“Our damsel been quiet in her tower?” Vestra asked, bursting through the door to Aven’s prison-bedroom.

  “I haven’t stooped to talking to birds yet,” Aven replied, “so, I think I’m doing remarkably well, all things considered.”

  Vestra laughed, and one skeletal wing plopped down a basket of food, “I suppose we can’t have you starving.”

  Aven gratefully sorted through the pile of leftovers from the gathering’s luncheon. Most of it cold now, but complaining about the food was rather poor form. Especially since at least this imprisonment didn’t force him to eat mashed voidmeat mixed in with everything else.

  “Aelia has been making quite a case,” Vestra leaned against the wall. “And your maledictus friend...” Vestra let out a long whistle. “Hell of a show she and Esha put on. The looks on some of those fancy delegates...”

  “Did they agree to anything?” Aven asked.

  Vestra shrugged, “Not yet. But they’re all talking about voidspawn now. Least it shut up the whingeing for a minute. Silver lining that you don’t have to torture yourself with listening to all, eh?”

  “What, you think I’d rather be here?” Aven asked.

  “I’d be grateful for any excuse to avoid more of that nonsense.” Vestra gestured vaguely towards the citadel. “Another hour of that, and I’d have considered taking a page out of your book and attacking one of the ambassadors, just so I could get kicked out.”

  “Don’t,” Aven’s reply came automatically. “Aelia needs this to go well. We all do.”

  “Aelia needs...” Vestra rolled her eyes. “Gods, you pick the worst times to be serious. Obviously, I’m not actually going to attack anyone at such an important meeting. Only the most idiotic of voidbrained arses would pull a stunt like that.”

  A statement that Aven, unfortunately, could not disagree with.

  Vestra flashed that predator’s grin, golden eyes gleaming. “Still, fun to imagine who I’d take if I did happen to snap, isn’t it? Which of those ambassadors to spook. Probably Orienbar’s. Love to see the look on that one’s face when he’s afraid. Seeing that Hanion’s shock when you rushed him was enjoyable enough...”

  “Shock?” Aven asked.

  “Oh, right, you didn’t get a look at the prick’s face,” Vestra laughed. “On account of me imprinting your mug in the floor. Yeah, looked about ready to shit himself. You said he was the ghost, but looked like he thought the same of you.”

  Hanion vis Dreamweaver was shocked to see Aven. Which confirmed beyond doubt that this was not about him. As suspected, he was just an obstacle. An unexpected obstacle. Not the target. Which meant...

  “You’re awful quiet now,” Vestra noted.

  “I’m thinking.” Aven sighed as Vestra’s interjection aborted that train of thought. “Ever tried it?”

  “Ooh, now you’re fun again,” Vestra’s grin widened. “Not enough fun. Haven’t I told you men are better when they’re stupid?”

  “Thankfully, the woman whose opinion I actually care for thinks differently.”

  “Right,” Vestra snorted. “And what do you see in Aelia, anyway.”

  “Isn’t she your friend?” If Vestra wouldn’t let Aven actually think, he’d at least not allow her to turn this into a gossip session. “Surely you’d know her virtues.”

  “Aelia’s...Aelia.” Vestra’s dismissive tone did not fully hide an undercurrent of...something. Something not quite disdain. “I just want to know what she has that I don’t.”

  “Decency, for one,” Aven answered.

  That actually got a real laugh out of Vestra. A deep, booming laugh that shook her entire body. “A fine trait for a little aspiring Paragon like her. But no one’s taken a lover for being decent.”

  “Aelia is brilliant. She works harder than anyone I know. She is compassionate, but strong.” Aven paused, a smile touching his lips. “She believes in things. In people. Not blindly, but because she’d examined them and found them worthwhile. That’s beautiful. It’s a beauty vanishingly rare in the empire. She makes me want to do better. To be better.” He paused, “Also, I like the way her nose wrinkles when she’s thinking hard.”

  “You...like her nose?” Somehow Vestra only seized on that part.

  “It’s a cute nose,” Aven insisted.

  Vestra stared, then shook her head, “Maybe you’re just the wrong kind of stupid.”

  At the very least, that conversation apparently exhausted Vestra’s appetite for his company, because she left him alone with his thoughts again. Thoughts which struggled to seize on the thread he’d started to pull earlier.

  Hanion didn’t know Aven was going to be at the gathering. Everything to do with Aven was just an improvised tactic. One to remove him from the board. Successfully, apparently.

  So why, then, bring Helena?

  “A shield,” not-Ouron suggested when Aven invited his imagined companions back in.

  Not-Logash rumbled agreement, “If her family is threatened, that freezes your actions. But you are not the true target.”

  “And the only other person who would care about Helena is Mother,” Aven concluded. “So, Helena is a shield against Mother.”

  “But also a provocation,” not-Esharah pointed out. “Bringing Helena draws attention. He’s a master of illusions, right? If he wanted to operate secretly, he could have come disguised.”

  “Coming publicly is a statement.” Aven carried on that thread. “A threat. To...warn Mother not to act against him?”

  A chorus of murmured...not quite agreement, but not disagreement. Apparently his split minds couldn’t find proof against that assertion.

  “We’re trying to draw conclusions without first establishing the core premises,” not-Aelia introduced wisdom almost as brilliant as the real one. “Hanion is here, personally. What does Hanion vis Dreamweaver do?”

  “He’s an assassin,” Aven answered, stomach dropping. “He kills. But never with his own hands.” Aven had always been the one to wield the dagger on their missions. Presumably, Ralius Tallone had done the same. “He uses others to do it. But...Helena couldn’t be used as an assassin. She doesn’t know killing; she knows law. Etiquette. Finances. She runs households and courtrooms.”

  Which would imply a possibility: Helena is not the only one of Hanion vis Dreamweaver’s agents attending this gathering. Helena was the shield, but someone else was the dagger.

  Aven still had no idea who that might be.

  * * *

  Esharah was exhausted, but she still had a role to play. She couldn’t afford to be exhausted. Katrin had borne the greatest burden after all, and she thankfully had found an excuse to dismiss herself. Esharah couldn’t do the same. Not when the meetings had almost ended, and the most horrifying part had begun: the after party.

  All Octarnis gatherings had to end with feasting and drinking. Which meant Esharah had to pretend to enjoy herself.

  Right now, Aelia didn’t need her help, so Esharah could sit in the corner and drink alone. Minds buzzed all around her in various states of inebriation, but she could return into the glass.

  Until a stranger interrupted her.

  “Quite the show you put on.”

  A glance confirmed that Esharah did not know this man. If she had, she would have recognized him instantly. Tall, powerfully built, with an open, handsome face. And, most obviously, golden hair lit up like flames. The Sign of a fourth-circle or higher vis.

  “Thank you,” Esharah forced a smile. No one around seemed interested in giving her escape. Ouron was speaking with some of the other soldiers at the far side of the hall. Sunshine was flitting about, being a nuisance, though mercifully a restrained one. So far. Aelia was speaking with the governor. “I’m sorry, but you are...?”

  “Ah,” the golden-haired man bowed. “Please, call me Aurelio. All my friends do.”

  “Friends,” Esharah repeated, raising her eyebrows. It was rude to barge into someone’s mind, but she was curious enough to at least take a glimpse at the cloud of emotions. She saw nothing threatening. Only genuine interest. Even...admiration.

  “The meetings in the day are for business,” Aurelio waved his hand, smile broadening. “These parties afterwards, what are they for if not forging new friendships?”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Friendship,” Esharah repeated. Still, she felt nothing but sincerity from his mind. “I’m sure Septentrion would be grateful to develop its friendship with...” she paused. “So, but which province are you with?”

  “I came from Frelund,” Aurelio said without missing a beat. “But I must confess I’m more interested in personal friendships than provincial onces.” He gestured towards the drink in Esharah’s hands, “Mind if I join?”

  Of all the things Esharah had hoped or feared to happen this evening, being approached like this was not among them. In Hellfrost, no one dared near her with anything approaching this sort of interest. Far too many feared her, resented her for her part in Yvris’ regime. And now, to have this handsome, confident man approach her...Esharah couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her without a tinge of fear.

  If it hadn’t come only a few hours after sharing another woman’s personal hell for an audience of hundreds, Esharah might have appreciated it.

  “I...I’m afraid I’m rather exhausted today and would be poor company,” Esharah said. To her shock, she actually felt a tinge of regret. Because if circumstances were different...

  “I wouldn’t want to impose,” Aurelio’s nod was full of understanding. “Perhaps another evening, then.”

  Esharah gave a noncommittal reply that didn’t quite make it into words. Part of her was already reconsidering. But by the time she glanced back, he was gone. Where-

  “What, sitting here all alone?” Nadyar Velian rushed in at that moment, a glass of wine in one hand and a wedge of cheese in the other.

  Esharah groaned inwardly. Or not inwardly, because Nadyar Velian’s grin broadened.

  “Telling more stories?” Nadyar Velian popped a bite of the cheese into his mouth. “You’re good at it. Almost had these idiots convinced.”

  “Stories,” Esharah repeated. “Madame Truthteller confirmed that I spoke truly. That isn’t enough for you?”

  “Madame Truthteller isn’t half as infallible as the governor thinks,” Nadyar Velian dismissed. He eyed her. Much less pleasantly than Aurelio had, “What, you actually believe the shit you’re sowing?”

  “It’s true,” Esharah replied. “Whether you want it to be or not. Do you doubt the governor’s conclusions?”

  “I think spending the next year preparing to fight children’s tales at the word of a voidspawn is a special breed of idiocy.” He glanced off in the general direction of Aven’s prison. “But even without the voidtouched, the rest of you are caught up in this, aren’t you? You’ve all been infected.” He winked. “Infected both you and your executor. You two share that infection or did he spread it to each of you separately?”

  Disgust curled up in Esharah’s gut. These were the people the governor chose as his closest agents. Crude fools who cared more for their games of power than the threat coming to consume them.

  Thankfully, at that point, Esharah found an excuse to break away: a wave of panic from Etrani’s mind.

  A glance to the side saw Executor Etrani frozen, dress covered with wine. Sunshine and a serving body were sprawled on the ground in front of her. Right in front of Governor Iraias and Lady Elesmara. What on hells had happened in the minute she’d looked away?

  * * *

  The first official day of meetings complete. Aelia could...not relax (partially because there were more days to come, partially because relaxation was still a rather foreign concept to her), but she could at least settle into a slightly lower baseline of stress. She would meet Aven soon, just as soon as she could get away from the dinner after-party that was apparently necessary despite having been in close proximity to everyone in attendance for the entire day’s meetings.

  Before she could slip away to more pleasant things, she did have one more important task for the day: receiving Governor Iraias’ evaluation.

  “Another theatrical flourish,” the governor noted. “This is becoming a pattern, executor.”

  “Conatus the Elder notes that drama has a unique power to move hearts as well as minds,” Aelia replied. “Thus the importance of storytelling as a particular form of oratory. I have...neglected this art form in the past, but I thankfully have colleagues skilled in it.”

  “Subordinates,” Governor Iraias corrected. “A colleague acts independently, but as executor of Hellfrost, you are responsible for all the actions of those under your authority.”

  “Of course, Lord Governor,” Aelia accepted the correction. She had no reason to challenge it; it was a correct assessment. Even if she often saw Esharah and Aven as partners more than subordinates, the distinction mattered in a setting like this.

  “In any case, the ultimate test of any stratagem lies in its results,” Governor Iraias continued. “So far, the results of the maledictus’ testimony seem promising.”

  While there had not yet been a formal agreement of coordinated action, the discussion following Katrin’s testimony had turned from dispute over the voidspawn threat to dispute over the obligations of the interior provinces to aid the frontiers. That, at least, was progress.

  Governor Iraias seemed to believe the evaluation finished, because his attention moved on from Aelia. Before she had opportunity to escape, however, Lady Elesmara Genthus approached, hand on the Tenebras’ ambassador’s arm, which seemed to be sufficient force to drag the cringing man over to them.

  “Executor Etrani,” Lady Elesmara bowed her head. “Lord Governor. I wanted to extend my thanks for your support during today’s meetings. It is good to see at least one of our provinces has leadership clear-eyed enough to see the threat before us.”

  Aelia had a feeling that the remarks were actually addressed to the Tenebras ambassador squirming beside Lady Elesmara. She also suspected that Lady Elesmara had not only invited the ambassador to this conversation, but had physically steered him into it as a demonstration.

  “It is your research that has made the threat undeniable,” Governor Iraias bowed in turn. A remarkable gesture of respect from someone of a governor’s position. “Ambassador Rosval, I hope that today’s meeting has made your own position clear.” The governor turned to the sweating man. “Both our provinces are the front lines of the voidspawn threat. Surely you agree there is much to be gained from cooperation.”

  The man flinched simply at being addressed. Aelia marveled that she might not be the most anxious person in the room.

  “I...can see some...potential merits.” He paused. Seeming to listen. And showed more distress. Like someone listening and not hearing the reply they hoped. Waiting for instructions that weren’t coming.

  Before Aelia could press the ambassador further, another sight caught her attention.

  Sunshine was on the stage. Mixed with the governor’s musicians. Dancing about the stage raucously, to general laughter. Aelia groaned. He’d been doing so well. Had yet to embarrass them in the slightest. That, apparently, was at an end.

  And when the song ended, and the musicians stepped away for a break, Sunshine ran over to them, beaming.

  Before Aelia could verbally reprimand him, Sunshine was upon their group.

  “Lady Elesmara!” Sunshine exclaimed. Far louder than was necessary. He dropped onto one knee, so swiftly it almost looked as if he slid across the floor. He seized Lady Elesmara’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Far too long has my eye been bereft of your presence!”

  Aelia closed her eyes and wished for spontaneous combustion. Hers or Sunshine’s. Either would do.

  “It has been far too long, Sunshine,” Lady Elesmara giggled. Tittered, even. “I hope, Executor Etrani, that Sunshine has been serving Hellfrost as zealously as he has served my work?”

  “Zealously...yes, that, I can grant,” Aelia begrudged.

  Sunshine laughed and popped up from the floor, “’Tis an honor among honors to serve not one, but two of the most luminous ladies in all of Octarnis.”

  A servant approached with drinks, which would at least provide some escape. Until Sunshine decided not to simply turn to face Governor Iraias to offer compliments, but to pirouette into the maneuver. An act which launched Sunshine’s gallantly gesturing hand right into the servant’s tray. Which then flung four goblets of wine right onto Aelia’s clothes.

  She gasped. That was all that her body could manage, because she was frozen with mortification. Thanks to Sunshine’s damnably loud voice, thirty people were staring at them. Which meant dozens saw her absolutely soaked with wine.

  When the laughter started, all Aelia’s conflicting thoughts resolved: Sunshine’s combustion was by far the preferred outcome.

  “Oh!” At least Sunshine had the decency to look shocked and appalled at his own actions. “My apologies, Executor! A clumsy fool am I, but-”

  Esharah, thank the Paragons, swooped in to draw her away from the situation, “Apologies, Lord Governor. I’ll get the executor a change of clothes.”

  Laughter still chased Aelia as she mechanically followed Esharah’s guiding grip. She was vaguely aware of Lady Elesmara still speaking with the governor and ambassador in hushed tones.

  All she could fully focus on was the humiliation. And the feeling of wine soaking into her dress and sticking to her skin.

  Esharah also had the good sense to drag Sunshine away before he could make himself even more of a disaster. To Aelia’s immense relief.

  “I’m so sorry,” Esharah mentally whispered, a soothing presence against Aelia’s mind as she led them into the hallway.

  “Sunshine...” Aelia’s words were choked. Not just with tears. With fury. “He’s...he’s...”

  “A godsdamned nuisance?” Esharah supplied.

  Such vulgarity was improper. So Aelia was glad Esharah was the one to voice it so she didn’t have to.

  Finally, they exited the gathering hall and reached a spare room. Privacy enough that Aelia could whirl on Sunshine.

  “What in the seven hells do you think you’re doing?” Aelia lost all control of pitch and volume for a moment.

  Sunshine looked...bemused. Perplexed. Not ashamed. “You know...I’m not quite sure. I only intended to offer my compliments to Lady Elesmara. And offer good fortune to those present.”

  “You...” Aelia stopped. She closed her eyes and breathed. Counted to ten. Recalled Elethria of Vivemount’s treatise on emotional regulation. First, identify the emotions. That was easy. She was furious. Livid. Mortified. Indignant, and righteously so. Second, she had to channel that energy. In a productive way, ideally. Wishing for Sunshine’s execution was not productive. “It was...I suppose...an accident.”

  “Well, no,” Sunshine replied.

  The statement was so audacious it cut right through Aelia’s anger, leaving her stunned, “No?! You intended to fling wine all over me in front of the entire assembly of important imperial delegates?”

  “No, that isn’t what I intended,” Sunshine replied. Still so perplexed. “My vis touches fortune, you know. When I say I was sending good fortune, I meant it entirely literally.”

  Aelia, in fact, had not known that. She’d heard of rather...esoteric vis abilities before, but never something so abstract as fortune. From Esharah’s confusion, she hadn’t heard of anything of the sort either.

  “How was ruining a dress, embarrassing me in front of an entire room, and making Hellfrost look like it’s run by a pack of untrained imbeciles ‘good fortune’?” Aelia demanded, anger rising again.

  “That’s the confusing part, isn’t it?” Sunshine said.

  Somehow, Aelia’s anger towards Sunshine was fading. Not her disgust towards him, but the initial, visceral reaction. Maybe it was the puzzle. Because now Aelia’s brain was tasked with trying to unravel these threads. How, indeed, could any of this have been good fortune for anyone involved? Sunshine was clearly not being malicious, or else he wouldn’t look so utterly baffled. Which left...what? Incompetence taken to a godlike level?

  “I think,” Esharah interrupted, her mental presence a quiet warning, “we should deal with this later. You’re still wearing a dress soaked in wine.”

  Right. Back to the present. Away from idiotic puzzles or imagining her subordinate’s demise. One of Governor Iraias’ first lessons was never to make decisions out of anger. Anger was an impulse, a drive to action, but it could never shape that action.

  “Return to the guesthouse immediately,” Aelia commanded. “We will...revisit this conversation tomorrow.” At a time when she was neither furious nor covered in wine.

  Sunshine bowed and mumbled an apology. At least that had finally come.

  There was one silver lining: Septentrion styles of layered clothing meant that barely any of the wine actually touched Aelia’s skin. The gown was a mess, but she herself was not stained. She changed in silence, Esharah at her side, stewing in her own thoughts.

  She was almost finished when screams came from the hall. Loud enough even to reach over the music, which aborted a second after.

  Esharah gasped, hand at her temple, eyes wide.

  “What is it?” Aelia asked. “What’s happening?”

  “It’s...” Esharah’s gaze looked far off as she listened to some mental message. “It’s the governor. Governor Iraias has been poisoned.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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