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  "Reixham told me to tell you that your time has come," I whispered. "You have been purged."

  With a victorious grin, I gave him a nudge, letting out an absurd giggle when he toppled over backwards, crashing to the ground like a falling log, his limbs already useless.

  I returned the infuser to its little pocket. Then I stepped around him, ducked out from under the pine branches, and started back toward the bonfire. If he survived the night, he would wake up in that exact position in the morning with no memory of how he got there, and a monstrous headache.

  Which was immensely satisfying.

  I was still grinning when Arramy came through the gap in the fence, moving fast.

  He skidded to a halt in the pathway.

  With a lift of my chin I kept walking, coasting right on past him, heading for the veildfaste.

  Arramy's hoarse, "Wait," had me stopping short, my pulse instantly skipping a beat as he came closer. For several seconds he didn't say anything. Then, his voice a deep, rough rumble above my head, "You've got pine needles in your hair."

  Time stopped. My breath snagged in my chest at the slow, hesitant touch of his fingers, first sifting gently through my mane of curls, then brushing carefully down my back.

  "There," he murmured, breaking the spell. "That should do."

  I swallowed, then glanced over my shoulder. "Thank you." Grinding my teeth tight, I left him behind, but no matter what I told myself I couldn't change how it felt to know he had come after me.

  35. Unwelcome Discoveries

  12th of Dema, Continued

  The ride back to the Racynne House was quiet. Braeton seemed to be mulling something over, a frown marring his brow as he stared at nothing in particular. It wasn't until we reached the city and the smooth comfort of driving over modern pavement that he finally sat up straight, turned to me, and broke the stillness with: "So did you learn anything?"

  I glanced sidelong at him. He had spent most of his time with one target, sitting comfortably on a lounger, smoking a long pipe while pretty girls drew runes on his arms and legs with dye.

  For a moment I considered telling him to go ask Kallovedes, but I had danced with half the men at the party to get my share of information and keeping it to myself wouldn't accomplish anything – other than giving me a rush of vindictive power. So, with a sneer, I gave in and began ticking my list off on my fingers.

  "Reixham is higher up than you thought. According to Lord Jorren, he has been granted some sort of territory, and he's in charge of running some sort of supply chain. Kallovedes seems genuinely afraid of him. Delmyrre has never been to any of Kallovedes' training parties, but he put together the veildfaste and invited Kallovedes, which, if you ask Jorren, means Kallovedes must have done something for Delmyrre and Delmyrre owed him one. There was some question as to why Delmyrre didn't show up, since he was the host, but no one had heard anything about his body being found. Jorren is hoping to be named for a Selection – whatever that is – Lord Fardemarre was only there for the women, and everyone thinks you're so rich that it was only a matter of time before you came around to 'the way things are.'" I paused for effect, smiled large, and added, "Oh, and Kallovedes is sleeping off a jab from my infuser."

  Braeton's expression didn't change. Then he looked out the window.

  I studied him in the shifting light of the city gas lamps. He wasn't being his usual chilled-crystal Braeton. This was different. He was too distant. Too pensive. What could Pha Mun-Ghour have said that would affect him so much?

  But there wasn't any point pushing for more. He was like Arramy that way; both of them held their cards close, and a spare deck up their sleeve. He would tell me if he wanted to, and he would only tell me what he wanted me to know.

  With a sigh, I resigned myself to the silence, and looked out my own window.

  ~~~

  It was late when we reached the hotel. Or early. Well past midnight, either way.

  Braeton stayed behind in the carriage house to discuss something with Enrys and sent Longwater up to the suite with Arramy and me.

  In the lift to our rooms, Arramy was just as quiet as Braeton had been, but where Braeton had been distracted, Arramy was focused and tense, his eyes never leaving Longwater's face.

  Longwater was just being Longwater, standing across from the captain with his hands clasped in front of him, his thick, sturdy features impassive as ever.

  When we reached our floor, the ding of the lift bell made me jump. The attendant opened the inner accordion gate, then ratcheted the red-lacquered floor doors open with a few cranks of the gear wheel. Her cheerful, "Enjoy your stay at the Racynne..." faded with her smile when Arramy practically erupted from the lift, brushing past Longwater and striding swiftly down the hallway.

  Longwater turned and followed at a more sedate pace, leaving me behind.

  I glanced at the attendant and offered a wan smile. "Thank you."

  She grinned. "Of course. Enjoy your stay at the Racynne."

  I took a deep breath, let it out, and started forward, shifting my weary legs, telling myself that I just had to reach my room. Only a few more minutes. A few more steps. Then I could sit down, peel off all the Pretty Pendar, crawl into a big, soft bed, and not wake up again for hours.

  Longwater was on the couch in the suite's sitting room when I came in, and he was still there when I closed my bedroom door. The click of the latch was beautifully final, as if I were locking Arramy, Braeton, and everything else out. Then I started stripping, shedding hairpins and flowers and the ridiculous 'peasant' clothes. I left Pendar's face in a careless pile on the dressing table and was still scrubbing costume glue off my forehead with a wet handcloth when I climbed into the middle of the massive hotel bed and fell backwards into a mountain of red satin pillows.

  Unfortunately, exhaustion didn't necessarily mean sleep would be easy.

  An hour later, I lay staring up at the velvet canopy above my bed, unable to make my eyes stay closed even though my head throbbed with fatigue.

  That was the only reason I heard the door open across the common sitting area. The sound was stealthy, and there was no 'click' of the latch falling back into place.

  I lifted my head, listening intently, and caught the whisper of a footfall at the door to the hotel hallway. That was followed by the faintest suggestion of a door handle turning. Then silence.

  Longwater didn't say a thing.

  Frowning, I got up and slipped out of bed, tiptoeing to my door. Nothing. Where was Longwater? Or was it Braeton who had left? It couldn't have been. He and Enrys hadn't come up yet. Ina was down the hall in the servant's quarters and had been since before we got back.

  Still frowning, I opened my door.

  The wan light of early dawn revealed that Longwater was on the couch, slumped in the same place I had seen him last. A long, rattling snore split the stillness.

  "Longwater!" I called under my breath.

  He didn't move. Not even when I crept up and jiggled his shoulder. His head was tucked to his shoulder at an uncomfortable angle, and his mouth dropped open, jaw slack. He let out another snore. There was no way he was that asleep without help. I glanced around. A mug sat on the side-table next to him, half-full of dark liquid, but it was only sailor's tea gone cold. Ironically, he must have been drinking it to stay awake.

  The hair rose at the back of my neck.

  Someone had drugged the sailor's tea.

  My gaze flew to Arramy's door. It was ever-so-slightly ajar. Apprehension slid into my stomach like freezing lead as I crossed the sitting room on weirdly shaky legs. I knew before I swung Arramy's door all the way open that his bed would be empty. Gone. He's gone.

  Numb, I pulled the door nearly shut, careful to leave it exactly as it had been. Then I chewed my bottom lip, chasing a thought that tickled at the edges of my mind.

  Arramy had run off like a thief, Longwater was unconscious, and Braeton and Enrys had never come up to the suite. Something was wrong. I walked across the sitting
room to the front window and pulled the curtains aside just enough to look out.

  Enrys was leaning against a farmer's barrow across the street, arms folded over his chest. Braeton was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't mean he wasn't out there somewhere too, watching. For Arramy. They were waiting for Arramy to do something. After that ride back with Braeton, I just knew. What would happen if they caught Arramy sneaking around? He wasn't going to let them walk up and tap him on the shoulder. Even as good a fighter as Braeton no doubt was, he was no match for a cornered Arramy. One of them wouldn't make it out alive.

  I was already in motion, hurrying across the sitting room before that thought had finished rolling through my head.

  36. Traitor on the Roof

  13th of Dema

  The hallway was empty.

  I stood perfectly still in the middle of the hallway carpet and tried to think like Arramy. The fact that Enrys was still out front probably meant he hadn't gone that way. Which left the back. The delivery entrance? There had to be one, but he would have had to get all the way down to the kitchens without being seen by the staff, and who knew where Braeton was. Something told me he wouldn't go that way. So... up.

  A quick glance around and I saw what I was looking for. I took off running, my footfalls muffled by thick Meirsadduan rug as I sprinted for the entrance to the servant's stairway at the end of the hall. Instead of descending, I headed to the right, up and around the spiral stairs, my heart thundering, a thousand possibilities clamoring through my head. What if he's coming back down? What if he didn't go up at all and I'm running the wrong direction? What will I say if he catches me? I am gadding about in my nightclothes with my real face uncovered – what will I say if someone else catches me? How will I convince him to stay if he's trying to leave?... Should I?

  I passed a landing that opened into what looked like a storage attic, and then, one turn of the staircase later, the stairs ended abruptly at a metal door. The roof access. I hesitated, wiped my palms on my nightdress, then wrapped my fingers around the latch. It moved easily enough. I took a breath, steadying my hand. Slowly, carefully, I inched the lever downward, wincing as the bolt let out a squeak when it retracted into the door.

  What if he's standing right there?

  Breathless, I waited for some sign, an angry shout, a sudden yank on the door, anything, but there was only the faint whistle of a breeze rushing through the crack as I pushed the door open til I could peer out. All that was visible at first was a sliver of dawn-gilded sky, and the tar-and-tile of the roof's maintenance platform. Another inch, and the city air came gusting full in my face, bringing the scent of wood smoke and frying breakfast pastry from the kitchen chimneys. Another inch, and I could see that there wasn't anyone standing within sight of the access door.

  I've made a mistake. He's going to get into a fight with Braeton, and everything is going to go up in —

  The sound of something landing on a solid surface had me dragging in a frantic breath, my pulse leaping like a frightened rabbit.

  Light footsteps followed, then a voice with an adolescent quaver: "I'd have been here sooner, but there's eyes on the hotel. I assume that's why you wanted to meet on the roof. You having difficulties, Captain?"

  Arramy's deep, raspy, "Something of the sort," hit like a sledgehammer, and I clamped my hands over my mouth to muffle a gasp.

  "Aye, well, his Lordship the High General is sniffing around for more information. He's not impressed with your performance thus far."

  "Thank you, Fygan, I'm well aware. You can tell him they're making a move tomorrow. I'll give him more when I've got more."

  I swallowed around a sticky lump in my throat and kept listening, straining to hear what was going on.

  There was a faint 'clink,' as if a moneybag had just changed hands. "Pleasure doing business with you, sir," the boy said, tone cocky.

  Arramy's voice was rough, now. "How is he?"

  "I dunno, Captain, he wasn't exactly in a talkative mood."

  Those light footsteps sounded again, interrupted by Arramy's gruff, "There's an extra mark for you if you give him this."

  More footsteps – the boy coming back – a pause, then away quick.

  I didn't wait for Arramy to start for the roof access. I turned and ran, taking the steps downward as fast and as quietly as I could, my head reeling. Two minutes later I skittered through the hotel suite doors, dashing like mad past Longwater and into my bedroom. I shut my door behind me. Then I locked it and stared at the latch, lungs heaving as I backed away. If he wanted to, Arramy could kick the door in. Or pick the lock. I had just shut myself up in a box, my only defense the appearance of ignorance, and the slight possibility that I had managed to beat Arramy down the hallway. If he knew where I had just been —

  A familiar stride sounded out in the hallway, approaching the doors to the suite.

  I had left them hanging open.

  He had only left them unlocked.

  I swore under my breath and dove for my bed, scrambling into the nest of blankets and pillows as Arramy paused in the suite doorway. Then he entered the sitting room. Slowly. As if he were looking for something.

  I dragged the blankets up, flung an arm over a pillow, and tried to regulate my breathing while the thunder of my own heartbeat nearly drowned out the stealthy thump of big boots on polished wood and carpet.

  He was through the sitting area, and for an instant I thought he might just slip into his room. Then he stopped. And turned.

  No. No no no no no no no... I buried my face in a pillow, tears seeping into the satin cover.

  He walked around the couch. Then he was there, in front of my door.

  One long string of curses poured through my brain as the delicate rattle of the latch announced that he was trying the pull.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Willed every muscle to relax. To mimic sleep.

  Silence fell, suffocating. Thick.

  Then, finally, the soft scuff of a boot sole on carpet: Arramy was moving through the sitting room again. His door closed a moment later.

  I rolled over and let out every last ounce of breath I had been holding.

  ~~~

  The glow beyond the velvet drapes became gradually brighter and brighter as I paced up and down the length of my hotel room. Thirty steps one way, thirty steps the other, then an anxious glance at the door. Where was Braeton? What was taking so long? Should I go out and see if I could find him? What if Arramy heard me?

  My stomach churned. Every second I had ever spent with Arramy was speeding through my head, cast in a new, sickening light. All of it, even losing Raggan and his men in Nimkoruguithu, had apparently been to get himself to this place, close to Braeton. We had been foolish to think we could use him. He had been the one playing with us the entire time. Spying on us. Spying on me.

  And I had wanted him to kiss me.

  That thought brought bile surging up my throat, and I had to rush for my on-suite bathing room, ribs heaving.

  Braeton still hadn't returned when I trudged back out into my room. I came to a stop in the middle of the floor and took a deep breath. The cleaning staff would be arriving shortly. I needed to put Pretty Pendar back on. Then I was going to have to act like nothing was wrong until I was able to talk to Braeton.

  Brilliant.

  37. Into the Deep End

  13th of Dema

  The entryway awning was a bright, unapologetic scarlet, with the words, 'Fawadh's Salon' emblazoned across the front in looping gold-leaf script work.

  The shop door beneath it was lacquered in chevrons of tawny yellow and black. It brought to mind the business end of one of the large, aggressive wasps that made paper nests on our veranda in Garding – which only added a layer of warning to the unease creeping up my back. This place was forbidding enough already, not for what it looked like, but for what went on inside it.

  Braeton glanced at me. "Ready?"

  For answer I lifted my chin and tucked my hand into the crook of his elbo
w.

  He reached out and swept the front door open, setting the shop bells to jingling as we stepped inside.

  A young woman in a neat pink and green candy-striped uniform greeted us at the front desk. "Ah! Lord Braeton, how wonderful to see you. We've been expecting you." She smiled bright, High Altyran flowing off her tongue like warm honey. "Would you like a private room?"

  Braeton gave her a smoldering grin. "Of course. Lead the way."

  The shopgirl about-faced with a sashay of her hips and headed toward a long hallway at the back of the main sales floor, singing a merry, "He's here, my lady!"

  A tall, busty woman with unnaturally iridescent pink hair came out of a room at the end of the hall, a bright blood-red smile already on her alabaster face. She held out both hands as she sailed forth to greet us. "Your Lordship! You are most welcome!"

  Braeton came to a stop, oozing aristocratic confidence as he took her hands and bent over them, pressing a kiss to her pale knuckles.

  The woman turned, letting her unnerving magenta gaze slide over me, never once looking me in the eyes, as if I were only there from the neck down. "And is this your lovely little dollbaby?"

  I pretended I didn't understand what she was talking about and gaped around like I had never seen the inside of a fashion salon before.

  "She is," Braeton said, his hand sliding possessively to my waist. "I thought I'd show her off at Lord Reixham's party."

  "Ah," the woman said, pursing her lips in thought, judging me with renewed interest. "That will be cutting it close. Well then. There's no time to lose, is there?" she said. "Come along, my dear. Let us see what we have to work with."

  Expression blank, I offered no resistance as her fingers closed around my wrist and she led me down the hall.

  ~~~

  I stepped onto the seamstress' stand, gooseflesh rising on my arms and legs. I had been stripped down to nothing but the thin silk underthings Braeton had provided, and I might as well have been naked. With a quick breath, I resisted the urge to cover myself with my hands as the pink-haired woman – who turned out to be the Fawadh who made Fawadh’s Salon famous – cocked her head, studying my figure with a clinical eye.