Herndon compelled himself to kneel. "I thank you for the honor your Grace bestows upon me this night."
"You needn't thank me," Moaris grunted. "My wife asked for your name to be put on my invitation list. But I suppose you know all that. You look familiar, Herndon. Where have I seen you before?"
Presumably Moaris knew that Herndon had been employed in his own service. But he merely said, "I once had the honor of bidding against you for a captive proteus in the slave market, milord."
A flicker of recognition crossed Moaris' seamed face, and he smiled coldly. "I seem to remember," he said.
A gong sounded.
"We mustn't keep the Seigneur waiting," said Moaris. "Come."
Together, they went forward to the Grand Chamber of the Seigneur of Borlaam.
Moaris entered first, as befitted his rank, and took his place to the left of the monarch, who sat on a raised throne decked with violet and gold. Herndon knew protocol; he knelt immediately.
"Rise," the Seigneur commanded. His voice was a dry whisper, feathery-sounding, barely audible and yet commanding all the same. Herndon rose and stared levelly at Krellig.