She watched him out of the edge of her vision.

He didn’t smirk as usual; no sign of unhappiness marred his perfect features. His life energy teased her, tempting her to taste, but he knew her little trick and didn’t appreciate it. She’d already denied him fulfillment proper to his station. All he had was this work. That was the essence of their consortship. That, and to keep Saugraen from knowing the truth. Unless calamity struck, Maunyn would outlive her and keep her secrets. He would be a good match for Julissa, according to the seer, but he was a beast. She didn’t want him toying with her daughter.

Instead, she set him loose, with his band of thugs and miscreants, to push her plan forward. How he would enjoy it all. The sex, the killing, it was all pleasure for him. His life was so easy. Any matron in Vaidolin would have him the moment she dropped dead.

But did they know what they were getting? The seething rage, the frustration. She’d soured Maunyn, and they both knew it. Could Julissa soften him? She didn’t think so.

“Well played,” he said, meaning the secret meeting with her allies, the high matrons of Zauhune and Vakayne.

“That’s what happens when you’re a mouth and two ears. You have nothing else to do but listen twice as much as you talk.”

“We’ll be ready once Joumina wins some land.”

“It needs to happen soon. Joumina needs prodding. No, not that kind!” She slapped the cushion, and he leaned back with a grin. “We’ll never have access to Zauhune’s samples at the rate she’s issuing complaints. I thought she’d be braver, but she seems content to squeeze them for stacks of silver. We must force her hand. Vaunet discovered two of my agents. Thankfully they escaped, but now they are useless. I’ve sent them to the fringe to spy on valley houses.”

“That’s a shame. Who’d have thought Vaunet so capable? Traitors.”

Joumina always marveled at how loyal Maunyn was to that ancient history, and how loyal to her and his house despite such a weak bond.

“Indeed,” she said sympathetically. “Awful business.” When he’d calmed, she continued, “Joumina’s trying to make deals with the accused, you know… through back channels. Trying to prevent a major confrontation.”

“Wasn’t confrontation the point?” Maunyn said. “To kill Roturra?”

“I heard it from matron Lor’Baronar herself, if you can believe it.”

“You want an assassination attempt on the boy? Made to look like Roturra?”

“You understand me perfectly, consort. Joumina couldn’t negotiate then. Her honor, what remains of it, will demand blood in response. And then, if that Zauhune knight wins at the next goddess-court, estates in the south valley will change hands next year. Zauhune houses will move in, and we’ll have greater access.”

“You mean to press them?”

She shook her head. “We can’t negotiate with those houses. They can’t know who is behind it. We’re Zauhune allies, after all. But if anyone wants to sell, we won’t turn our noses up at an offer if the child has what we need. Carefully though. None must know that you have a hand in it. Or any other part of you.”

Maunyn pursed his lips, holding what he really wanted to say.

“You’ll take what we need,” she said. “Leave signs blaming others. Everyone assumes the Darks hate Zauhune. That serves us well.”

“And you don’t think this will upset the Naukvyrae? Blamed for the theft of fine Mornae children?”

Gishna shrugged. “It’s Zauhune and Roturra. I’m sure the Darks have been itching to strike them. They’ll get free propaganda.”

He nodded but seemed concerned. What did he know about the Naukvyrae? He moved like one. Was he one of them? He certainly thought like one. Could she ever know for sure?

“Is that all?” he asked.

“No, dear consort. I need you to step up your activities with our east valley matrons.” Her gnarled, clawed hand hovered over a piece of paper next to her on the bed.

He plucked it from her side. His face stretched; his brows arched. “You don’t think this will cause trouble? Consorts are souring because of it.”

“Let them,” she croaked. She pulled the cord by her bed and the door opened. Her servant came in with tea made from the seer’s recipe. She’d speak with him later. His work would need to escalate as well. Where could she scrounge up more trustworthy diviners?

“Took you long enough,” she snarled at the servant.

“Pardon, high matron, I got it wrong the first time.”

“Let me smell it.”

The servant held the tea close and Gishna sniffed the steam.

“It’s fine,” Gishna said. “Bring me a glass of water as well.”

They waited for the servant to leave before continuing. Spies abounded. Her master of assassins spent all his energy ejecting them from her citadel. She liked this girl, the daughter of a valley house. She liked those Mornae best. They seemed less interested in the political squabbles of the crater. Still, she couldn’t get too attached.

“This is more important than any of them can understand,” Gishna said. “All need to sacrifice a little if we are to survive. We live under the sign of the blood-red goddess.”

Maunyn nodded.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’m not seeing enough success from our various efforts.”

Ah, there it is, she thought. He was a good consort, speaking aloud the very thing that perturbed her. Strange how he did that so well, even though their binding was weak. He may have a cruel streak, but he could soften when necessary.

She considered her response. “These things take time,” she said finally, but with little confidence.

“There is also the other problem,” he said, leaning forward. His face was too handsome, too perfect. His narrowed eyes beckoned. “Vakayne rejected more crates of pears. The wine as well.”

“That can wait,” she said.

She’d hoped their new barrels lined with southern blue steel would help Vakayne produce more, but they were such hardened sticklers for tradition. They only used kithaun banded barrels. Ancient ones made of ironwood, just so, with the imbuing of long dead ancient sorcerers. Just so… intractable, the lot of them. How she needed to penetrate their black walls once and for all. That was another wound that needed mending.

Maunyn’s eyes bounced up, impatient. Not a roll, he wouldn’t be so disrespectful, but a little sigh escaped those seductive lips.

“Get more workers,” she said. “They flood the southern border. Even the Fringe. Put them to work.”

“Hire them?”

“Press them if you must. They sit on our border eating our crumbs—put them to work! They’ll be out of the cold at least, with full bellies. Use Yainkamit. It’s a useless village as it is. As is its governing house. Make something of it. You have the winter to corral them. By next summer, I want to hear better news.”

Maunyn just frowned. “Next we’ll have barbarians guarding our streets.”

“We’ll do what we must.”

He grunted in response.

“Leave me now,” she said, holding out her hand.

He rose and loomed over her bed. A tingle of dread ran through her at the thought of him throttling her, drowning her under the blankets and pillows. Instead, he leaned down and pressed her hand gently to his forehead. For a moment, the sour bile in him evaporated.