“Then I won’t,” he answered. “Though I do need to talk with you about the Firenzcian spy that Talbot believes he’s discovered…” As Sergei talked, she looked away from the images of herself on his clothing to the crowd that pressed in around them. She saw a man staring at her. He was handsome, his skin somewhat darker than most of those in the hall, his head entirely shaved, though his beard was full and midnight-black. His clothing was loose and wildly-colored, and feathers sprouted from the shoulders as if he were some exotic bird. His eyes-behind a beaked demi-mask-were strangely blue and light, his gaze piercing and keen. He saw her attention and he nodded slightly toward her.

Sergei was still talking. “… already has the traitorous servant in the Bastida, so he’ll be no more trouble. But there are still the Morellis-” He stopped as she raised her hand.

“Who is that man?” she whispered to Sergei, glancing again at him. “He looks Magyarian.”

Sergei followed her gaze. “Indeed, Kraljica. That is Erik ca’Vikej. He’s just come to Nessantico yesterday. There’s undoubtedly a note on your desk from him requesting an audience. I haven’t had the chance to speak to him myself yet.”

“Stor ca’Vikej’s son?” The man had truly wonderful eyes. He continued to regard her, though he made no move to approach.

“The same.”

“I will see him,” she told Sergei. “In the south alcove, a mark of the glass from now. Tell him.”

Sergei might have frowned, but he bowed his head. “As you wish, Kraljica,” he said. His cane tapped on the marble floor as he left her side, his costume sending motes of light fluttering. Allesandra turned away, nodding and conversing with others as she moved slowly around the hall.