The Secrets of Jin-Shei. Alma Alexander

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      ‘And when I return I will need to talk to you,’ Yuet said, ‘about Mistress Szewan.’

      ‘Yes, mistress,’ the woman said, her voice faltering a little.

      Yuet left her with that small seed of disquiet. It would do her good to worry on it for a while.

      She donned a fresh shift, laced an inner robe of pale silk at her throat, shrugged into a heavy brocade outer robe suitable for a Court appearance, ran a final check over her hair and her make-up, made sure she was wearing the white ribbon of mourning around her sleeve, and swept out of her chambers with a final warning to the servant to lock up after her and not allow anyone into the house.

      The escort had a hired sedan cart waiting, obviously in deference to Szewan’s age and infirmities, and since there had been no countermand issued he simply helped Yuet into it and gave the signal for the driver to depart. The streets were empty of people, still wrapped in mourning for the dead Emperor, normal commerce still operating in fits and starts; from within the chair Yuet could hear the intermittent calls of street vendors but the cart was given free passage, not jostled by other conveyances or forced to wait while one of higher rank swept by, and they were quickly at the gates of the Palace where they were admitted, after a brief hesitation, by one of a pair of Imperial Guards on duty. The chair was trotted into an inner courtyard; Yuet’s escort handed her down from it courteously, she thanked him, and he left her with a bow.