The officers yelled something, and the warriors shouted in tiyon. Three times they repeated it, making Evvy’s ears ring. It took her a moment to realize they had cried out, “Long live the emperor!”

When they stopped, the emperor left his throne and walked down to the foot of the dais, where those soldiers who were fairly close could see him. Two black-clad mages moved forward to stand each at one of his elbows. Then he raised his hands and began to speak.

Stones at the mages’ necks blazed. The emperor’s voice rolled across the field like thunder. He praised their strength; he praised their obedience to him and to the gods of Gyongxe. He promised his warriors battles and honor and tales to tell their grandchildren. Last of all he cried, “Death to the enemies of Yanjing!”

All of the people who stood before him — even the riders had dismounted by then — dropped to their hands and knees. Nine times in utter silence they touched their foreheads to the ground. The last time they remained in that position.

“I am really starting to hate that ceremony,” Briar muttered softly in Imperial.

The emperor and his mages walked away around the far side of the dais. Other mages and nobles streamed off the dais after him.

“Are we supposed to follow?” Rosethorn asked Parahan.

“I have been placed in charge of escorting you to the Hall of Imperial Greetings,” the big man explained. “We’re waiting for the crowd to ease. Then we can go.”

“Why didn’t he greet us here?” Evvy wanted to know.

“I would imagine because he wanted you to admire one of his armies,” Parahan replied blandly. “He likes to show them off to visitors.”

For a long moment no one said anything at all. Evvy was wondering if she was the only one left breathless by Parahan’s words when Rosethorn said, “This is just one of his armies?”

“Oh, yes,” Parahan said quietly. “Specifically it is the one for Center Yanjing. I have also seen the armies for North Yanjing and South Yanjing. South is much larger. I am told North was much larger, before he decided to fight three of his neighbors at once.”

“Why does he show you all his armies?” Briar asked.

Parahan shook his head. “Oh, it’s nothing to do with me. He likes to show them off to everyone. He reminds his friends that he is a dread enemy, and he gets word to his enemies that it would be better if they surrendered.”

“And his guests?” Rosethorn asked. “Our home in Emelan is neither friend nor enemy. Why show them to us?”

Parahan replied, “So you will tell those you meet what you have seen.”

THE HALL OF IMPERIAL GREETINGS

THE WINTER PALACE

DOHAN IN YANJING

They were not presented immediately. Parahan escorted them to their guest pavilion, where a Yanjingyi meal waited for them. Before they could eat, however, the maids who waited on them removed what Briar had mockingly called their “army-viewing clothes.” These were replaced with loose robes so they could eat without fear of spoiling any silks or linens.

Rosethorn wasn’t sure what made her happier, the cooler garments or the food. She had been afraid she would have to face the official presentation with no more in her belly than coconut water. Now, as she settled on crossed legs before the low table, she realized that Parahan meant to stand back with the dining room servants. “Join us, please,” she said. “I won’t be able to touch a bite if you loom over us.”

The servants twittered, shocked that their guests would ask a captive to eat with them but once Rosethorn caught their eyes, they fell silent. Parahan didn’t need to be invited twice. Immediately he sat on his heels next to Briar and helped himself to pulse-bean soup, roast goose, cherries preserved in honey, and baked lamb. Rosethorn had only taken a few mouthfuls before she noticed that the servants were all too willing to give Evvy rolled fried cakes, sugared jujube berries, and numerous other sweets while they ignored Parahan.

If the emperor’s people were going to insist on serving his guests, as they had done since the newcomers’ arrival from Gyongxe, Rosethorn decided she might as well take advantage of it. She looked at the servants and raised a single eyebrow. They were so well trained that they froze instantly. Once she had their attention, she looked at Parahan — since he had not been supplied with eating sticks, he was using his fingers — then looked at the servants again. Immediately one of them brought a finger bowl so the big man could wash his hands. Another placed a fresh pair of eating sticks in a proper stone holder before him. A third maid waited for him to indicate his choices for a second helping. Parahan blinked up at her, then began to point. Satisfied, Rosethorn whisked three small dishes of sweets away from Evvy and showed her own server that Evvy could have twice-cooked fish, water-reed shoots, and sliced turnips in sauce. If she let the child eat according to her own taste, Evvy’s teeth would rot out, mage or no. Evvy glared at her new meal, her lower lip thrust out. Rosethorn ignored her. The girl would eat, or not.

Briar at least was minding his manners and pointing out his choices to the maids. They had almost started an incident on their arrival when Rosethorn had tried to insist that they would serve themselves. It had taken the august Mistress of the Guest Pavilions herself to explain that things were done in a certain way when one was a guest of the emperor, and to do them any other way was to get one’s servants’ heads cut off. After that Rosethorn had ground her teeth and borne it. As a dedicate, she was far more accustomed to being the servant, or at the very least, to doing her part of the chores. Being waited on itched in all of the places where her vows had become part of her.