Jaise Castle stood out from all the castles Meya had seen so far—which totaled to two. Then again, the number of castles your average peasant would see throughout his lifetime would seldom be over one. Three for a lass her age was already unheard of at best and impressive at the very least.

Instead of a sprawling white stone complex, adorned with turrets and towers, perched on a hill, surrounded by a deep moat or a thick crenellated wall, Jaise Castle was a lone column of gray-black stone rising up at the heart of a manmade lake, the pupil of a jewel-clear cerulean iris.

Sleek shadows of bass and trout sailed alongside their rowboat as it cleaved its way towards the levee, then darted for the safety of open waters when Meya skimmed her hand on the surface. Now that she had put on her Lattis coin, the water was lukewarm to the touch.

Once Meya had stepped from the wobbling boat onto the quay, the chamberlain led them through the arched doorway, which opened to the Great Hall. Despite the extra items in the itinerary, it seemed they weren't appallingly tardy; maids and servants spilled out of the scullery door, ferrying out platters of food, and sliding trenchers before the hosts and guests around the Lord's table. The attendants' tables were still bare.

At Meya's entrance, the cloaked figure at the center of the main table—Lady Winterwen Jaise—turned her veiled head in her direction, then stood up. The flurry of activity skidded to an abrupt halt, then the whole room followed suit, amidst a cacophony of benches scraping over stone.

The chamberlain stepped forth into the center aisle between the long tables, prompting Meya to lead her entourage along in his wake. She felt the phantom heat of dozens of eyes scrutinizing her through glass masks on every inch of her body; half of them probably thinking about dinner or their protesting knees, and she quickened her pace.

As she approached the end of the aisle, Meya noticed Sirs Jarl, Simon and Christopher perched at the head of the table to the left. Jerald, Atmund, Arinel, Agnes, Heloise and Fione edged in single file before the long bench and settled down, while Gretella herded Frenix and Amara over to the table on the right.

Lady Jaise's veiled head revolved on her bare, swanlike neck, shrouded eyes following Meya's progress as she advanced alone. Meya took note of the raised dais and lifted her dress, freeing her feet. Yet, the tip of her foot caught on the edge of the granite step, and she stumbled.

Curse you, Freda! I've gone hours with one eye. And you chose now of all times to trip me?!

Meya stood rigid, bent double, paralyzed not by pain nor embarrassment, but the certainty that should she relax one muscle, the curse-laden scream to the spiteful goddess she had been holding back would let loose.

Coris had stepped around the table and was striding towards her. He led her forth by the hand, gloved fingers hovering about yet not touching her wrist. Meanwhile, Zier was sheepishly edging back to his seat, having lurched a few steps out from behind his chair when Meya tripped.

The Hadrian boys obviously believed she was Arinel. Over to Lady Jaise, however, the seedlings of doubt were rattling in their shells; Zier's gaffe did not go unnoticed. Lady Jaise's face was now turned towards him. So were those of her husband, son and two daughters far down the table.

Drat it, Zier. Could you do nothing right?

Once Coris had deposited Meya in her seat, Lady Jaise finally gathered her dress and sat back down, signaling the servants to resume their dinnertime hustle and bustle. As a tray of roasted trout resting on a bed of potatoes and blanketed with lemon slices landed before her, Lady Jaise leaned across Coris to greet Meya,

"Does it still hurt, Lady Hadrian? Shall I summon the healer?"

Lady Jaise had the deep, clear, calm voice of an older, larger, more imposing woman than her cloaked silhouette suggested. A goblet of water was already sitting on the table before Meya. She took a quick sip to moisten her vocal cords, then answered the lady with a sweet smile.

"No, my lady, thank you." She said in her best imitation of Arinel's voice—which wasn't good enough; she noticed Coris starting out of the corner of her eye, but soldiered on without a hitch, giving Lady Jaise a slight bow, "My deepest apologies. That was most unbecoming."

Lady Jaise shook her head with a melodramatic sigh, her heavy curtain of rich, wavy dark brown hair which fell to her hips rippling slightly.

"Please, the blame rests upon the host." Her bow lips stretched into a sealed smile under the lace hem of her veil, then she cocked her head and topped it off with a poke, "I do hope you would find our humble town pleasant still?"

"Why, of course, my lady."

Meya forced out a breathy giggle, nudging up her mask so Winterwen wouldn't spot the band of sweat now popping up along her hairline; as he piled food onto her trencher, Coris sneaked glances at her chest, which was obviously not Arinel-sized. To assuage his doubts, Meya pushed a pickled olive through her lips onto her tongue, then propelled it down her throat whole. (A/N: Meya hates pickles)

Back to the Jaise front, Lady Winterwen tilted her head, her smile unraveling at the hems.

"Your tone hints otherwise." She challenged, her voice somber, and Meya's smile sagged. Winterwen then turned away and tore a morsel off her sheet of unleavened bread. As she soaked it in the centerpiece meat stew, she commanded in an airy voice edged with ice,

"Tell us about your day—with honesty."

Meya stiffened her shoulders to weather the sudden chill. And she'd thought no precarious situation would intimidate her after she had survived her ordeal with Gillian. Lady Jaise had turned back to face her, chewing soundlessly. Meya hitched her shiny smile back up, nodded and obliged,

"We headed first to the Pearly Falls, my lady, and we ended up spending our whole afternoon there. The scenery is breathtaking, and the hot bath did much to expel the ache and chills from the long journey."

Lady Jaise unfurled her tight little smile, then, just as Meya was letting down her guard, the veiled lady uttered a single, resounding verdict,

"Deceit."