APPARENTLY, THE PEOPLE OF T’TELIR weren’t fond of carriages—not even to carry gods. Siri sat, somewhat bemused, as a group of servants carried her chair across the grass toward a large, circular structure at the back of the Court of Gods. It was raining. She didn’t care. She’d been cooped up for far too long.

She turned, twisting in her chair, looking back over a group of serving women who carried her dress’s long golden train, keeping it off the wet grass. Around them all walked more women, who held a large canopy to shield Siri from the rain.

“Could you . . . move that aside?” Siri asked. “Let the rain fall on me?”

The serving women glanced at one another.

“Just for a little bit,” Siri said. “I promise.”

The women shared frowns, but slowed, allowing Siri’s porters to pull ahead and expose her to the rain. She looked up, smiling as the drizzle fell on her face. Seven days is far too long to spend indoors, she decided. She basked for a long moment, enjoying the cool wetness on her skin and clothing. The grass looked inviting. She glanced back again. “I could walk, you know.” Feel my toes on those green blades. . . .

The serving women looked very, very uncomfortable about that concept.

“Or not,” Siri said, turning around as the women sped up, again covering the sky with their canopy. Walking was probably a bad idea, considering her dress’s long train. She’d eventually chosen a gown far more daring than anything she’d ever worn before. The neckline was a touch low, and it had no sleeves. It also had a curious design that covered the front of her legs with a short skirt, yet was floor-length in back. She’d picked it partially for the novelty, though she blushed every time she thought of how much leg it showed.

They soon arrived at the arena and her porters carried her up into it. Siri was interested to see that it had no ceiling and had a sand-covered floor. Just above the floor, a colorful group of people were gathering on ranks of benches. Though some of them carried umbrellas, many ignored the light rain, chatting amiably among themselves. Siri smiled at the crowd; a hundred different colors and as many different clothing styles were represented. It was good to see some variety again, even if that variety was somewhat garish.

Her porters carried her up to a large stone cleft built into the side of the building. Here, her women slid the canopy’s poles into holes in the stone, allowing it to stand freely to cover the entire box. Servants scuttled about, getting things ready, and her porters lowered her chair. She stood, frowning. She was finally free of the palace. And yet it appeared she was going to have to sit above everyone else. Even the other gods—whom she assumed were in the other canopied boxes—were far away and separated from her by walls.

How is it that they can make me feel alone, even when surrounded by hundreds of people? She turned to one of her serving women. “The God King. Where is he?”

The woman gestured toward the other boxes like Siri’s.

“He’s in one of them?” Siri asked.

“No, Vessel,” the woman said, eyes downcast. “He will not arrive until the gods are all here.”

Ah, Siri thought. Makes sense, I guess.

She sat back in her chair as several servants prepared food. To the side, a minstrel began to play a flute, as if to drown out the sounds of the people below. She would rather have heard the people. Still, she decided not to let herself get into a bad mood. At least she was outside, and she could see other people, even if she couldn’t interact with them. She smiled to herself, leaning forward, elbows on knees, as she studied the exotic colors below.

What was she to make of T’Telir people? They were just so remarkably diverse. Some had dark skin, which meant they were from the edges of the Hallandren kingdom. Others had yellow hair, or even strange hair colors—blue and green—that came, Siri assumed, from dyes.

All wore brilliant clothing, as if there were no other option. Ornate hats were popular, both on men and women. Clothing ranged from vests and shorts to long robes and gowns. How much time must they spend shopping! It was difficult enough for her to choose what to wear, and she had only about a dozen choices each day—and no hats. After she’d refused the first few, the servants had stopped offering them.

Entourage after entourage arrived bearing a different set of colors—a hue and a metallic, usually. She counted the boxes. There was room for about fifty gods, but the court had only a couple of dozen. Twenty-five, wasn’t it? In each procession, she saw a figure standing taller than the others. Some—mostly the women—were carried on chairs or couches. The men generally walked, some wearing intricate robes, others wearing nothing more than sandals and skirt. Siri leaned forward, studying one god as he walked right by her box. His bare chest made her blush, but it let her see his well-muscled body and toned flesh.

He glanced at her, then nodded his head slightly in respect. His servants and priests bowed almost to the ground. The god passed on, having said nothing.

She sat back in her chair, shaking her head as one of the servants offered her food. There were still four or five gods left to arrive. Apparently, the Hallandren deities weren’t as punctual as Bluefingers’s schedule-keeping had led her to believe.

VIVENNA STEPPED THROUGH THE GATES, passing into the Hallandren Court of Gods, which was dominated by a group of large palaces. She hesitated, and small groups of people passed through on either side of her, though there wasn’t much of a crowd.

Denth had been right; it had been easy for her to get into the court. The priests at the gate had waved Vivenna through without even asking her identity. They had even let Parlin pass, assuming him to be her attendant. She turned back, glancing at the priests in their blue robes. She could see bubbles of colorfulness around them, indications of their strong BioChroma.

She’d been tutored about this. The priests guarding the gates had enough Breath to get them to the First Heightening, the state at which a person gained the ability to distinguish levels of Breath in other people. Vivenna had it too. It wasn’t that auras or colors looked different to her. In fact, the ability to distinguish Breath was similar to the perfect pitch she had gained. Other people heard the same sounds she did, she just had the ability to pick them apart.

She saw how close a person had to get to one of the priests before the colors increased, and she saw exactly how much more colorful those hues became. This information let her know instinctively that each of the priests was of the First Heightening. Parlin had one Breath. The ordinary citizens, who had to present papers to gain entrance to the court, also each had only one Breath. She could tell how strong that Breath was, and if the person was sick or not.

The priests each had exactly fifty Breaths, as did the majority of the wealthier individuals entering through the gates. A fair number had at least two hundred Breaths, enough for the Second Heightening and the perfect pitch it granted. Only a couple had more Breaths than Vivenna, who had reached all the way to the Third Heightening and the perfect color perception it granted.

She turned away from her study of the crowd. She’d been tutored about the Heightenings, but she’d never expected to experience one firsthand. She felt dirty. Perverse. Particularly because the colors were just so beautiful.

Her tutors had explained how the court was composed of a wide circle of palaces, but they had not mentioned how each palace was so harmoniously balanced in color. Each was a work of art, utilizing subtle color gradients that normal people just wouldn’t be able to appreciate. These sat on a perfect, uniformly green lawn. It was trimmed carefully, and it was marred by neither road nor walkway. Vivenna stepped onto it, Parlin at her side, and she felt an urge to kick off her shoes and walk barefoot in the dew-moistened grass. That wouldn’t be appropriate at all, and she stifled the impulse.