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How could this boy ever become a Mage-Imperator? For that matter, how can I?

Later, the Hyrillka Designate dragged them through hours of performances, with an unending banquet served by lovely women of exotic kiths, all of whom flashed inviting eyes at Jora’h. Their names were added to a list Rusa’h had compiled, and the Prime Designate knew he would have to service some of them.

Three placid-looking lens kithmen sat in their priests’ robes, ready to serve their purpose and talk about the Lightsource and interpret hints from the thism. From their docile expressions, apparently no one on Hyrillka had had problems for some time. If only they knew what is about to happen in the Empire.

The open architecture of Hyrillka’s citadel palace featured tall columns and open-roofed courtyards filled with gardens and huge scarlet flowers. In the temperate weather, little shelter was required, and rain-repellent fields kept the interiors dry during rainstorms. The structure looked like an ancient temple being swallowed by jungle undergrowth.

Through an odd botanical quirk, Hyrillka’s native vegetation had shied away from woody stems and tall trees, tending instead toward groundcovers and long, flexible vines that draped over the uneven terrain. The hanging gardens of Hyrillka were counted among the wonders of the Empire—tangled masses that drooped over cliffsides, sprouting enormous blossoms that drank waterfall mists. Pollinating four-winged birds feasted on berries and flitted from one widemouthed trumpet flower to another.

In the banquet courtyard, Jora’h leaned back, breathing in the heady perfumes of foliage and the delicious aromas of culinary items. Occasionally, he caught himself frowning distractedly and tried not to let anyone notice his mood. As the blue-white sun set and the orange secondary rose, Adar Kori’nh staged a performance with his streamers and two warliners. On the ground, geometrical patterns of blazers were lit in all the fields and streets to add to the festive brightness.

Jora’h used the event as an excuse to take Thor’h aside, but the young man seemed resistant. “I want to watch the aerial show, Father.”

“You have seen them before. We need a moment in private so I can explain why I have come.”

“I already know. You’re going to make me leave Hyrillka and take me back to live in the PrismPalace.”

“Yes, but you do not know why.”

Jora’h sat on a smooth bench in a flower-framed alcove, but Thor’h remained at a distance, restless and pacing and full of nervous energy. “But I like it here on Hyrillka, Father. I want to stay. The Designate and I get along well together.”

“Circumstances have changed. You no longer have that option, and I have no choice but to take you back with me.”

“Of course you have a choice.” Thor’h spun around, his perfectly arranged hair twitching. The young man’s narrow face seemed predatory. “You’re the Prime Designate. You can have anything you want. You have only to command it.”

Saddened, Jora’h said, “I have learned recently that sometimes my options are as limited as those of the poorest attender kith.”

Thor’h laced his thin fingers together, then unlaced them and spread his hands about as if looking for something to hold or eat. He seemed about to argue again, but his father stopped him. “The Mage-Imperator is dying, Thor’h. Very soon, I will take his place—and you will be the Prime Designate.”

Thor’h stopped, his eyes growing wide. “Not yet. I’m not ready.”

“Neither am I, but the hydrogues are abroad, the Empire is in trouble, and none of us can afford a pampered life anymore. For years, you have reaped the advantages of your birth. Now you must face your obligations.”

Thor’h snapped, “What if I don’t want to?”

“Then I will kill you myself.” The angry retort was out of Jora’h‘s mouth before he could stop it. “And elevate your brother Zan’nh to the position, even if he isn’t of full noble blood. The Empire cannot tolerate a Prime Designate as stupid as