Some sad part of Kestrel reflected that no one had ever asked him this much about his mother when she’d been alive. But he hadn’t mattered to anyone then, least of all her.

"I know...she was found at the bottom of the Senriver Falls. By a fisherman, right? She must have jumped the night before..." He swallowed, fighting back a sudden pain in his chest. He had no right. How could he miss someone he'd never known?

"Pardon, my lord, but you are wrong." Lord Dyneth leaned forward, his voice growing sharp. "I knew my lady. She was bold, brave, and vivacious, all the way to the end. When the riots erupted in the Red District three years ago, she rode at the head of the soldiers to quell it. She feared nothing. She lived the life she wanted, and she had no regrets. She did not even regret you."

Kestrel tried not to wince. He’d thought he would have gotten used to this by now, but the sting never went away.

"My lady would have not killed herself. She had no reason."

"What are you saying?" The skin on the back of Kestrel's neck prickled. His aura stirred in interest.

"You are a naïve mountain boy, so you would not know. But this court is a den of vipers. My lady knew that well. I'm sure she made enemies, even if they hid their hatred behind smiles and courtesies. She didn't kill herself, Lord Knight."

"Then who did?" Kestrel said. The garden spun and dipped around him. The air was too hot, too suffocating; he needed to escape. And damn those servants, standing there blankly as if they hadn't heard a word.

"That I do not know. But now you are here, and you have taken her seat." Lord Dyneth gazed at Kestrel above his clasped hands. "And I ask you, her son: will you do this for me? Will you find out who killed her?"

To his shame, Kestrel blurted, "Why can't you?"

"I am only a ministra. I can't...there's very little I can do. And I am afraid, I will admit. I am afraid."

"And you don't think I would be?"

"You are an energos," Lord Dyneth said as if it explained everything. And it might have, if it were true.

"My lord, I...," Kestrel said. "This is, I mean, this is a lot to take in all at once. Can't you at least give me a hint?”

"It was probably a rival on the Circle. Beyond that I cannot say. I'm only a ministra. The world of energi is not mine to understand. And I'm, I—" Lord Dyneth's hands began to shake. "Come!" he called, and the servant with the pipe reappeared.

"Let me befriend my moonweed a little bit more, my lord," Lord Dyneth said as the servant held the pipe to his lips. "One last piece of advice, if you will: beware. Trust no one. Certainly not your new colleagues. Beware..."

Then he blew from the pipe, and he sank into his chair, and smoke filled the garden once more.

Hours later, Kestrel’s pulse still throbbed from terror. He felt trapped inside his rooms, yet horribly exposed by the open archways.

These were the Circle apartments, a low-lying building centered around a courtyard that contained a fountain and several lemon trees. It was closer to the falls than the guest quarters, but not quite close enough to hear their roar. He more felt it than anything, a resonance thrumming deep in his chest.

As the servants unpacked, Kestrel stood around feeling superfluous. He spotted the eagle engraved on the wall, the upholstery in Shanneray gray and bronze, and he tasted the sharp newness of the air, as if the rooms had recently been scrubbed down and aired out.

A wave of nausea wracked him. Trying to dispel it, he paced a circuit around the chambers. He was afraid to sit in the chairs or even to touch the bed. To touch anything his mother had used only a month ago. Finally he decided to sit on the floor, letting the chill of the tiles seep through his trousers.

Four Winds, what was he doing? The past month felt like a dream, clouded by an unreal sheen like the surface of a bubble, and if he dared inspect it further, it would pop. Maybe he would awaken in his bunk where his roommate Maever snored above him, and he'd have a laugh about his weird dream with the other cadets during their morning run. Imagine that! Dreaming about meeting the crown prince, of all things. Dreaming his mother had been murdered.

Sweating, Kestrel gripped his knees and tried to think about something, anything, aside from Lord Dyneth's horrible words, Carnelio Azed's condescending face. Nothing came to mind except for the man beneath the throne.

He'd seemed barely human in his beauty. All white and red and flowing silk. Kestrel's face burned as he remembered the ministra's smile, the scarlet bow of his lips. To say nothing of the way he’d licked the prince’s finger….

Kestrel shook his head hard. What was wrong with him? He'd never felt that ministra were an alien species, like his energos classmates did. They'd loved to climb the highest towers of Mount Jaeg and try to spy on Mount Hiar across the valley, the school the ministra attended. Usually they failed, but that didn't stop them from swapping lurid tales about what they hoped to do when they at last bonded.

Kestrel had joined in, faking laughter, faking interest, but really, he felt much the same toward ministra as he had when he was a kid. All the magi children of Shanneray Castle had played together, brats with chin-length hair. But one by one they took their initiations and stopped playing with the brats. Kestrel had held out as long as he could, but when his last few playmates decided to initiate as energi, he had followed them. After that he almost never spoke to ministra.

Maybe that was why the man beneath the throne had unsettled him so. But why didn't Kestrel feel the same about any other ministra? He found Lord Dyneth's lack of initiative frustrating, felt uncomfortable whenever one of the castle ministra bowed to him. Otherwise, he had no interest in them. Not that he did for the prince's ministra either, but...

“Excuse me, my lord?” A rap came from the doorway, and the handsome young servant peered through.

Kestrel jerked. He must be presenting quite a dignified image, hunched on the floor like a beggar. “Yes, what is it?”

“The banquet will begin soon. If I may, I would like to assist you in preparing for it.”

Last time Kestrel had checked, the banquet wouldn’t start in another three hours. But he held his tongue; he was certain the servant already thought him enough of an idiot, and maybe a palace banquet really necessitated several hours’ worth of primping. This would be his official introduction to court. His first meeting with his future colleagues.

Among them might be the ones who'd killed his mother.

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. He'd have to face it bravely. Who knew, maybe he was stupid to put any stock in anything Lord Dyneth said. Mia’s killer might only exist in the man’s moonweed-addled mind.

And not only would the prince be at the banquet, but so would his bonded, the man beneath the throne. Kestrel seized that thought like a lifeline and hauled himself to his feet.