When I reentered Lord Golden’s chamber, I found him putting the finishing touches to his own costume. For a moment, I wondered if Jamaillian nobles truly dressed in such a gaudy fashion. Layer upon layer of rich fabric cloaked his slender form. A heavy fur cloak flung across a chair awaited him. The Fool had never had any great tolerance for cold, and Lord Golden apparently shared that weakness. He was turning up a fur collar to his satisfaction. One long narrow hand waved me on to my own chamber, bidding me hurry, while he continued to peruse himself in the mirror.

I glanced inside my room at the garments laid out on my bed and then protested, “But I’m already dressed.”

“Not as I wish you to be. It has come to my attention that several of the other young lords of the court have also furnished themselves with bodyguard-servants, in a pale imitation of my style. It is time to show them than an imitation cannot equal the original. Garb yourself, Tom Badgerlock.”

I snarled at him, and he smiled sweetly in return.

The garments were servant’s blue, and of excellent quality. I recognized Scrandon’s tailoring. I supposed that now that he had my measurements, Lord Golden could inflict stylish clothing on me at will. It was fine fabric, very warm, and in that I recognized the Fool’s concern for my comfort. He had been kind enough to have it cut and sewn so that I could move freely. But stretching out an arm of the oddly tailored shirt revealed pleated insets in varying shades of blue, with an effect like a bird’s wing opening to reveal the different colors of plumage. I noticed as I donned it that a number of clever pockets had been fit into interesting places. I approved of the pockets even as I winced at Lord Golden instructing the tailor to add them. I would rather that no one else had known of my need for concealed pockets.

As if he had sensed my concern, Lord Golden spoke from the other room. “You will note that I had Scrandon add pockets to permit you to carry a number of small but necessary items for me, such as my smelling salts, my digestive herbs, my grooming aids, and my extra kerchiefs. I gave him most precise measurements for those.”

“Yes, my lord,” I responded gravely, and proceeded to fill those pockets as my own needs dictated. When I lifted the winter cloak, it revealed the final addition to my garb. The guard of the blade and the scabbard were so gaudily adorned that I winced. But when I drew the blade, it whispered death as it came free from the sheath and balanced like a bird on my fingers. I sighed and looked up to find the Fool standing framed in my door. The look on my face well pleased him. He grinned at my astonishment. I shook my head. “My skill doesn’t deserve a blade like this.”

“You deserve to be able to carry Verity’s sword openly. That one is a pale compensation.”

It was too large a thing to offer thanks for. He watched me buckle the sword belt and seemed to take as much pleasure in that as I did to wear it.

When we assembled in the courtyard to await the Prince, the gathering was larger than I had expected. A few nobles already awaited Dutiful. Young Civil Bresinga was there, deep in conversation with Lady Vance. Did she look displeased as she gestured at the waiting horses, a far larger party than she had obviously wagered on? Two other young women, her close friends by how they stood, commiserated with her. They all greeted Lord Golden warmly as he joined them. It struck me that he looked but a few years older than they, a handsome, wealthy, and exotic foreign nobleman in his early twenties. All the women drew closer to him, talking, while three young noblemen, one of them a Shemshy kinsman from his strong resemblance to the Duke, also lingered nearby. Lady Vance was obviously already the center of her own tiny court. If she did manage to win the Prince, these newly loyal courtiers would rise with her.

Servants held the bridles of their horses. The padded perch for Civil’s cat was empty behind his saddle. Privately I doubted that he had left his cat at Galekeep as it was said; no Witted one would willingly be parted from his partner that long. Probably the beast roamed the hills around Buckkeep. Civil must visit it regularly. I resolved to spy on one of those assignations. Perhaps a little confrontation with him and his cat would shake me out a bit more information about the Old Blood community, and his ties to the Piebalds.

I did not have time for long pondering on this. I took Myblack and Malta from a waiting stable boy and then stood, holding their reins, as Lord Golden mingled with the others gathered to accompany the Prince. I could not courteously stare at the nobles, but I could study their horses and deduce who would join us. One mare was so richly caparisoned that she must be awaiting the Queen herself. I recognized Chade’s horse as well. In addition to the Prince’s horse, there were three other richly decked mounts. So it seemed Arkon Bloodblade and Uncle Peottre would be part of the gathering too. The bay mare with bells in her mane would be for the Narcheska.