As he’d indicated would happen, Nicholas prepares to part company with us shortly after we leave the Genealogist’s office – only a few corridors away. With him will go the human guards who accompanied us, but he will leave Sarran and – obviously – my Bound with me.

  “You have your crest,” he says in parting, “and the right to use the Titanbend one. In fact, perhaps I should say the obligation to use it – as I indicated last night, failing to make your identity plain can be considered to be an attempt to entrap someone in the case of an altercation. However, adding the crests to your robes will require us to visit a Tailor so they can apply the correct enchantments. In the meantime, just do your best to avoid altercations, or if you cannot, to make sure it is clear who you are. But considering that you are only going to visit the bank, you should encounter no issues. I will hopefully hear back from the Tailors I have contacted by this evening – we may have an appointment to properly outfit you by tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” I agree, not sure how I feel about that new crest being emblazoned on my robes for everyone to see. Not before I fully understand what all of the features of it mean about me, anyway.

  With a few more words and a brief dip of Nicholas’ head – matched by a deeper dip of my own and a more obvious bow from Sarran, as well as bows from the guards to me – we separate.

  “The local branch of Goldman’s bank can be found in the commercial area of the palace,” Sarran explains quietly, walking half a pace behind me and directing me with murmurs at important moments. He seems to have mastered the technique of directing without seeming to be doing so, making me look far more like a leader than I currently feel. I’d be lost without him, that’s for sure – though the palace corridors are once more beautifully ornate, it doesn’t make them any easier to keep straight. One mosaic blends into another, for all that their subjects are quite different. I could possibly find the way back to the Titanbend wing by using my improved memory of where I’ve been, but that wouldn’t help me find the bank.

  “The palace has a commercial section?” I ask in surprise, doing my best to keep both my reaction off my face and my voice down – there are people constantly watching us. Though this time, their attention seems to be drawn by my Bound in place of Nicholas. Without him or any indication of who I am, there are no bows, which is one good thing about the Great Lord having parted company with us. People looking at me evidently recognise me as a noble, based on the careful dips of the head that several offer me, but they definitely aren’t treating me as an heir of a Great House. I’d better enjoy that while it lasts, I decide.

  “It does indeed. The palace isn’t actually in Crownseat itself, but is set higher up the mountain. The city proper is at its foot. As a result, a number of local businesses have a branch in the palace itself to prevent visitors and residents being obliged to return to the city for such necessities as a new robe, perfume, or set of jewellery.”

  “And they probably add an extra surcharge for the convenience,” I comment wryly. I hear more than see Sarran’s soft huff of amusement.

  “Thus the need for branches of the banks to also be in the commercial section,” he acknowledges.

  We continue walking but the corridors are becoming so thick with people that, at times, it’s difficult to make any headway. The downside of not being recognised is that people also aren’t willing to make way for us either.

  We eventually reach a corridor where there’s such a crush that we actually come to a complete standstill.

  I don’t like this! Lathani complains, growling loudly. The rest of my Bound agree – Bastet and Ninja also begin to growl and Fenrir sounds like a teapot on the boil as he expresses his own discontent.

  The sounds attract the attention of several of the people directly in front of us and they look back to see my unhappy-looking Bound. Understandably, most of them blanch in reaction. One, however, goes red instead.

  “You there! Keep those beasts under control!” He’s a sour-looking man, obviously a noble based on the ornate lurid green embroidery all over his deep purple overrobe. From his bearing, he probably thinks he looks the epitome of dignified, but the way his face has become florid in his outrage really doesn’t go well with his robes.

  “Lord Markus, I suggest you let me deal with this,” Sarran murmurs quietly. Given that he is infinitely more experienced with how this noble thing works – my etiquette crash-course notwithstanding – I think that’s probably a good idea. I nod fractionally, but it’s enough for Sarran to see.

  In the meantime, the man in question has gone even more red at apparently being ignored.

  “Here now! I’m talking to you! Don’t you know who I am? Introduce yourself or face the fury of my House!”

  Sarran moves smoothly from behind my shoulder to stand between me and the other noble, mostly blocking the view of the man who seems to think he should be instantly recognisable.

  “Lord Rockfall. I am Ser Mirransson, manservant of Great Lord Titanbend. I have the honour of accompanying Lord Markus, Heir of Titanbend.”

  I see the eyes of the man in question – Lord Rockfall, apparently – move from Sarran to my own. I stay silent, amused despite myself at the speed at which Rockfall’s face goes from blotchy red to pure white.

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  “Heir…of House Titanbend?” he asks in a strangled voice. “I…House Titanbend has an heir?”

  “Newly so,” Sarran agrees coolly, and I can imagine that his face is a neutral mask as always. “And since my lord has not yet been able to have his crest emblazoned on his raiment, I am sure he will be willing to forgive any unintentional lapse in appropriate behaviour from those around him.”

  The man blanches further, if such is possible. He almost looks green, perhaps at the realisation that he’d almost called for a conflict with a Great House when his is clearly a Lesser one. What the consequences might be of such, I’m not yet clear about, but nothing good I’m sure.

  “Of…of course.” He bows deeply, even more so than Nicholas has led me to expect should be directed towards me from a Lesser Lord. “I am much obliged to the lord heir and apologise sincerely for any offence I may have inadvertently caused.” Sarran merely nods briefly and then slips behind my shoulder again.

  “Nod fractionally at him if you want to indicate he’s forgiven, but don’t look at him too closely or he may take that as acknowledgement of his presence,” Sarran hisses in my ear. I follow his prompting, nodding at the man and then walking past him, into the space that has opened up among those who have heard the brief altercation. The stares and bows from earlier are back, as are a whole lot of unwelcome whispers.

  My improved hearing tells me that most of them are wondering who I am, where I’ve come from, and when exactly I was appointed heir. Essentially, the expected questions. I also hear a number of more discontented or darker murmurs about my new House – including one who indicates dissatisfaction that Titanbend has an heir at all and isn’t going to die out in the next generation. Nicholas wasn’t kidding about the House being unpopular. I just do my best to keep my expression blank and move through the knot of people as quickly as possible.

  At least we move much more quickly through the crowd than we would otherwise have done. It seems that the hold-up is mostly caused by several busy corridors meeting in a larger intersection – once we’re through the intersection, the crowds thin out. I guess that word stops spreading about my presence as the bows taper out and the stares return to being fixed on my animal companions rather than on me.

  “I’m a little surprised that no one even suggested you might be lying,” I comment to Sarran in a quiet section of the corridor. “Do enough people know of you to realise that you were telling the truth?”

  “Not at all,” Sarran replies. “In fact, I would venture that most lords and ladies consider knowing of a servant to be thoroughly beneath them, even a manservant of a Great Lord. Such is knowledge for their advisors and spymasters, not them personally. However, it is strictly forbidden to claim to be anyone other than yourself, particularly to claim to be a noble. The punishment that would follow it being found out is sufficient to thoroughly deter any from trying unless they are very certain they will not be discovered. And falsely claiming to be the heir of a Great House is something that is very easily verified.”

  “So, basically not worth it just to get through a crowd of people faster,” I conclude. Sarran looks at me incredulously and then seems to realise that I’m not being entirely serious. A hint of a smile teases the corners of his mouth.

  “No, not worth it,” he agrees.

  We keep walking through the corridors, but I’m dismayed when I see another knot of people up ahead. I have no desire to repeat the last experience.

  “Is there any other route? Maybe a quieter one?” I ask Sarran hopefully. He frowns consideringly.

  “Possibly. The area is riddled with servants’ passageways where the people will be far too busy working to stop and stare at us. Nobles do not typically use them but they are not forbidden for us to traverse. The route will not be nearly as picturesque as this, though,” he warns.

  I snort.

  “I thought the point of this was to get to the bank, not to sightsee. If it gets us there faster and avoids all of these crowds and staring, I’m all for it.”

  “Very well.”

  Sarran leads us back along the corridor a little and then pulls a hanging tapestry aside to reveal an archway mostly hidden behind it. It looks pretty empty. We enter and find ourselves in a passageway which is far smaller and, as the manservant warned, far less decorated than the main sections. It’s not as well-lit either, its walls formed of wooden panels rather than marble, and the crystals set at much greater intervals than in the main corridors. There, the proliferation of magical lights mimicked the noonday sun; here, it’s more like twilight interspersed with shadowy twilight.

  It’s narrower too – the main corridors were wide enough for us all to have walked side by side if they’d been empty; this one is only wide enough for three people to walk abreast, and the ceiling is a lot lower. But considering what we’ve travelled through in the past, I’m not going to complain. The ceiling is well above my head still, and the corridor is blessedly empty. That’s good enough.

  We do meet a few people on our way, most of whom are carrying something, and all of whom stare incredulously at us briefly when they spot us. They then also invariably dip into a bow as deeply as their burdens allow, and then hurry past with their heads down. They’re all dressed in far simpler clothes than the people we met in the corridors, most with only a tunic and trousers. The colours are different between the people, but most of them wear a single colour with no patterns and certainly no decoration. I guess that this society likes to make it even more obvious who has money and power than the country in which I grew up. It’s worth noting in case I want to go under the radar at some point.

  “We’re almost there,” Sarran tells me, perhaps fifteen minutes after we left the main thoroughfare. “Just two turns left and then we’ll be in the commercial section, coming out near the banks.”

  I nod and increase my pace a little, eager to get to our destination at last. We make the first turn to the left and I see the commercial area glittering ahead. Compared to the dim corridors we’ve been walking through, it looks like an oasis of light.

  Because my eyes are fixed on the exit, it takes me a moment to realise that the corridor isn’t entirely empty. I look at the silhouettes of a form just inside the entrance and frown – unlike previously when people we met quickly hurried past us, this time, the person is staying still, pressed against the wall. And as we get closer and I use Darkvision to get a better look, I see that it’s not one person at all; it’s two – a man and a woman.

  At first, I think that it’s a pair of lovers who have found a less-frequented area for an amorous interlude, but my frown deepens as I see elements that belie that initial impression. The man might have his head buried in the woman’s throat, his body might press against hers in a way that speaks volumes as to his intentions, and his hands might be roaming her body with sure and possessive movements, but the woman doesn’t look like she wants to be there. Her expression is unhappy, her eyes tightly shut. Her body is tense and her hands are shaking where they’re pressed against the stone.

  My reaction is immediate and without thought.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, striding towards the pair.

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