The study smelled of old paper and older wood.
Sheila sat at the desk, a stack of portraits spread before her—daguerreotypes, mostly, some paintings, a few charcoal sketches. The faces stared up at her, stiff and formal, their eyes blank. Duke Karmis stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his voice flat as he recited the hierarchy of the capital.
"There are four Great Houses below the Crown," he said. "House Claude. House Karmis. House Velle. House Jeville. In that order."
Sheila picked up the first portrait. A man in his fifties, silver-haired, impeccably dressed, his smile warm but his eyes cold. The daguerreotype had been hand-tinted, the blues of his coat vivid, the gold of his cufflinks gleaming.
"House Claude," Karmis said. "Wealth. Banking. Their fortune rivals that of the Royal Family itself. They lend money to kings and collect debts from emperors. Their patriarch, Lord Alistair Claude, has never lost a negotiation."
Sheila studied the face. The warmth in the smile. The coldness in the eyes.
"Are they friends to House Karmis?"
"Friends is a strong word. Allies is better. House Claude has supported us for generations—not out of kindness, but out of self-interest. A stable Karmis is good for business."
"What do they want from me?"
"Nothing. Everything." Karmis's voice was soft. "They want you to succeed. A successful Karmis is a profitable Karmis."
Sheila set the portrait aside.
The next portrait was a woman—young, perhaps thirty, with dark hair and sharp features. She wore a simple dress, no jewelry, no adornment. Her eyes were the most striking thing about her. They were the eyes of someone who had seen too much and forgotten nothing.
"House Velle," Karmis said. "Military. Their territory borders the northern wastes, where the old wars were fought. They command the largest standing army outside the Crown's own forces. Their matriarch, Lady Seraphina Velle, is a strategist without equal."
Sheila looked at the woman's eyes. "She looks sad."
"She is. Her husband died in the last border conflict. Her eldest son died in the one before that. House Velle has spilled more blood for the Crown than any other house." Karmis paused. "And still, they serve."
"Are they friends to House Karmis?"
"They are loyal. Not to us—to the idea of a stable kingdom. House Velle believes that order must be preserved, no matter the cost. As long as House Karmis contributes to that order, they will stand with us."
"And if we don't?"
Karmis didn't answer.
The third portrait was a man—younger than the others, perhaps forty, with a thin face and narrow eyes. He wore spectacles, the lenses thick, and his hair was receding. He looked like a clerk, not a noble. But the clothes were fine, the coat tailored, the cuffs starched.
"House Jeville," Karmis said. "Information. They rose to power ten years ago, when Lord Percival Jeville uncovered a plot against the Crown and delivered the conspirators to the King's justice. Since then, they have been the Crown's eyes and ears."
"They're spies."
"They're information brokers. There's a difference." Karmis's voice was dry. "Spies work in secret. Information brokers sell to the highest bidder."
"Are they friends to House Karmis?"
"They are new. They have no old loyalties. They will support us as long as it benefits them." Karmis paused.
Sheila looked at the thin face, the narrow eyes, the spectacles.
"Maybe he's not so bad," she said.
"Maybe." Karmis's voice was soft.
The next stack of portraits was larger—the lesser noble houses, the ones who owed their positions to the Crown's favor.
"These are the houses that serve the King directly," Karmis said. "They have no history, no ancient alliances, no deep roots. Their power comes from the Crown, and it can be taken away just as easily."
Sheila picked up a portrait. A young man, barely older than her, with blond hair and a vacant smile.
"House Ashworth. The King's cousin. They were elevated fifteen years ago, when Lord Ashworth married the King's sister. They have no power of their own—only what the King gives them."
"What's their attitude toward House Karmis?"
"They follow the Crown's lead. If the Crown smiles at us, they smile. If the Crown frowns..." Karmis shrugged. "They frown."
Sheila set the portrait aside. Picked up another. A woman in her forties, her face pinched, her lips thin.
"House Mercer. Traders. They made their fortune in textiles and bought their title twenty years ago. The old nobility looks down on them, but the King values their coin."
"Do they look down on us?"
"Everyone looks down on someone. House Mercer looks down on the merchant families below them. House Karmis is above them, so they treat us with respect—grudgingly."
Sheila sorted through the portraits. House Ashworth. House Mercer. House Blackwood. House Sterling. Dozens of faces, dozens of names, dozens of attitudes toward House Karmis.
"The ones who owe their titles to the Crown," Karmis said, "will treat us the way the King wants them to treat us. The King is not fond of House Karmis. So they are not fond of us."
"But they don't know why."
"They don't need to know why. They only need to know which way the wind blows."
The final stack of portraits was the smallest—the children.
Sheila had been waiting for these. The other boys and girls who would be announced at the banquet, the ones her age, the ones she would have to smile at and dance with and pretend to like.
"The Annunciation Banquet is held when the Prince's betrothed comes of age," Karmis said. "The Prince is twelve. You are eleven. The Crown has been waiting for you to reach the appropriate age."
"That's why the banquet is now."
"Yes. And the other noble houses have been waiting too. Their children will be presented alongside you—the sons and daughters of the Great Houses, the heirs and heiresses of the lesser families."
Sheila picked up the first portrait. A girl, perhaps ten, with red hair and freckles and a gap-toothed smile.
"Eleanor Claude," Karmis said. "Lord Alistair's youngest daughter. She is bright, curious, and has never met a stranger. She will likely be your friend before the night is over."
"She likes everyone?"
"She likes people who are kind to her. House Claude has taught her that kindness is an investment."
Sheila set the portrait aside. Picked up another. A boy, older than her by a year, with dark hair and serious eyes.
"Marcus Velle. Lady Seraphina's only surviving son. He is quiet, observant, and trained in military strategy. He will not say much, but he will notice everything."
"What does he think of House Karmis?"
"His mother has taught him that House Karmis is a pillar of the kingdom. He will treat you with respect."
The next portrait was a girl, Sheila's age, with brown hair and a nervous smile.
"Lydia Jeville. Lord Percival's eldest daughter. She is shy, bookish, and knows more about the capital's secrets than most adults. She will be curious about you."
"Curious how?"
"House Jeville trades in information. Lydia has been trained to gather it. She will ask questions—innocent ones, but pointed. Be careful what you say."
Sheila nodded.
The other children were from lesser houses—House Ashworth, House Mercer, House Blackwood, House Sterling. Their portraits blurred together, young faces with hopeful eyes, children who had been raised to smile and curtsy and say the right things.
"Most of them will be kind to you," Karmis said. "Not because they like you, but because they don't know any better. Their parents have taught them to be polite. That's all."
"And the ones whose parents have taught them otherwise?"
Karmis was quiet for a moment.
"There will be some who have been told that House Karmis is weak. That we are falling. That the Crown's displeasure will soon become the Crown's punishment." He paused. "Those children will not be kind. They will not be polite. They will be cruel in the way that children are cruel—without understanding, without remorse."
Sheila looked at the portraits. The young faces. The hopeful eyes.
"What should I do when they're cruel?"
"Smile. Curtsy. Walk away." Karmis's voice was hard. "You are a Karmis. You do not stoop to their level. You rise above."
Sheila spent the rest of the afternoon memorizing the portraits.
Eleanor Claude, with her red hair and freckles. Marcus Velle, with his serious eyes. Lydia Jeville, with her nervous smile. The children of the lesser houses, the ones whose names blurred together.
She practiced their names aloud. She practiced their titles. She practiced the smiles she would give them—warm for the friends, neutral for the strangers, cold for the ones who had been taught to be cruel.
By evening, her head ached.
"You've done enough," Karmis said. "Rest. Tomorrow, we begin again."
Sheila stacked the portraits and set them aside.
"Mother met these people," she said. "She danced with them. She smiled at them. She lied to them."
"Yes."
"Did she ever tell you which ones were her friends?"
Karmis was quiet for a long moment.
"Your mother had no friends," he said. "Only allies. Only enemies. Only people she hadn't yet figured out."
Sheila looked at the stack of portraits.
"I want friends," she said.
"I know." Karmis's voice was soft. "That's what worries me."
That night, she wrote in her journal.
House Claude: wealthy, bankers, friends (maybe).
House Velle: military, loyal, allies.
House Jeville: information, new, unknown.
The children: Eleanor (friendly), Marcus (quiet), Lydia (curious).
The others: polite or cruel, depending on their parents.
Mother had no friends. Only allies. Only enemies.
I want friends.
But I'll take allies.
She closed the journal and blew out the candle.
Sheila lay in the dark and thought of the faces she would meet at the banquet.