ve set aside a room for Cammon’s use,” Milo said in his stately fashion. He was a staid and portly man who behaved with far more formality than King Baryn himself usually displayed. “Perhaps he would like to get himself cleaned and dressed.”
    Now Cammon was surprised. “I’m to live here? I didn’t realize that.”
    “No, but you might need to stay overnight when there are visitors for several days,” Senneth said. “We’re still working out some of the details.”
    “If you’d come with me,” the steward said, and Cammon and Senneth followed him down the halls and up to a room on the third floor. It proved to be somewhat smaller than the ones reserved for Senneth and Kirra and other visiting serramara, but spotless.
    “Quickly, now,” Senneth said as Milo departed. “We want you stationed in the dining hall before all the guests come in.”
    So he changed into the black uniform, submitted to Senneth’s ruthless combing of his hair, washed his face again although he didn’t really think it was necessary, saw her roll her eyes and shrug at the scuff marks on his shoes, and finally she was willing to call him ready. Back down the stairs and through the hallways, past marble archways and rooms decorated with both gold and silver leaf, past statuary, past guards, past every