Preparations for the Gala had taken over the grand hall. Staff moved across the polished floor in coordinated lines, carrying crates of glasswork and bolts of pale fabric, and high above them a suspended work platform held two women adjusting the great light arrays that hung from the vaulted ceiling.
The long tables had been brought in but not yet dressed, and a steward stood at the center of the floor, directing the work from a thick folder of plans.
Valerie had intended to pass straight through. The hall sat directly on the route between the eastern gallery and the imperial council chamber, and cutting through it saved her four corridors.
She made it a third of the way across before she stopped.
"Those are wrong," she said.
The steward turned, lowering her device. "Your Highness?"
