What Lurks Beneath (Prihine's Story)

[Author's Note: ...with Blade, Trouble, and Chase thrown in, too.] 

Chapter One

Prihine loved being a widow.

Well, hers was a unique situation: she was a widow who had never married, at least in the eyes of the law. The late Autarch had granted her a legal annulment to inoculate her from Turti’s guilt, as the two of them had never consummated their union; and yet, socially, Prihine also reaped the benefits of inheriting Turti’s estate and holdings, gaining the independence and power of a once-married woman without any of the additional reputational baggage. It was a no-fault “divorce” in every sense of the word.

Her husband being possessed by a Faceless Lord was the best thing that had ever happened to her. 

It meant that she could be her own woman now; she alone decided where she went, what she did, whom she spent time with. 

It also meant she didn’t have to go to church if she didn’t want to.

“I don’t see why I should,” she said loftily as she flung herself down onto the pink settee in her room. “We’re only here for the summer, and it’s not as if anyone in the South particularly cares about church.” 

In Haven, of course, it was a different story. The seat of the Autarch’s power was also the concentration of the church’s authority across the Continent, and nobles of the Consortium were heavily scrutinized for their piousness and church attendance: devotion to the One-God, after all, meant devotion to the Autarch, and if one didn’t display much care for one, perhaps they weren’t as loyal to the other. When Turti had been alive, they’d attended church every blasted week, and it had been a painstaking social performance each time, a demonstration of their political allegiances and values as much as any other ministerial duty.

Right now, however, she was in Courtshore, summering—the way a real lady ought to—at one of the secondary estates Turti had inherited from some dead aunt. And from what she knew, the nobles of ‘the decadent crescent’ didn’t care nearly so much about the whole thing as they did in austere, foreboding, grandiose Haven.

“Begging your pardon, milady, but it would be a good way of meeting friends,” her maid, Eleret, murmured. Prihine studied the young woman as she moved behind the settee to run a careful comb through Prihine’s ash-blonde hair. Eleret was a pretty, dainty thing, with a prim, high-boned face and flax-gold hair arranged in a braided coronet, and normally Prihine would have been leery of having such a comely servant hovering around, threatening to direct attention away from her. But Eleret knew her place, and made herself unobtrusive and unremarkable whenever the need arose, and Prihine was obscurely proud of her besides: Eleret had been her first independent hire after Turti’s death, finally freeing her of the sour-faced wench her husband had provided her with before their wedding, without consultation. She wasn’t a real lady-in-waiting, not like Lavinet’s dull Clara, who was of noble birth and therefore lent Lavinet’s position significant status and esteem—but Prihine thought she liked it better this way, anyway. They could never be equals, but that meant Eleret could never be a real threat to her, either. In this way the maid was probably her closest friend.

“Oh, Eleret, nobles don’t make friends,” she told her servant in a pitying voice. “Especially not at church. They make allies, enemies, acquaintances, or lovers. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Eleret seemed to hide a smile as she untangled a snarl from Prihine’s hair: ever since it had been cut off for her wedding, it was growing back as thick and curly as spaniel fur. “As you say, milady. But seeing as how you were saying you’d like to receive more invitations from the local lords and ladies, this might be a good way of establishing a stronger connection with them. I’m told that more of them attend church than you would think.”

Prihine looked at Eleret from the corners of her eyes, her gaze narrow and shrewd. “And who told you that, exactly?”

The maid’s hands fell away from Prihine’s hair as they smoothed back her own skirts. “The cousin I told you about, milady. The one who works for Lady Cordelia Trask.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

Dimly Prihine recalled Eleret mentioning she had a dear relation in Courtshore, a first cousin who worked as the personal lady’s maid for Cordelia Trask, daughter of a lord-governor of Courtshore. At the time, Prihine had assumed this was Eleret’s oblique way of asking for permission to visit said cousin on one of her days off—after all, if she lived in Haven, how often did she get to see a relative on the southern coast?—but now she considered how much the opportunity for that would actually arise. Prihine had brought only a handful of servants and a wagonful of possessions with her for her summer respite in Courtshore: she didn’t formally know anyone here, and any connections she could technically prevail upon were relatives or friends of her dead former husband. Eleret would probably be needed to keep her constqnt company while she shopped and built up her new summer estate—at least until Prihine made her rounds and established a few suitable Courtshore names to call on. So was Eleret prompting her to go to church in hopes of expediting that process, instead of waiting for some slow-coming invitation, or was she hoping to see this Cordelia Trask there at church? The noblewoman would undoubtedly have her maid—Eleret’s cousin—there with her, after all…

Prihine’s suspicions were confirmed when Eleret added, “Lady Cordelia is an extremely pious young woman, my cousin tells me. Because she attends church so often, and because she’s the only daughter of the lord-governor, she’s made it somewhat… fashionable.”

“She’s made what fashionable?” Prihine asked tartly, raising her eyebrows. “Being pious?”

Eleret bobbed a quick curtsy in agreement. “Exactly so, milady." 

“Feh.” Prihine made a distinctly unladylike sound of derision—she already had a feeling she wouldn’t like this Lady Cordelia very much at all—but, watching Eleret’s expression, she added begrudgingly, “Oh, very well. We might as well get a lay of the land while we’re here. One-God knows we don’t have anything else to do.”

She should have been offended at the lack of interest that had been generated by her arrival to Courtshore four days ago. When a new noble arrived in Haven, even if just for the social season, etiquette dictated that they had several invitations already requesting their company by the end of their second day. But Courtshore, Lavinet had warned her, was different: the nobles there were used to so many transplants and seasonal travelers moving to and from their gorgeous seaside metropolis that they already had a constant carousel of interesting new people to talk to and investigate. A person without particular connections to the city—like Prihine—would hardly move the needle, no matter how lauded she was becoming in Haven itself.

So she decided to be practical about things and forfend any offense, simply deciding to take matters into her own hands. And if that meant Eleret had a sooner chance of seeing her precious cousin, well—it wasn’t as if Prihine minded that.

So Eleret helped dress her in a resplendent dove-gray walking gown—Prihine didn’t believe in modesty, and she doubted the Courtshore nobles did, either—and they went out together into the humid Courtshore morning. Against convention, Prihine decided to walk, relying on Eleret to guide her (it had been the maid’s idea to go, after all). The air was pleasant and almost tingling with balmy salt, light and effervescent and fizzing with summery promise. The sky was a pale, spring-like blue, the sea beneath it turquoise and calm and sparkling cheerfully. It was a lovely place, Courtshore; even Prihine had to admit that. The morning shadows lay cool and quiet on bright sandstone streets that wouldn’t see much activity until noon; up on Palace Hill, the enormous cliff that towered over the rest of the city, the prince’s sprawling castle watched over the rest of the slumbering city like a benevolent guardian. It was all very safe, very relaxed; Courtshore wasn’t like Haven, whose streets were teeming with Inquisitors, Vice Guards, and Shepherds, and it wasn’t like nearby Conte, which was a veritable seething hotbed of vice and trouble.

Finally they arrived at an enormous cathedral and slipped inside just as the rites of worship were beginning. Sitting in a middle pew, Prihine ignored most of the religious proceedings: it was all the same anywhere, whether in Brunen or Sacor, and the music and chanting and sermonizing had always made her feel dull and sleepy, anyway. At least, she thought, looking around at the bright, high-vaulted interior, it was nothing like the dark, stifling church she’d gotten married in. Although it was repaired now, she still couldn’t go into that one without feeling as if a fist were squeezing her heart into pulp.

While she waited for the rites to be over, Prihine occupied herself with scanning the other pews for any “notables” she wanted to target after the ceremony. Lavinet doubtless would have already had an entire dossier on the most significant players in the Courtshore game; in fact, she probably wouldn’t have even bothered making the journey south without an established connection already awaiting her, ready to leverage her into their social circles, or without some celebrity escort to decorate her arm. But Prihine was learning how to play the game her own way, and she thought she was doing well enough.

She immediately spotted a young lady she guessed to be Lady Cordelia Trask, if only because the young woman’s maid looked startlingly like Eleret. There was the same long nose, the same downturned brown eyes, and the same pale blonde hair! The maids could have been sisters; the other maid looked to be older than Eleret by five years or so, and she was a little taller and thinner, tending more towards willowy than petite, but the resemblance between them was still uncanny. Meanwhile, Prihine thought drolly, she looked nothing like her cousins, or even her own full-blooded sisters.

Lady Cordelia herself was an interesting picture: she was very pale, especially for a noble from the sun-kissed South, and her hair was an unusual color, almost a mix between magenta and blood-red. Could she have dyed it, like Lavinet had? Their fashion was bolder in the South… But somehow Prihine didn’t think the young woman had that in her. She didn’t seem so much audacious as she seemed sleepy and languid, almost dreamy, her long-lashed eyes lowered in a perpetual state of languor. Looking at her almost made Prihine want to yawn. She was, however, undoubtedly very lovely, an effortlessly classical, florid beauty—which of course made Prihine dislike her all the more.

All around Lady Cordelia sat a colorful array of young aristocrats in various states of relaxed eagerness. There was one handsome young man with tan skin and dark, chin-length curls who obviously fancied himself the leader of the lot, judging by the confident, easy way he held himself; there was a handful of poised young women gathered around Cordelia who seemed to think themselves her good friends. Courtshore was technically ruled by a prince, but under him sat a council of important advisors—called lord-governors—who were the real decision-makers and policymakers of the city-state. There were only six of these, three who were elected by the nobles of Courtshore and three who were hand-picked by the prince himself, and Cordelia’s father was one of them. Prihine supposed that staying on her good side was important, in these parts, as it was her sway over her father that could help influence the laws and political movements of Courtshore at large. It was probably why all of these young fops bothered showing up to church on a morning when they’d undoubtedly rather be sleeping in.

“Why is she so pious, anyway?” Prihine asked Eleret in a whisper. “What does she gain from it?”

Her maid turned to look at her with a hint of incredulity—and nervousness. She didn’t want to give a wrong answer. “The… love of the One-God, milady?”

“No,” Prihine muttered to herself, glaring at an older woman who was giving her the gimlet eye, “it can’t be anything like that." 

Eleret shook her head. “My cousin Aida tells me that the lady is extremely passionate about her faith,” she said in an undertone. “She spends her time making clothes and blankets to help the poor, running fundraisers for the church and—”

“She does? Oh, yuck. I’m sorry, Eleret, but I don’t expect she and I will get along well at all.”

“Shh!” the older woman sitting ahead of them said.

Prihine shot her a vicious look, but held back from hissing, “Oh, shut up, you old bat!” She thought it as loudly as she could, though. 

Things made more sense when the day’s rites ended and she and Eleret moved to approach the circle of nobles who gathered near the altar to the One-God. A man in augur’s robes—though he hadn’t been the one leading the rites—stood near the sacred dais, conversing with Lady Cordelia in familiar tones. In an instant Prihine deduced exactly why Cordelia was so passionate about the church. By the One-God, even the priests in the South were good-looking! He was the youngest augur Prihine had ever seen, no more than thirty, tall and swarthy and strong-looking, nothing like the thin-wristed, feeble old scholarly priests back home; why, he could have been a handsome farmer, with those broad hands and that muscular form! And he was blessed with bright gold hair and arresting blue eyes that no doubt made young men and women swoon in the pews. When he spoke, his voice was so light and musical that even Prihine herself couldn’t help but lean closer to hear it more clearly. 

She bit back a laugh. Why, it was so obvious. Virtuous Cordelia Trask wasn’t a devout attendee of the church because of her love of the One-God. Even as she stood near the priest now, her eyes were fixed on his face, rapt and feverish and practically burning with ardor. If she weren’t a noblewoman, Prihine would have expected her to be outright trembling with the strength of her hidden feelings.

She hid a smirk behind her fan—so Cordelia was human, after all, and therefore a bit more likeable—and drew up to the circle of nobles, who were all dawdling and chatting amiably in a way quite unbefitting of a church. From her periphery, she saw Eleret, behind her, catch her cousin’s eyes and beam.

Instantly, the tan-skinned young noble noticed her and drew her into the circle of their conversation. “You must forgive me,” he said, gathering Prihine’s gloved hand into his own and raising it to his lips, “but I simply must know who you are. You must be new to Courtshore: a rare beauty like yourself couldn’t have gone unnoticed for long.”

What an outrageous flirt! Prihine thought, flushing a little despite herself as she withdrew her hand primly. She knew very well that she wasn’t pretty, merely young and fashionable, so she was instantly on-guard with him: one could never trust a liar or a flatterer, not really. “Yes, I arrived to my new summer estate here a few days ago,” she returned coolly. “I am Lady Prihine Naveen of Haven, lately of Brunen.”

She was surprised by a few faces going blank with recognition; the nobles down here were far more expressive than they were in the North. “Naveen?” the young man who’d kissed her hand echoed. “From Haven—forgive me, but are you the Lady Naveen who has joined the infamous Shepherds?”

Instantly, Prihine’s estimation of him sank even further. “Of course not,” she answered, waspish despite herself. Could she never escape Lavinet’s damned shadow? “What would I be doing here, if I were? She is my cousin.” After a pause she added, “Though that doesn’t mean I don’t have my own friends among the Shepherds. In fact, you could say that I was the one who supported them first. Lavinet merely followed my example.”

That caused the nobles to crowd around her, eager to hear more. Prihine committed their names to memory: the flirt was Lord Robbhan Vallinari, second son of a duke’s family she knew to have produced a long line of duelists and swordsmen. Two of his male cronies were hardly worth noticing, but she did anyway, in case it came in handy: the tall red-haired one was Lord Alfern and the short one with long raven locks was Lord Duner. Cordelia’s friends were Lady Metriss (a short, faintly weasel-faced blonde with wide-spaced, unkind sea-green eyes), Lady Rovaque (a tall, soft-spoken ebon-haired beauty), and Lady Amintia (a nervous, tittering sop with a vapid gray gaze and auburn hair that clashed rather horribly with Lady Cordelia’s). While they made conversation, Eleret and her cousin Aida carried on their own excited talk in the background, speaking in muted tones. Lady Cordelia and the handsome priest were still so engrossed in their own conversation that they hardly acknowledged Prihine at all, which she felt was unforgivably rude and sank Cordelia back into her bad graces again.

The young nobles pressed her about her plans for the summer, and Prihine gathered her newfound maturity to say in airy, careless tones, “Oh, I expect I’ll be swamped just opening the house and getting it up to scratch,” just the way the matriarch of a noble household should.

“Ah, but surely you will find yourself free in the evenings?” Robbhan Vallinari said enthusiastically. “You must join us for dinner whenever you can. We are all childhood friends here”—with a wave of his gloved hand, he indicated the circle of nobles—“and most evenings we simply have nothing to talk about but the same old stuff. A new face at our gatherings would be most welcome.”

Prihine opened her mouth to demur—one couldn’t look too eager, if one could help it—but weaselly Lady Metriss stirred then and murmured, “Really, Robb, seeing as how you are never the one hosting such gatherings, it’s rather forward of you to extend an invitation on their behalf. Besides…” She flicked out her fan in the position of Doubtful Skeptic and eyed Prihine sidelong. “You must take care not to seem too much of a flirt, else Cordelia will think you have your eye on someone else.”

Instantly, Lord Vallinari’s cheerful face became suffused with an annoyance that transformed his features into something far more foreboding; however, Metriss and Amintia merely laughed softly with each other while his friend Lord Alfern muttered teasingly, “I don’t think she’s in any position to think anything about dear Robb at the moment.”

How interesting, Prihine thought, keeping her face as stony as if she couldn’t hear this conversation at all. So Robbhan was after Cordelia, who was obviously in love with the priest, something which demeaned Robbhan in the eyes of this group and made him something of a laughingstock. Now, was he after Cordelia for the sake of a true love match, or was it a political, arranged thing? She’d have to set Eleret after getting information from her cousin.

At this precise moment, Cordelia finished up her conversation with the priest—Prihine heard something along the lines of, “Yes, of course I’d like to drop them off myself”—and turned back to the group, blinking as if she’d finally noticed Prihine for the first time. The two of them curtsied to each other and made their introductions, and the augur added in warm tones, “Welcome to Courtshore, Lady Naveen. My name is Konstantin Teleus, or Augur Teleus, whichever you prefer. I should be happy to be of service to you during your time in our fair city." 

Prihine glanced away from him in a show of the same disinterest he’d shown at her arrival. “Yes,” she returned indifferently. “Thank you, I’m sure.”

 Augur Teleus didn’t seem to notice her giving him the cut; he merely smiled at the others, bowed, and took his leave.

 After several more minutes of conversation, Lady Rovaque said, “Well, I should like to hear more about the goings-on in Haven, and these Shepherds that we’ve been hearing so much about—I seem to hear more and more about them from everywhere, from my cousins in the North to the Reavers to friends of the Western Hierophant—and I think it important that we help Lady Naveen settle in to Courtshore, as well. And I am the one hosting dinner tomorrow night, so if you’d like to attend, Lady Naveen, I can send my carriage over to your place tomorrow.”

 “Oh, thank you,” Prihine said in a drawl, staring pointedly at Lady Metriss as she did so, “that would be so kind. I should be delighted.”

 That fixed, the nobles began to disperse; Lady Metriss and Lady Amintia walked off arm-in-arm, while Prihine overheard Eleret and her cousin Aida hurriedly promising to see more of each other soon. While she waited, she noticed Robbhan drifting up to Cordelia’s side, taking her elbow and saying in a tender, familiar murmur, “Lovely Delia. Seeing as how there’s no set plan for this evening, would it be terribly forward of me to call on you later tonight? Perhaps we could dine together? I’ve been meaning to talk to you about some things…”

 So, Prihine thought dryly, his pride stung, he decides to press his luck and prove something to us  as he tries to fight for Cordelia’s heart, after all.

 But Lady Cordelia only looked at him absently and said, “Oh, but… I had plans this evening, I’m afraid…”

 Frowning, Robbhan dropped her arm. “Oh, I see,” he said, clearly disappointed. Then, glancing covertly at the door through which Augur Teleus had vanished, he said in a lower tone, “These plans wouldn’t have anything to do with the augur, would it?”

 At his tone, Cordelia went stiff and cold as only a noblewoman could. “As a matter of fact, they do,” she answered, her voice suddenly icy. “We are coordinating a charity drive with the local mistress of the poorhouse. There are plans to be drawn up, funds to be divvied…”

 “Really, Cordelia, it’s not as if the augur should need you for every little thing he has planned; you’re a young woman with a healthy social life, after all, and…”

 “That sounds very interesting,” Prihine said suddenly, surprising them both; Robbhan turned to her, raising his eyebrows, while Cordelia blinked, then smiled faintly, a little color touching her bloodless cheeks. “I should like to learn about—about charity, and things. We don’t really involve ourselves with it much in Haven, outside of throwing balls, but we probably should, seeing how many of us are politicians. Perhaps I could join you sometime.”

 It was, of course, the last thing she wanted, but the Vallinari son was beginning to annoy her; she’d had quite enough of men telling women what to do or how to spend their time, especially one who wasn’t even married to Cordelia.  

 Cordelia gifted her a true, genuine smile of gratitude while Robbhan visibly retreated with an exasperated huff. “That would be lovely,” she said, and Prihine almost believed she meant it. Then she stirred and added, “I believe we share another connection, as well: your maid and mine are cousins. Isn’t that an interesting coincidence?”

 “I thought so too, yes.” So, the lovelorn heiress noticed things outside of her precious priest, after all!

 “Perhaps we could arrange to meet more often, then,” Cordelia continued in kind tones. “If only to allow Aida and Eleret some time together.”

 Of course she knows Eleret’s name and everything, Prihine thought, a bit sourly. What a saintess. But at her maid’s hopeful glance, she forced a tight smile and agreed. Then, satisfied with the promise of their new friendship, Cordelia Trask gathered up the remains of her party and withdrew.

 “Oh, thank you, milady,” Eleret said in a rush later, as they departed the church at a stately walk and headed to one of Courtshore’s most fashionable avenues to do a little shopping. “It meant so much to see dear Aida again—we grew up together, you see, but we haven’t seen each other in something like ten years, but in all that time, we’ve only talked through letters. But it’s so different from being in person, especially when you grew up as sisters!” She paused, then added hesitantly, “Aida has secured Lady Cordelia’s permission for us to have breakfast together at dawn, and of course I’d hurry back and be home to help you well before you woke up—”

 “Yes, yes,” Prihine said impatiently. If Cordelia had given her permission, Prihine couldn’t very well deny it on her end, could she? “Just see that it doesn’t interfere with any of my plans, will you?”

 Eleret was beaming; she might as well have been twirling her skirt in the streets. “Yes, my lady, of course! Thank you very much!”

 Prihine hmphed. “Now, if we’re quite finished talking about your concerns, let’s concentrate on finding some good pieces for the house. I can’t entertain if I don’t have fashionable décor, after all, and Turti’s tastes were so old that we have quite a task ahead of us…”

 They spent the rest of the day shopping and placing orders, stopping only to have luncheon in an exclusive seaside hotel where—to Prihine’s displeasure—no one spared them a second glance. Well, perhaps her continued association with Cordelia, one of Courtshore’s notables, would spark the right attention over time… and in the meantime, Eleret was so gleeful that it hardly seemed complaining about.

 Prihine wondered what it would be like to have a relative one treasured so closely. She herself had six older sisters, and sometimes she felt as she could hardly pick them out of a crowd: she was the youngest and had been relegated to her nursery and nannies while they’d all been growing up together, and by the time she was old enough to join them, most of them had already been married off, leaving the house largely empty. But even when they’d still lived there, it wasn’t as if any of them had shown any interest in her; most had actively disliked her, for Prihine had been an unpleasant, red-faced, squalling child, and her sisters were vain and self-absorbed and too impatient to find much pleasure in associating with her, even on the rare occasions when she was actually allowed to be present. They might as well have been cousins—and cousins who hardly saw each other, at that.

 She’d been allowed to play with Lavinet and her sisters Estora and Camilla, at least, during their biannual visits, but even then, they’d only tolerated her with the forced politeness of houseguests who only had to put up with her for a predetermined length of time. And Estora and Camilla had giggled and sneered about her to each other, in much the same way Metriss and Amintia just had, and Lavinet was old enough that they had very little in common: she’d made it clear she would have rather been practicing her riding or training with her lance than associating with Prihine, and the one time Prihine had followed her out to the stables, Lavinet had let her wretched horse bite her, just to teach a young child a lesson about not pulling on his bridle.

 So she didn’t know what Eleret and Aida’s reunion felt like—but she wouldn’t put a stop to it, either. But an ugly thought rose within her as she sipped at a delicate white seafood broth under the careful attentions of slim, cheerful waiters and an elegant lady pastry chef who floated around with a pot of smoking tea. What if she allowed Eleret to spend too much time at Lady Cordelia’s house, and she eventually got it into her head to leave Prihine’s service and stay in Courtshore with her cousin and her cousin’s virtuous mistress?

 Her stomach sank at that, and she darted a covert glance at her maid, who had eaten her meal as quickly as possible and now sat looking out the broad windows at the shining sea. Well. She’d just have to keep an eye out and nip anything worrisome in the bud as soon as she could. She’d gotten good at things like that.

 It was approaching sunset by the time they were finished with their activities for the day, and Prihine was bone-tired as they made their way slowly back to their apartment. She would have sent Eleret ahead to fetch the coach, but the walk was only a dozen blocks away, and many of the wider thoroughfares were closed to carriages, anyway: there was some sort of repair work being done on Courtshore’s drainage systems, it seemed, the underground channels that piped freshwater into the public bathhouses, so many of the streets and alleyways were packed with repairmen being lowered into open sewers. Prihine wove irritably around them, aching for a hot bath and an ankle massage; her shoes pinched and bit lines of fire into her heels.

 She was so preoccupied with her own weariness that she hardly looked around to enjoy their picturesque surroundings: on the streets not closed for repair work, many citizens were eating at their leisure at sidewalk tables and terrace cafes as the fiery sunset softened to tones of rose and mandarin, a style of outdoor eating that never would have happened in Haven; above, seabirds wheeled and called to each other with squealing cries. But she did notice when Eleret abruptly stiffened and moved protectively closer to her. Looking up with a frown, Prihine said, “What is it?”

 Eleret’s eyes were guarded as she shifted, as if to shield her mistress from view. “There are some men across the street, milady,” she muttered in an undertone. “They have been staring at you for the last several minutes. I think their gazes are… improper.”

 Against convention, Prihine glanced in the direction she was indicating. If men were ogling or leering at her—even if they were urban roughnecks—she wanted to know what they looked like.

 Her heart jolted in her chest when she met the gazes of the three men Eleret was so suspicious of. They were sitting at an outdoor table just like many other people in the street, enjoying a light supper and a round of colorful drinks as if they were any other group of tourists. But two of them were familiar to her. One was tall and sinewy, practically rippling with muscle, his sharp fine-boned face somewhat grim and dour even in the shimmering Courtshore sunset. The last time Prihine had seen him, he’d been dressed all in black to match his hair, but now he wore a high-collared pale shirt rolled up to the elbows and opened slightly at the neck, his dark hair pushed back slightly from his face. So even the Commander of the Shepherds makes concessions for the summer, Prihine thought.

 His companion was shorter and stockier than the dark-haired Ket, but he looked infinitely more recognizable as well as comfortable in his oceanside outfit, a loose red shirt that exposed an incredibly broad, muscular chest. In fact, Vice-Commander Trouble Alder looked like the epitome of summer, with his lion-colored hair, tan, friendly features, and expressive blue-gold eyes. At the present moment, he was staring openly at Prihine and Eleret, his elbows resting casually on their table as he gawked with a drink halfway to his mouth.

 Prihine had never been introduced to their third compatriot, but she had glimpsed him here and there: a slim, handsome young man with an acrobat’s build and a sly, laughing green gaze. He was the most fashionable of the trio, with his brown hair artfully mussed and his starched white shirt clinging to his trim frame with a careless, debonair insouciance, a loose red sash setting off the whole outfit with an eye-catching flair. He was leaning back in his chair and grinning over at them with an expression of familiar, teasing mischief, like a boy who’d uncovered something embarrassing about his teacher and was just waiting to be called on so he could unveil his prize.

 Prihine could strangle her surprise at seeing three Shepherds here, but her automatic indignation was harder to quell. Where were their manners? Didn’t they know it was improper to stare thus at a lady in the street, as if she were some common courtesan?

 Before she knew it, she was strutting across the avenue towards them, with Eleret tripping hastily after her. She walked up to the Shepherds’ table, drew herself up, and said icily, “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it was rude to stare?”

 Blade Bronwyn lowered his lids in an unreadable expression, but Trouble said blankly, “Er… it’s us, Pri—I mean, Lady Ushala. We, uh, attended your husband’s party back in the fall… and fought the demon that was possessing him… and saved your life.”

 “Of course I know it’s you, you dolt!” Prihine snapped, incredulous that he thought she was so stupid she might not recognize them. “And it’s Lady Naveen, not Ushala. The Autarch granted me an annulment.”

 Their companion snickered quietly, and Trouble’s expression hardened slightly, the corners of his mouth turning down, but he said in a polite enough tone, “We were staring because it was a surprise to see you, that’s all. We weren’t sure if we ought to say anything, or just let you pass by. He said not to say anything.” He tipped his head at Blade, who shot him an irritated look, as if to say, Why drag me into this?

 “I’m Chase Trinaeste, your ladyship,” their friend said then, giving her a jaunty salute. Prihine noticed that none of the men stood to greet her; was it their low-born manners, or did they not think her worthy of the respect? Would they have stood for Lavinet? “Captain of the Shepherds and their resident spymaster. I’ve heard a lot about you from your cousin.”

 “Chase, you can’t just tell everybody that you’re our spymaster,” Trouble said in a tone of disgust. “That defeats the whole point of it, doesn’t it?”

 “Well, she’s not anybody, is she, Trubs? She’s a friend of the Order; I think we can trust her.” He winked at Prihine, who, despite herself, blushed. He was even more dangerous than Robbhan Vallinari!

 Because she was suddenly embarrassed, Prihine chose to withdraw into haughtiness. “And what exactly is it that you’re doing here?” she asked, turning her eyes to Blade, who was sipping his drink and watching her with that patient Ket-stillness. She’d found it a little unnerving even back in the fall, but now she felt as if the perspicacity of his gaze was a little too irreverent for her liking.

 The Ket inclined his head at her, a gesture not of respect, but of mere acknowledgement. “We had a few missions to complete in the area,” he said, his voice neutral—though Prihine had the feeling that he was being guarded with her. “And a review of some potential defenses against the Endarkened, at the request of Courtshore’s prince.”

 Which told her exactly nothing, but she supposed it didn’t matter overmuch. “I suppose Lavinet isn’t with you?”

 “Not this time, lady,” Chase answered cheerfully. “She’s back in Haven, scheming things up with Riel.” He glanced at Eleret and added, “We’re halfway through our meals, but if the two of you would like to pull up some chairs…”

 Eleret’s eyes widened, and Prihine lifted her chin. “Noble ladies don’t eat on the sidewalk,” she said in a stiff, chilly tone. “And certainly not in the company of… soldiers.” No matter how high-ranking they might be.

 “As you say, lady,” Chase said affably, but the way he said it made it sound as if the title were a mockery somehow, a secret laugh underpinning his voice. “Well, we’re here for a few days longer, so if you have any need of us, you can find us at The Unstrung Harp.”

 I don’t care for your implication, Prihine wanted to say, but she settled for an imperious, “I highly doubt it,” and bid them a good day, departing with her head held high. Eleret scampered after her, but they were not quite around the corner before Prihine heard the spymaster’s slight laugh and Trouble’s exasperated, “Sometimes I could throttle you. You’ve gone and offended her.”

 “I get the feeling that she’s easily offended,” Chase answered, amused. “And anyway, you’re the one who offended her first, by gawking at her like that.”

 “Why did you tell her where we were staying?” Blade asked, his dark voice more curious than annoyed.

 “Dunno. Instinct, I guess. She didn’t ask a thing about our dear Brightburner, who was her old bodyguard. I thought maybe she’d want to, before we left.”

 All the way back home, Prihine nursed a miserable welling of shame, anger, and mortification, both at her behavior and the fact that she had, in fact, forgotten to ask about her former protector. But it wasn’t as if she needed to, she told herself uneasily as Eleret scurried ahead to open the front door. Lavinet told her enough about the Hero of Haven’s current activities, during their once-a-month parlor teas; and what she didn’t reveal, the newspapers did. And if Prihine asked specifically after her one-time bodyguard, wouldn’t someone like Chase read into that? What if it somehow got back to “Brightburner”? For some reason she couldn’t stand the idea of that.

 She hardly registered the rest of the evening. Eleret helped her undress, brought up a tray for dinner, brushed her hair after her bath, and then blew the candle out. Prihine fell asleep in a foreign bed and slipped under a wave of roiling, restless dreams for the rest of the night.

 #

 She awoke to the sounds of Eleret slipping back into her room, only now the heavy drawn curtains were gold-lit from behind: could it be morning already? But Prihine’s body told her it was still far too early—it couldn’t have been more than a little past dawn, surely—and she said muzzily, “I think I’ll sleep in today, Eleret.”

 But the maid paused and didn’t answer right away. Prihine finally cracked open her eyes fully to find her servant standing at the foot of her bed, half in morning shadow, her eyes wide and frozen in a pale-lipped, frightened face.

 The look of sheer panic in Eleret’s eyes made Prihine sit up, even as her body protested and wailed to slide back into the soft warmth of sleep. “What is it?” she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended. “What’s wrong?”

 Eleret shook her head frantically. “I didn’t mean to wake you, lady,” she said in a whisper, “only I didn’t know what to do…”

 Prihine slapped her coverlet impatiently. “Oh, for God’s sake, girl, what is it?”

 “I’ve just come from Lady Cordelia’s estate, milady,” Eleret said, still speaking in a hushed tone, as if there was someone else in the room who was still asleep. “I was to have breakfast with Aida, if you remember. Only…” She was trembling, Prihine saw now. “Only it’s so horrible…”

 Prihine quenched the urge to lunge out of bed and shake her. “What?”

 “Lady Cordelia’s been taken,” Eleret cried suddenly. “There’s blood all over her room, and—they’re saying that it was an Endarkened that did it!”