The opportunity to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself. -- Sun Tzu

Every court session followed an agreed-upon pattern. First the politicians yelled at each other about whatever they currently thought would make them popular. Unless something truly important was being discussed, the empress seldom attended that part of the session. Nor did many outsiders. Who wanted to listen to adults screaming at each other, calling each other names, and generally behaving like children? When that was over and the politicians were finally silent then anyone who had a suggestion on something related to the government or a serious matter to report could come forward with it.

Shizuki had no idea of how the system worked. He expected Ilaran would arrive within minutes of the court being declared open for the day, reveal Haliran's crimes, and have her arrested before the hour was out. He was in for a thorough disappointment.

Dozens of politicians and aristocrats filed into the room. They took their accustomed seats and passed the time by gossiping with their friends or insulting their enemies. Shizuki was sure at least two challenges to a duel had been accepted within ten minutes. Perhaps even a few blood feuds had started. There should be a law against that. Such feuds were always nasty.

He shuddered at the memory of the only blood feud he had personally witnessed. It had caused the deaths of eight people before Haliran decided she just had to stick her nose in. Within weeks the head and the three main heirs of one family had died under mysterious circumstances. Not coincidentally, someone in their rival family had gotten in over their head in gambling debts with some of Haliran's friends. And one of the dead heirs owned a very valuable collection of historical artefacts. The artefacts were conspicuously not mentioned in their will even though their relatives knew they should have been. So Haliran was called on to value them and give them to a museum. Copies of them ended up in one of the city's museums. The originals were sold to collectors willing to pay whatever exorbitant price Haliran took it into her head to name.

To cheer himself up after that memory he reminded himself, She'll never have the chance to do that again.

In the room below some of the politicians lost their temper and started a shouting match. Shizuki watched with interest as it degenerated into a full-fledged tantrum. If he ever dared to use some of those words they threw around, Siarvin would wash his mouth out with soap. And he was fairly sure he had met toddlers who'd be ashamed to behave the way these grown men and women were. It ended in the guards storming in and breaking up the fight before it could turn violent. Shizuki was almost disappointed. There was nothing more entertaining for a child than watching adults make fools of themselves.

Peace was restored. The politicians who had screamed insults a minute ago now sat down and pointedly ignored their rivals. Some of them wore expressions that suggested they would never even think of starting a fight. Shizuki shook his head and laughed at them. Luckily his laughter only sounded like a faint hiss, or the people would have been very alarmed to hear disembodied giggles coming from the statue's head. Then he saw something that drove all thoughts of politicians and their idiocy out of his mind. His blood ran cold -- metaphorically, since technically it was always cold.

Haliran had just walked into the room.

Shizuki looked again just to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. No, that really was Haliran. Worse, she was accompanied by one of her so-called friends. She had so many of those that he needed a minute to place this one. Oh. It was Menansierd.

Professor of something, kept stolen goods when the police questioned Haliran, cheats at cards, Shizuki's mind supplied.

He watched the two of them as they sat down in the chairs reserved for nobles who infrequently attended the court. They talked animatedly about something. Well, Menansierd did. Haliran's blank expression and short answers suggested she was mildly bored at best. She kept craning her neck to get a better look at the people already here.

Shizuki's first thought was, She knows about the plan.

If he had been in his immortal form he would have fallen off the statue. He looked around wildly for any sign of Ilaran. Where was he? He had to warn him before he walked into a trap!

There was something terrifying about the mere thought of going outside when you had stayed in one place for years. For the first century or so of their sham marriage Haliran had kept Siarvin under watch when she wasn't around. There was nowhere he could go, when he had no friends, no money, and no way of getting home. She always took the time to remind him she could have him arrested on any invented charge she liked if she ever thought he was making a plan to leave.

He had wanted to escape back then. He'd made several attempts. They'd all failed. Haliran's servants were completely loyal to her or they would never have been able to keep their jobs. Twice he even attempted suicide. Both times his guards got suspicious and barged in on him before he could go through with the attempt.

The second time he managed to cut his own throat with one of the kitchen knives. Haliran had ordered them to be blunted, but neglected to check how blunt they actually were. That one was sharp enough to cut. It just wasn't sharp enough to cut deep. He only inflicted a surface wound before they found him. To his surprise Haliran went to the trouble of fetching a doctor. When she was sure his injury wasn't serious she told him -- smiling all the time -- never to do that again or there'd be hell to pay.

After that he'd given up hope of escape. He found more subtle ways of fighting against Haliran, but he didn't try to flee any more. A few decades later she removed the guards. When she told him about it she tried to portray it as a gesture of trust.

"See, I've forgiven you," she said with a smile, as if she was the one with anything to forgive.

To Siarvin it had been a cruel taunt, a reminder that she knew how badly she'd broken him.

Years after that she told him outright he could go out if he wanted to -- on condition he never left the city. Over the years he rarely took her up on that offer. It was too much like crawling out of his own grave and then willingly burying himself in it again. Illogical though it seemed, it was easier to remind himself he was a prisoner here against his will when he seldom left his house. If he accepted the illusion of freedom she offered he might come to believe it really was freedom. He might even forget he was still a prisoner.

Today started like any other day in his living nightmare. He had breakfast, washed the dishes himself, and sat down to have a cup of tea.

He tidied up the kitchen as he usually did. Everything had its own specific place. If anything was moved by even the slightest bit he would know someone else had been here. It was a habit he got into just in case Haliran ever tried to put something in his food. At midday he walked around the house, checking to make sure everything was exactly as it should be. Then he calmly walked out the door. He took nothing with him. He never looked back. He walked straight across the grounds and out the front gate. The guards didn't bat an eyelid. They knew he was allowed to leave, and if they thought about it at all they just assumed he was going on some errand.

It had been millennia since Siarvin went to the Silver Palace. He still knew the way. Immortals changed little over the years, and immortals' cities even less. About twenty minutes later he approached the gates.

Ilaran and Koyuki stood outside, at enough of a distance from the gates to prevent the guards becoming suspicious. Koyuki carefully avoided meeting Siarvin's eyes. Ilaran straightened up and gave Siarvin a look somewhere between excited and impatient. That look was so eerily similar to the expression Aderthril had always worn before a battle that it hurt. How strange; taken individually Ilaran's features were almost an exact copy of his father's, but when put together he strongly resembled his mother. It also hurt to know he likely didn't realise how strongly. He had still been so young when she died.

"Koyuki saw Haliran in the city," Ilaran said, oblivious to the depressing turn Siarvin's thoughts had taken.

"Is she back yet?" Siarvin shook his head. "She left to visit one of her friends."

Ilaran smiled. Siarvin suppressed a shudder. In that moment he looked exactly like his father. "Good. Are we ready?"

The palace doors were open. A few figures wandered in and out. The court would be in session, and the empress would probably soon arrive. At that very moment the bells rang to announce her arrival. Now was as good a time as any. Siarvin nodded. Koyuki followed suit, though more slowly.

The three of them set off towards the palace. The guards let them pass without batting an eyelid.

Until today Abi had little idea of what the royal court was like when in session. She had an answer now. Court was interminably dull. Nothing but pompous politicians nattering on about trivial old laws. They weren't even amusing or illogical laws, like the one against answering the door with a chicken on your head[1].

Kiriyuki dozed off during the middle of a heated debate about train tickets. Not a debate about their price or anything actually useful. It was just about if they should be printed on paper or fabric. Fabric, of all things. Abi would have gone to sleep too if she wasn't all too aware of what would happen when Ilaran arrived. The trouble was she didn't know when he'd arrive. What was the point of sleeping when she might be rudely awakened fifteen minutes later?

To distract herself from the debate she looked around at the other attendees. There was Uncle Arikimi on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with the Seroyawan ambassador. Judging by the looks he occasionally cast in their direction, Kiriyuki was in for yet another interminable lecture on decorum and protocol as soon as the court was adjourned.

A short distance from Arikimi was a man with a truly bizarre hat made entirely of metal triangles. Abi spent several minutes wondering if that was actually a hat or if some alien life-form had taken up residence on his head. On the other side of the room a woman was loudly snoring. Abi couldn't blame her. The politicians should take the hint and stop nattering about nonsense.

She leaned forward in her seat to see past Kiriyuki. At first she didn't believe her eyes. That couldn't possibly be Haliran there. During their brief talk at the festival Ilaran had said she never attended court.

Abi rubbed her eyes and looked again. Her stomach felt as if it had just tied itself in knots. That was Haliran. And unless she was mistaken the young woman sitting on the seat in front of her was one of her daughters. The one who'd spoken to Abi at the opera. What was her name? Oh, it didn't matter. What did matter was that Haliran was here. Here, in the court, when she should have been at home. Here, where she would have a front row seat to her own denunciation, when the arrival of the police should take her by surprise.

Apart from everything else, that meant she would denounce Abi herself in just a few minutes.

The knots in Abi's stomach twisted even further. She stood up and tried to unobtrusively move towards the door. If she went around by one of the side halls she could avoid anyone seeing her leave. She just had to wait outside the main doors until Ilaran arrived. She had to warn him before it was too late.

Behind the main council table was the door the empress used to enter the chamber. It flew open just as Abi reached the last row of chairs. She turned round, her heart sinking.

"Her Imperial Majesty Empress Raivíth arrives!" the herald cried.

In the bell-tower on the palace roof the bells rang twice. That was to inform people waiting outside for the politicians to shut up that the empress had arrived and they could petition her directly. It was too late.

The room was divided into several sets of chairs, separated by low wooden walls with doors at intervals. Abi and Kiriyuki were in one set. Haliran was in the one beside them. Abi eyed the distance between the closest door and Haliran's seat.

If I'm quick I could knock her out before Ilaran arrives, she thought.

Common sense caught up with her at once. Such a scheme might work in a novel, but not in the royal palace. The entire court, including her grandmother, would see what looked to them like an unprovoked attack on a random stranger.

Abi took a deep breath. Her heart battered against her ribcage like a trapped bird. Her stomach was doing its best to twist its way right out of her abdomen. Really, it was just as well she hadn't eaten anything this morning or she would have been sick by now. She sat down on the nearest chair and tried to think. It was almost impossible when her thoughts flew around wildly like a flock of startled birds.

Before the empress's arrival the court room had been relatively empty. Now more and more people filed in. One petitioner had already presented her case to Raivíth. The sleeping members of the audience began to wake up. Several rows below Kiriyuki looked around for her.

"What are you doing up there?" she asked when she finally saw her. Abi guessed at her meaning more from her expression and the movements of her mouth than by actually hearing her words.

She shrugged helplessly and went back down to take her seat again. There was no way out of this mess. She just had to accept it -- and pray Ilaran was right about no one believing Haliran.

Kitri and Irímé bumped into each other on the palace steps -- literally. Neither was looking where they were going, too preoccupied by looking for Abi.

"Sorry," they said at the same time, then did a double take as they recognised each other.

"What are you doing here?" Irímé asked.

Kitri eyed him suspiciously. "Are you here to help her with," she paused before finishing, "you-know-what?"

"In the palace?" Irímé asked incredulously. "How stupid do you think Abi is?"

"Stupid enough to raise the dead even when everyone agrees it's a bad idea."

Well, he couldn't argue with that. So he changed the subject. "I'm here to... It's a long story. But it has nothing to do with magic."

Kitri didn't look convinced. "I'm here in case last night happens all over again."

What use would you be if a zombie attack did happen? Irímé wondered. He didn't want an argument on the palace steps, so he didn't say it aloud.

"Do you know where the courtroom is?" he asked instead, since he didn't fancy getting lost in the palace.

Kitri's bemused expression suggested he had asked something very foolish. "Of course. Come on."

As soon as they got inside the palace Irímé realised why Kitri reacted that way to his question. The way to the courtroom was clearly signposted. Only someone with the world's worst sense of direction could possibly get lost.

They looked around for Abi when they arrived. If she was there, it was impossible to pick her out amongst the crowd. So they looked at each other, shrugged, and sat down on the closest empty seats.

Ilaran had never given much thought to how he would feel when he stepped into the courtroom. Goodness knew he had stepped into his own often enough back home and never thought anything of it. Now he found that there was a vast difference between being the prince hearing petitions and the petitioner bringing one. Logically he knew people weren't staring specifically at him; they were just looking curiously at anyone who wanted to speak to the empress. Most of them didn't even know who he was. In Tananerl he was the centre of attention on every official occasion, yet those stares had never bothered him half as much as these ones.

It wouldn't have been so bad if Siarvin and Koyuki were with him. But in accordance with usual custom in Tananerl he had left them outside until they were called on to back up his accusation. Only now it occurred to him that usual custom in Tananerl was not necessarily usual custom in Eldrin.

Raivíth was one of the few people in the room who both recognised him at once and knew what he was there for. If Abihira or Irímé were present, he hadn't seen them yet. With a wave of her hand Raivíth silenced one of the politicians in the middle of his speech. She looked directly at Ilaran.

"Prince Ilaran, I believe you have an important matter to report?"

"Yes, aunt." Might as well remind her of that.

His mouth had suddenly gone dry. Was this how people felt when they came to report crimes to him?

Raivíth looked at him expectantly. "What is it?"

A small, absurd feeling at the back of his mind made him want to look at the ground, at the ceiling, anywhere but at his aunt or any of the people present. It seemed to think that this would be easier if he couldn't see anyone. He steadfastly ignored that feeling and kept his head held high. He was a ruling prince, a royal on both sides of his family, a general who had won countless battles, and he would not cower or cringe like a common criminal. Especially when he hadn't even done anything wrong that would warrant such behaviour. It would give the completely wrong impression.

"Treason, your Majesty. Among other things."

A chorus of excited whispers arose from the audience. Raivíth looked as if she'd thought as much.

Not for nothing was the Silver Place given its name. The walls and ceiling were painted silver. The pillars and the wall behind Raivíth were covered with bits of glass -- or something that looked like glass; Ilaran had never cared enough to ask what it was. All those tiny fragments caught the light and made the room look like something out of a fairy-tale. They also acted as thousands upon thousands of mirrors combining into one huge -- though fractured -- mirror. You could look into them and see the people behind you. True, it wasn't a proper reflection, and the cracks made people strongly resemble fairy-tale monsters. But if someone was lucky enough to be reflected in just one piece of glass, their face was clearly visible.

While he waited for the uproar to subside, Ilaran glanced idly at the mirrors. Haliran stared back at him.