Satakhetem moved through the press of tropical green with her usual measured prowl, the blue-black trifecta paint across her shoulders catching what little light filtered through the canopy. She had already sampled the spiced meat and accepted a second drink without apology—though the liquid on her tongue was stranger than she expected. Sweet, then sharp, then something almost floral that did not belong in any cup she remembered from Akashingo.

She could not yet decide if she liked it.

Around her the night pulsed with laughter, lantern-sway, and the quickening of distant drums. Snippets of foreign gossip drifted past on the warm air: a name she did not know spoken with reverence, another with thinly veiled contempt, a third followed by nervous laughter that cut off too quickly. Her sapphire eyes tracked the speakers for a moment, then moved on, half-interested, half-dismissive.

She was in no rush. Some faces earned a lingering look; others she passed over as if they were already gone. The currents of power here were different from the ones she knew—thicker, wetter, less precise—but they were still currents, and she had always been good at reading the way water moved around stone.

The gods, she suspected, were still watching.

Kiva had discovered something important about gatherings: If you looked like you knew where you were going, very few wolves questioned whether you actually did. This was useful information for someone who, historically, had spent an embarrassing amount of her life having absolutely no idea where she was going. Tonight, however, she was doing considerably better. Eh, mostly.

She moved through the gathering with an easy little bounce to her stride, weaving between unfamiliar bodies and catching fragments of conversations she had no business listening to. Names meant nothing to her yet. Titles meant even less. She’d heard enough variations of ‘lord, emperor, queen’, and other Important words since arriving in Mythris that she had begun mentally sorting them all into the same category: people she should probably avoid accidentally insulting. Which, unfortunately, was a very large category. The drink she’d acquired wasn’t helping. Kiva stared down into it suspiciously before taking another sip.

“That is either getting better,” she murmured to herself, “or I’m getting worse.” Probably the second one. She lifted her head again and caught sight of the dark woman nearby. More specifically, she caught sight of the way the stranger was watching everyone else. Kiva slowed.

Oh? She knew that look. Not the woman herself, obviously. Kiva was halfway certain they’d never met, and if they had, then this was going to become an extremely embarrassing conversation very quickly. But the look was familiar. Quiet, measuring. The sort of expression worn by someone who was learning more than they were saying. Naturally, Kiva’s response to recognizing that someone wished to observe quietly was to approach them.

She wandered closer, drink no longer in her possession, and followed the stranger’s gaze toward the crowd as though perhaps she might discover whatever had caught her attention. She had to say, nothing immediately revealed itself. “All right,” Kiva said eventually, keeping her voice conspiratorially low. “You’ve been watching everyone like you know something I don’t.”

Her amber gaze slid sideways toward the woman, and then Kiva smiled. “So. Who are we judging? I’m Kiva, by the way, of Eastrenhold.”